Page 42 of The Lady's Guide to Marrying a Viscount
She shifted her position, wanting to draw his leg between hers, that she might rub herself there and ease the aching need for friction, but he was clearly too impatient for preliminaries. Cupping under her behind, he lifted her.
With her thighs clasped around his waist, her slickness found him and she drew breath sharply, taking the first inches of his shaft. Her moan was guttural as her sheath yielded to the full lengthof his penetration.
Dear God,it felt good.
Inside her again, he was drowning, with no desire to save himself. Whatever she wanted, he would give her.
Her arms were around his neck and her hands in his hair. Her eyes were darker than ever, the pupils fully dilated, leaving only a rim of violet.
He groaned as she clenched her inner muscles, driving her hips forward. Holding her arse firmly, he made her follow a rhythm of his choosing. He was almost there, the sweet release so close.
Her lips skimmed his neck and downward, to the puckered skin of the scar on his shoulder.
“Yes!” she urged, her breath as ragged as his own. “Oh, Mallon! I love you!”
Mallon’s heart was suddenly in a vice. The words she’d spoken were a douse of icy water. A slap in the face. It was not simply the fact that, for the first time, she’d used his given name. She’d made a declaration he’d never thought to hear.
No woman had ever said those words—except his mother. The last time he’d heard them had been the day she’d left him, before she rode away to meet the man she loved more.
Geneviève had known him barely a few days. Only hours ago, she’d planned a rendezvous with Hugo! Now, here she was, bouncing on Mallon’s member like a three-shilling trollop.
Was that all it had taken for her to reel him in, making him forget his loyalty to his nephew? A peep show and a few minutes of her skillful touch?
Not that he should be surprised. Since he’d scuppered her pursuit of Hugo, she’d chosen to apply hercharms to him instead. Scarred and surly he might be, but he was still a catch, of sorts.
It was just the sort of behavior he expected of women. Not only Geneviève but all of them. Love wasn’t an emotion, it was a transaction. For his mother, love had been of dubious import, bendable to the caprice of the moment.
He stopped abruptly, forsaking his hold upon the countess. She clung to him for a moment, her arms about his neck and her thighs clutching his waist, trying to hold on, but then slithered unceremoniously down his body.
Bewildered at finding herself at his feet, Geneviève gazed up, frowning in confusion. She rose to her knees and extended her arm like a supplicant, her face mere inches from his groin. For a brief moment, he wondered if she’d attempt to fellate him—as if her caress would erase the chasm between them.
Mallon staggered back, swept by a wave of abhorrence, though more for himself than for her. Bile rose in his throat. All that talk of having Hugo’s best interests at heart, and how easily he’d been tempted.
Reeling toward the door, Mallon propelled himself through it, slamming the heavy oak behind him.
CHAPTER 19
The night had beenlong and terrible. When no more tears had come, Geneviève tossed in frustration and remorse. She’d taken a gamble, climbing into the bath the maid had drawn for Lord Wulverton, and he’d responded as she’d hoped, as she’d believed he would.
The way he’d kissed her!
And the look in his eyes as he’d entered her body. It was more than lust. She’d felt the depth of his longing.
Still, what had possessed her to say those words, to say she loved him!
Little wonder he’d recoiled in shock. No one fell in love in the space of a few days. Her heart had been soaring and the words had come tumbling out. She’d meant to say she loved how he made her feel...
She ought to be angry. She was angry—but not just with him. She’d gone about things all the wrong way, and risked losing her chance to make him see how good they could be together.
She wanted him to respond to her with the samepassion she felt, and he’d done so with more intensity than she could have imagined but she wanted more than that. She wanted their physical connection to bring them together in other ways. She wanted his respect and his admiration.
And, yes, she wanted his love. Eventually, she would need him to tell her that. She had so much to give, and she deserved everything in return.
Geneviève pressed her face into the pillow. She felt wretched, her emotions tangled beyond recognition, and her head thumping. In fact, it seemed less securely connected than usual, and her throat was sore, alongside the rest of her. At least she wasn’t nursing a broken wrist or ankle from coming off the mare yesterday, but was she coming down with a cold?
There was a knock upon her door.
“Morning, Madam.” The girl set down a breakfast tray and went to draw back the curtains. “We’ll get the last o’ the damp from yer riding habit.” She was already laying out the kindling in the grate.
