Page 42 of A Devilish Element
Jem lowered his gaze, his capitulation already a given. “Similar, yes.”
“Let me kiss it better for you. How awful for you to have been so assaulted. Bell must be made to keep a close guard on his pets.” Dry lips pressed to the mark Eliza had left on Jem’s neck. Then Linfield’s prick was brought back onto a level with Jem’s head. “Do the same for me, eh, my love?”
“Your valet’s about to arrive.”
“Aye, and if my knob’s not being well petted by that point, Miss Wakefield will be the biggest social pariah of the decade.”
There was nothing Jem could do but open his mouth.
~?~
Being forced to fellate a man with more funds than sense ought to have made Jem bloody irate, and it did, but it also turned out that his cock rather liked him being coerced. He could tell himself all he liked that it was the fact he was sparing Eliza future ignominy that made the act palatable, but a maggot in his core said otherwise.
“Jamie, Jamie, the man with a saint’s name and the same willingness to serve his lord.” Linfield pulled him in close so that Jem’s nose butted up against his silken mat. It sent a shot of arousal right down through his pleasure centres. “Take up your cudgel, Jem. Let me see you soap it while you swallow.”
They were past the point of resistance. He did as instructed, minus the soap, so that he was soon groaning around the wedge in his throat and drooling saliva over his chin.
“You’re so good at that, Jamie. So, good.” Linfield stroked one hand along the line of his jaw, the other remained fast upon the back of Jem’s head. “Take it like a good boy, that’s it. That’s the man I know. The one who lives for something other than maths and verb forms. You realise you’ll never be able to do this for her.”
He didn’t want to think of Eliza right now.
It was too late, of course. There was no way of untangling his passion for her from his relationship with Linfield. His lordship’s ramblings were making sure of it. He did not seem to grasp that there were great gaping holes in his logic.
“What will you do when you’re desperate for a prick in your arse, eh? Tell me that, Jem. You’re never going to stop wanting it.”
What would he do?
His mind provided a bright clear vision of Eliza naked on her hands and knees behind him, her tongue tip tickling his arse without an ounce of shame.
He did not share his vision with Linfield, but greedily kept it all for himself just as he’d stowed several other precious memories. Eliza as she had been last summer, in her sprigged summer muslin, brimming with life and knowledge, the most enchanting being he’d ever encountered. So, alive. So, engaged. Her thoughts outpacing his. The day was bright and fragrant. They were in Lord Marlinscar’s garden. And his guests’ voices formed a constant murmur on the breeze. They hadn’t deliberately meandered away from the party. There was nothing salacious about it. They’d simply been so deep in conversation that their environs had lost all meaning.
She’d been telling him of her home, of the people who depended on her, the babies due to arrive, and all the things she would do if she owned an estate as large as Lauwine. He’d spoken of Stags Fell and growing up there, which had inevitably lead them to the topic of high-pressure engines, the possibilities that would open from the development of steam locomotion, and all the other riddles of the world that mathematics could be used to solve.
It was entirely accidental that they’d ended up in the middle of the hedge maze. Having reached that dead end, she’d turned and faced him. The breeze had tugged a few curls of her hair loose, so that they framed her face, and her eyes were full of delight over his scientific explanations. Every other woman he’d ever conversed with on such topics, except for his cousin Bertie, had only had yawns for him. He hadn’t planned to do it, it just happened. He’d reached out a hand, cupped the side of her face, and she’d leaned into him, lips parted. The warmth of her breath touched him first, sent a rush of heat through his body, that only increased when true contact was made.
She was perfect and giving, and her presence filled the whole of his mind. He wanted to crush her closer, peel away the layers of their clothing and throw off the civility along with each item until all that was left was the raw, unfiltered versions of themselves.
Her mouth was a revelation. Her scent enthralled him. His heart was racing.
“Jem.” Her hand pressed against his sternum, creating a degree of space between them. There was a small V of concern between her brows.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”
“It’s not that.”
She flicked a glance over his shoulder, which he followed, to find Joshua Rushdale standing in the entrance of the maze’s central folly.
Joshua had spoken to him of Eliza. He was every bit as enamoured of her as Jem. They hadn’t sworn a truce, but he still winced at the hurt he saw reflected in his friend’s eyes.
“My apologies, I didn’t realise.” Joshua bowed his head then the interior darkness of the building swallowed him up.
“Shit!” Jem had hissed and followed it with an apology. “I should speak to him.”
Eliza again stayed him with the press of her hand. “Actually, I think I should speak to him.”
The world felt cold without the warmth of her body fitted against him. He’d worn a groove into the flagstones, then followed her within. Whatever speech had happened between them had obviously been uneasy. He arrived at the tail end of a sentence.
“—assumed, when I should not have done so. You’d given me no reason to think—.”
