Page 75 of The Heir
“Hmm?” She began to suckle him, and he groaned, his hips moving to complement the stroke of her hand.
“I will get even.”
“Shall I stop?” She stilled her hand and brushed his hair back from his forehead. His eyes opened, and she was relieved to see humor in his expression.
“I’m going to use my mouth on you, Anna, and you will scream for me and forget your own name, so much will you like it.”
She frowned at that. He’d been very explicit about this threat before. Thinking about it had kept her awake more than one night.
She met his gaze soberly. “What if I want to use my mouth on you?”
“Come here.” He wrestled her down to his side, wrapped his arms around her, and tucked her close. “When you are with me like this, there is nothing you can ask of me, nothing you can want or do or think that will earn my censure. I would love to feel your mouth on my cock; I would love to take you in any position you can think of. If you wanted to tie me up, blindfold me, paint my cock blue, I would not deny you.”
“Why?”
“I trust you,” he said, and his words left her stunned.
“You shouldn’t,” she replied, her voice small. She felt the impact of her honesty go through him and wondered if she’d destroyed his regard for her in those two little words.
“Why shouldn’t I?” His question came slowly, in the same tempo as his hand moving over her body.
“Because I will disappoint you, and then you will feel ashamed and angry, and so will I,” she said against his neck. She shifted to straddle him and felt his arms go around her when she curled down onto his chest.
“You will disappoint me in bed?” he asked, his tone tentative.
“Probably there, too,” she replied, pressing her nose to his sternum.
“You still think you’re leaving me,” the earl concluded, his hands stroking along her spine.
“I know I am,” she said more firmly, teething his nipple for emphasis. There, she’d said it; she’d been as honest as she could be.
“Because you will not marry me, and so you must take your virtuous self off when you’ve endured the requisite dose of my importuning.”
Anna rose up and surveyed him balefully. “I did not say I enjoyed an entirely consistent position, nor one that makes sense in all circumstances, but I can’t marry you.”
“Cannot or will not?” the earl asked, catching her eye and holding it.
“Cannot. Absolutely cannot. Ever.”
But she also could not stop toying with his nipples.
“If you could choose, Anna”—he reached down and tugged gently on one of her nipples in retaliation—“what would you choose? This duty that confidentially holds you, or the alternative?”
“You.” She leaned up and kissed him. “Were I free to do so, I’d chooseyou.”
Not marriage, not freedom, not the title, not security. She would choose him. Her kiss, when she brushed her lips over his again, was different, sweet, wistful, but also the kiss of a woman who felt deeply about the man with her.
She would choosehim. She could tell him that—give him that.
Anna peered up at him. “Earlier, you said—”
“I say a lot of things.” He smiled at her, and to Anna, the expression was tender, a little like the way he looked at Her Grace.
“You said…” She looked abruptly away, flummoxed to find she was still capable of shyness when she was naked, straddling his rigid cock. “You said you would love to feel my mouth on your… on you.”
“I did.” His hands went still. “I would.”
“How does one do this?” she asked, a blush rising over her for him to see. But to her relief he didn’t tease, he didn’t remark on it, he just waited until she was facing him again.
