Page 32 of Madcap with a Marquess
He realized he was leaning forward, drawn to those breasts, and snapped straight with a growl.
“Because of these?” She worried her lip. “Should I be ashamed of them? Is there something wrong with them?”
“No! Arghh! God, Franny!” he exploded, fisting and yanking on his hair. Frustrated with himself, with her. “They’re… No, that is not what I meant.” He closed his eyes and prayed for patience. He pinned her with a glare. “It is not what well-bred ladies do. Goodness, I don’t think it’s whatanyladies do. Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to behave properly?” Granted, he never would have thoughtwearingclothes would need to be a bloody lesson.
“Female presence was rather lacking…with my mother dying while birthing me and all.” Her hands fell away from her breasts, and she propped them on her hips. “My governesses preached chastity and purity and the whole—” She paused, taking up a faux lecturing stance, shaking her finger, which of course also shook her delightful breasts. “Being a virgin is of utmost importance! Your virtue is your husband’s!”
She shrugged. “But truly they were too busy most of the time looking over their shoulder, not knowing what creature I was going to sneak into their pocket or leave in their bed to teach me much in the way of lessons.”
Her gaze locked on his, and she slowly lifted her hands. Then, in the most torturous manner, she trailed her fingers down her body. And if he weren’t a man starved… His stare devoured their descent, mouth as dry as the dust filling the lodge they stood in.
“I suppose they left out the lesson on…nudity,” she purred.
His growl thundered through the hunting lodge, and she froze. Her eyes stretched wide. She took a hesitant step backward.
Adrenaline pumped through his veins.
Anticipation.
She thought to provoke him? She better be prepared for the repercussions.
“Are you going to try to run away from me, Franny?” His voice was a gentle whisper, but he was going to be anything but gentle with her. She wanted to run around the estate out of control? He would show her out of control.
His lips curled up.
He closed in on her.
16
Franny
Frannywatchedwithwideeyes as Rupert advanced on her, his lips pulled back, teeth bared. In the dim lodge, the only light coming from the grime covered windows, he lookedferal. Her insides melted, puddling between her thighs. Dear Lord, he was a contradiction. Prim and proper…and primitive.
He reached her. One hand wrapped around the side of her neck, and the other palmed her breast. Taking hold of her, control of her. He was always so determined to be in control. In this instance, she was fully a devotee. His hand squeezed lightly on her neck. Her pulse pounded against his palm.
She stared into his dark, barrel-aged whisky eyes. They burned into her, into her belly, as potent as the drink itself. And then she realized something horrifying. She had never kissed her husband.
“Rupert?” she whispered.
“Mmm?” he growled.
“Will you finally kiss me?”
They stood frozen in silence for a breath. And then his mouth crashed down on hers. It was messy. It was unpracticed. It was raw.
It was everything.
She slid her hands up around his neck and shock stole through her as her breasts crushed between them. She gripped his shoulders, and he devoured her—with his mouth, with his hands, with his body.
Her nails dug into him and held on for dear life. His hand at her nape pressed her into him, angling her head and deepening the kiss, lashing with his tongue. Punishing.
He groaned, and the deep untamed sound settled heavily in her core. His free hand roamed her body, up over the curve of her breast, and her body trembled against him. Then it snaked around her back, his fingertips coasting over each indent of her spine until he met up with his other hand and gripped either side of her face. His fingers wrapped around her jaw, pressing into her jawline, into the skin beneath her ears, to the point it ached. Unrelenting.
She slid her tongue against his, trying her utmost to keep up, to keep pace with him. She grasped large fistfuls of his hair, then pulled him close, greedy. She didn’t want to fall behind. She didn’t want to miss a moment.
His hands fell away, now trailing down her sides, highlighting each ridge of her ribs. She shivered. His touch was deliberate. Like he was cataloguing every inch of her. Rupert’s palms slid down to cup her arse, where he squeezed, pulled her closer to him. Melding them together. Demanding. Grinding her against where he was hard. A dance started up in her chest. It wasexhilaratingbeing wanted like this.
He abruptly stepped away, cool air slapping harshly against her naked skin. She could still feel his hands on her, the phantom press of his fingertips digging into her skin. The loss of his heat, his touch, was almost crippling.
