Page 26 of Madcap with a Marquess
Well, she would tell him what she thought of that.
She spun around, swung the door open, marched in.
And promptly faltered.
All reasons for charging into his room dissipated like a breath on a cold night.Oh dear. This was a very nice view. Rupert on his bed, one hand fisted in creamy white sheets, the other fisted around—her breath got stuck somewhere in her lungs.
Very.
Nice.
View.
She couldn’t look away. He stroked himself, the muscles in his thighs flexing with each pass, his abdomen tightening, his neck straining. He dragged his hand down his cock before coming back up, picking up speed. She hadn’t had the luxury of studying it on their wedding night. He had fallen onto her like he was a dog and she his bone. Had that really fit inside her? No wonder it had bloody hurt. But she knew it got better. Her readings promised untold pleasure. She wanted that.
And she wanted Rupert. She didn’t understand it. She didn’t even like the exasperating man. He’d been a thorn in her side since the day they met. But oh dear, her bodywantedhim. Her heart fluttered in her chest. Whispering that perhaps it wasn’t just her body.
She swallowed, her tongue heavy in her mouth. She was transfixed. Every glide from root to tip built a heady pulse between her legs. She desperately wanted to touch it. Taste it. Be filled with it. Lord, where had all the air in the room gone?
Rupert's jaw went slack, his hips pushing up into his hand as he fisted downwards, a low moan leaving him.
Then he groaned one word.
And Franny was completely unable to breathe.
Had that been her name?
He thrust harder into his fist, the muscles of his arse bunching and releasing. And then he said it again. A shiver danced down her spine—at the rough, ragged rasp.Definitelyher name. Her gaze flew to his face, contorted in a grimace, eyes shut tight.
He thought of her. While he touched himself. Heat flooded her core, the intense pulsing too much for her to ignore. She stepped back and carefully closed the door until only half a foot of space remained.
He thought he was going to frig himself to thoughts ofher? She rucked up her nightdress, fumbling in her haste. Well, then she would touchherselfwhile watchinghim. Cool air whispered over her legs, and her fingers delved between her thighs. Her eyelids dropped shut, eyes rolling back. Her fingers flew over her soaked, swollen skin.
A deep groan reverberated through the bedchamber and shot straight between her legs. Her eyes flew open and locked on Rupert’s fist as it shuttled over his cock, his labored breathing filling the room, drowning out hers.
“God,” he moaned, his fist picking up speed, his feet pressing into the bed, hips slamming into his hand. “Franny.”
The pads of her fingers circled over where she was most sensitive, slipping in her slickness, pleasure streaking through her, so hot it burned. She bit her lip, imagining herself beneath him, his hips slamming into her, his cock driving into her. Like last night. Filling the aching emptiness inside of her. Twenty years of emptiness.
Rough exhalations and grunts came from the bed.
Images sped through her mind. Him gripping her. Bruising. Marking. Biting. Her breath hitched.
A curse filled the room as Rupert’s entire body went rigid, a long, deep moan pulling from him.
It was too much. It wasn’t enough. Her fingers circled faster, pressed harder, core coiling to a breaking point. And then the pleasure broke, flying over her, inside her, and it took everything in her power to keep from calling out.
She rested her head against the door frame, body bowed over itself, trembling and panting heavily. She slid her hand out from between her thighs and dropped her skirts. The skim of the fabric over her legs had her over-sensitive nerves tingling.
She soundlessly shut the door. The night hadn’t gone anywhere close to how she would have wanted it to. But she had hope. Rupert wanted her. She just had to figure out why he was putting up barriers. And break them down.
If Franny was good at anything, it was destruction.
14
Franny
Frannyambleddownthepebbled lane, a heavy basket full of supplies for the tenants weighing down more than her arm. Her nerves were dragging her feet. She had left the manor determined and bounded straight to the awaiting carriage that would bring her to the small tenant’s village on the Rutledge estate.
