Page 37 of The Heir
“Ah, Anna,” he whispered before pressing his lips to her cheek and letting them drift to her throat. His mouth was open on her skin, as if he’d consume her or sink his teeth into her flesh. Then he paused and scooped her against his chest, dropping one knee and angling her legs across his thigh.
Anna blinked up at him, her back supported by his one upraised knee.
“None of that,” he scolded. “I can see you preparing to think, Anna Seaton, and this is not a moment for thinking.”
Before she could blink again, his mouth came down on hers in a voluptuously ravenous kiss. His tongue was in her mouth, plundering and demanding and promising. Oh, God, the things his kiss was promising.
His hand slipped down her arm to close around her fingers where they lay limp in her lap. He brought up her hand and put it around his neck, giving her a place to hold on as he gathered her more closely against him. His scent was all around her, and Anna felt heat, not the sweltering summer’s heat but something clean and fiery and new singing through her veins. With it came desire—desire for him and desire for closeness with him. She clung and kissed him back, imitating the thrust and drag of his tongue with her own.
And then his lips were gone, leaving his forehead pressed to hers, his breath fanning against her cheek.
“God, Anna.” He took a slow inhale then breathed out. “Almighty, everlasting God.”
“What?” She felt suddenly unsure, wondering if she’d done something wrong.
“Lie back,” he said, easing her to her back and stretching out on his side beside her. He laced his fingers through hers and squeezed. “I just need to catch my breath.”
But he didn’t catch his breath, instead he frowned down at her, as if trying to puzzle out some frustrating mystery.
“Anna.” His frown deepened. “I want to make love with you.”
“Isn’t that what that was, lovemaking?”
“Let me be blunt: I want to fornicate with you. Urgently.”
“Urgently,” Anna repeated, still perplexed.
“Here.” He took her hand in his and rolled to his back, putting her palm over his very evident erection. “I want you.”
She didn’t pull away as she should have but gently shaped him along his length.
“This does not feel very comfortable,” she said, knowing exactly what was beneath her fingers. She should be repulsed, but with him, she was fascinated.
“If you keep that up,” the earl cautioned, “the urgency will only become greater.”
She did keep it up but rolled to her side to peer at his face.
“And then what?” Anna asked, wanting badly to undo his breeches, knowing she could never manage it.
“I am not a rapist,” the earl said, closing his eyes. “But I will want badly to spend. Very badly.” Anna passed a long, thoughtful moment, stroking at him lazily. His hips began to undulate minutely as she mentally rooted around and tried to find the reasons why she should get up and walk straight into the nice, cold stream.
“What does that mean?” Anna said, using her nails to scratch along the rigid length of him through the fabric.
“Oh, for God’s sake.” He closed his eyes then pushed her hands away. She thought he was going plunge into the stream, or at least get up and stomp away, but instead, he undid the fall of his breeches and shoved them down over his hips then hiked up his shirt to his ribs.
“Please, love.” He took her hand and wrapped it around his erection. “Just bring me off and have done with it.”
To her shock, his hand was moving hers, stroking it along this very odd part of him, while Anna watched, shamelessly inspecting something she hadn’t seen by the light of day at this range ever before. His skin was soft, smooth, and slightly pink, particularly around the head of his penis. The actual length of him, though, was surprisingly thick, rigid, and hot.
“Like that,” he rasped. “Jesus,yes, just like that.”
His hips moved in counterpoint to the way she was stroking him, and his fingers closed more tightly around hers. This had to be hurting him, she thought distractedly, as his back was arched, his jaw clenched, and the muscles of his neck taut.
“God, Anna, don’t stop,” he warned just when she would have said something. “That feels too good… Jesus Christ.” His breath soughed out on a long, groaning sigh as a milky liquid spurted rhythmically over their fingers and onto the bare flesh of his stomach.
His hand went still over hers, but he kept their fingers laced.
“Dear, sweet, merciful God.” He sighed, opening his eyes. “I did not plan for this to happen, Anna. Have we a napkin to hand?”
