Page 103 of Counting on a Countess
He gave a small shrug. “The most I could hope for was that I didn’t dishonor it.”
“Clearly,” she pointed out, “your country thinks you didn’t. Gave you an earldom to thank you for your service.”
“That was Lord Somerby’s doing,” Kit demurred, running his hand back and forth over the blanket. He’d touched and held her tenderly with those hands, and she longed for the feel of them on her.
“Lord Somerby knew hundreds of officers,” she noted, “and he didn’t petition the Crown on anyone else’s behalf. Just you.” Gently, she asked, “Do you miss him?”
Kit was silent for a moment. “It’s not as though I felt neglected by my father,” he said contemplatively. “Third sons are usually afterthoughts, yet I wasn’t overlooked or ignored. Even so...” His gaze turned inward. “Somerby was the first person who saw my potential.” He took a sip of ale—with fascination, she watched the strong movement of his throat—and handed the flagon to her.
His touch lingered longer than necessary to hand her the flagon, sending quills of awareness spinning through her. “I believe you could do anything you set your mind to.” She drank and set the ale down.
Kit looked at her for a very long time, his gaze unblinking. He came up onto his knees. “That’s precisely what I think about you.”
Warmth and agony twisted through her in a mystifying whirl. He gave her so much, and she repaid him with dishonesty.
“Tamsyn.” His voice was low and searing.
A hot thrill shot along her body. She looked up and was ensnared in the naked desire in his eyes.
He moved with sleek fluidity, closing the distance between them. Her heart beat fiercely as he knelt beside her, cradling her head between his hands and tilting her face up. She let her eyes drift shut, holding herself in suspension, waiting. Wanting.
His lips found hers. With a soft purr, she arched up into the kiss. His tongue licked at hers, and she eagerly lost herself in the passion they stoked so quickly. Kit kissed her as though he’d been starving for her taste—despite their kiss that morning. She devoured him, too, feeling the liquid surge of need everywhere in her body, wanting the profound intimacy that two lovers shared.
They fell back onto the blanket, his body partially covering hers. As they continued to kiss, she stroked over his taut back, feeling the shift of his body beneath his clothing. When he raised up enough to pluck at the buttons of her spencer, she took advantage of his position and pushed his coat down his shoulders. Awkward with impatience, they worked to shed layers of garments—his coat and neckcloth, her spencer—until he was in his shirtsleeves and the front of her dress was spread open.
His hand slipped under her open bodice to cup her breast. She gasped as he found her tight nipple and stroked it. With each caress, sensation built, gathering between her legs. She shifted restlessly with growing desire. Against her thigh, she felt the thick ridge of his erection, and there was some comfort in knowing he wanted her as much as she wanted him.
At least her desire was honest. She could give him this. She could givethemthis.
He trailed his lips down her neck and found the bare flesh of her upper chest. But then he rose up, back onto his knees. She’d never seen him look so intent.
“Kit...?”
“I want something, love.” His hand stroked up her leg, slowly gathering up the fabric of her skirts. “I want to taste you.”
She widened her eyes. At the Orchid Club, she’d seen people doing just that, but never had she thought she’d experience it for herself. “Here?” she whispered, excitement pulsing beneath that one syllable.
“It’s only the trees and us,” he answered. His lids lowered and his voice deepened. “I’ve dreamed of your taste for so long. And the look on your face when you come.”
His candid, erotic words undid her. She went feverish everywhere.
In answer, she gave a small nod. He inhaled sharply, then leaned forward to capture her mouth for a long, deep kiss. When he finally pulled away, they both panted, their shared breaths hot and urgent.
As she lay back, resting on her elbows so she could watch him, Kit positioned himself between her legs. He removed her shoes, then reached up under her skirts and swiftly did away with her drawers, leaving her naked from the waist down. With both hands, he pushed up her skirts, baring her legs—calves, knees, thighs. Then higher.
He growled when he uncovered her sex. Fascination kept her gaze on him as he bent close and stroked his fingers through her red curls. He made another sound, low and dark, when he traced her folds and found them swollen and wet.
She couldn’t stop her gasp as he caressed her, discovering where she was most responsive. He looked almost solemn as he circled her bud. Then he brought his mouth onto her.
Strength left her completely, and she had to lie back, her sightless gaze on the leafy canopy overhead while he licked and kissed and stroked her sex. His tongue delved into her, and she cried out in pleasure. He consumed her with unrelenting demand. Sensation filled each part of her, radiating out in golden rays, chasing away thought.
He lifted his head long enough to say huskily, “Touch yourself. Your breasts.”
She could not resist his earthy command. Lifting her hands, she found the points of her nipples and lightly pinched them. She moaned in response.
“Yes,” he rumbled, then put his mouth on her again.
As he lapped at her, he slowly thrust his finger in and out of her passage. Pleasure upon pleasure saturated her. She was spread out, shameless, the boundaries of herself melting away as Kit continued to devour her.
