Page 36 of An Earl Like You
But this time... he was her betrothed husband. There was no way Papa would refuse his suit, which meant they would be married soon. Eliza was head over heels in love, and when his lips touched her breast, every sensible, restrained thought in her head went up in smoke.
With a sudden motion, he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the chaise. Eliza hid her face against his shoulder, embarrassed by how sharply her body throbbed in want, but he set her down gently against a pile of pillows as he laid her back.
“My darling,” he whispered, his lips on her throat. “Soon to be my wife.” Eliza shuddered at that word,wife. Hastings’s hand tugged at the back of her dress—undoing the buttons, she realized with thrilled disbelief. He wanted her. He eased the front of her bodice down, and Eliza yanked her arms free of the sleeves, suddenly desperate for his touch, his kiss, his mouth on her everywhere. His teeth flashed in a roguish grin, and he tugged the dress farther down, then her shift. His expression grew taut and fierce as he looked at her. “Mine,” he said quietly. “Mine, to have and to hold.” He cupped one hand reverently around her breast.
Eliza made a stifled choking noise. Hastings laughed under his breath and lowered his head. His tongue was soft and hot, and she arched off the chaise when it traced her bared nipple.
“Better than jam,” he whispered, peering up at her through the dark curls falling forward across his brow. Eliza trembled, that this beautiful, wonderful man wanted her, and without a word she clasped his head to her bosom. His hands closed on her ribs and his weight came to rest on her, and then he began to suckle.
She bucked in astonishment, but he held her, helpless beneath the pull of his mouth. Tears wet her lashes and still he tasted her, first one side, then the other, until her breasts felt tender and swollen, sensitive to the slightest touch.
“Eliza,” he breathed, catching her nipple between his teeth for a moment. “I want you so desperately. I think I’ve gone mad for you...” Her legs had fallen apart when she sprawled backward on the chaise, and now she felt, with a shock, his hand come to rest between her thighs, right where she felt the most insistent ache of all. “I want to drive you mad for me.” Slowly his fingers stirred, pressing between her legs. Eliza gulped for air. “Do you want me, too, darling?” Back and forth his hand went, making her shake with each pass.
“Shouldn’t you—don’t you—my father,” she panted, trying to make sense.
“He gave me his blessing already,” Hastings whispered, his tongue flicking over her breast again. “Yours is the only desire that matters now...” Somehow his hand had got under her skirt, gliding over her knee and pausing to tug loose her garter.
A great buzzing filled her head. Never had she felt such a deep, desperate craving for someone. It seemed as though she might die without his touch. When his hand slipped up her thigh, she widened her legs without thought. When his fingers brushed the curls that covered her there, her back arched and she pressed into his touch. And when she felt the satisfied hiss of his breath against her bare bosom, she only gripped his head tighter to herself and stopped thinking of anything but him.
Her skirts were bunched at her waist now. He stroked his palm between her legs, making her flinch. “So soft,” he said, sounding enthralled. “And so wet... you want me, don’t you?”
He wanted to make love to her. Eliza had almost given up hope of being the object of any man’s desire, let alone a man as wonderful as this one. “Yes,” she gasped. “I do want you. Please.”
“I warned you the other day...” His finger stroked delicately through the curls on her mound, lower and lower until he paused. “If you ever begged me, I would take you and make you mine. Here. Like this.” Ever so slowly, he pressed that finger inside her.
Eliza’s thoughts scattered. He was inside her. Not the male part of him, but he could feel how wet she had grown, just from listening to him say he wanted her. She had asked a lot of questions; the fact that her body was wet and slick meant she was ready for a man, hungry for a man. Belinda Reeve had told her women could feel that way for the wrong man, but this—this wasHastings, who was going to marry her. Hastings, who was everything she’d ever dreamed of. Hastings, with whom she’d fallen madly in love. “Yes,” she managed to say, “I’m yours.”
He raised his eyes to hers. “Yes?”
Somehow she nodded. “Yes.Please.”
His mouth curved in a languid, wicked smile. His finger stroked deeper. Eliza writhed against the storm he built inside her. At some point he moved, sliding between her knees, now spread wide in wanton abandon. He nipped at her mouth. “They say this might hurt.”
Her heart nearly burst with love at this tender concern. She put her hands on his jaw and smiled. “I don’t care, my love.”
His eyes flashed. He rose above her, and she felt him pressing against that aching center of herself. He flexed his spine and pushed hard. Eliza gave a startled squeak, jolted out of her daze of passion by the pain. “Shh,” he murmured soothingly and pushed again, until she thought she might be torn apart.
He inhaled deeply, his hands tightening on her. He opened his eyes, dark and hot with passion, and said, “That’s the worst.”
“Is it all?” The throbbing was one hundred times worse, and no longer pleasant. She tried to move away, and he said something profane under his breath, holding her in place.
“Not nearly.” He pulled back and pushed forward again. Eliza mewed in discomfort, but he kissed her and she forgot it. Again he moved, back and forth, until her hips moved against his on instinct. It still stung and ached, but oh—not really pain, not quite pleasure—she twisted against him, clinging to his shoulders, trying to take satisfaction from the very obvious thrill he felt. His face was dark, almost savage; his eyes glowed like coals. He hiked her knees around his waist, sliding deeper into her in the process.
“How beautiful you are,” he whispered raggedly. “Here.” He pulled back and pushed forward again.
“How?” She felt feverish and stupid, unable to sort out his meaning.
He bared his teeth in a hungry grin, then took her hand and sucked her fingers into his mouth. He slowed and stopped moving, then placed her hand, her fingers laced with his, under her bunched-up skirt, right on the place where their bodies joined. “Touch,” he said, his voice almost unrecognizable. “Feel how perfectly we fit together.” He shoved up her skirt and pushed himself upright to watch as she tentatively swirled her fingers around.
Good heavens. He felt enormous, buried inside her. Eliza’s hand began to tremble as her fingers slid around his thickness. Enormous, but... good. He pulled back and thrust deep again, sliding between her fingers until they were wet with the proof of their desire for each other.
“Eliza.” The word was almost a command, harsh and urgent. He was holding himself stiffly above her.
Gingerly she touched herself, on the tiny pulse throbbing right above where he entered her. A jolt of sensation rocked her, and it felt as if all her muscles tightened. Hastings growled, his hips jerking. Eliza circled her finger again, watching his face all the while. Every time she felt a quickening in her belly, he seemed to swell even larger within her, and the tension in his face grew tauter. His arms were trembling beside her, but he did not move, letting her explore.
Eventually, though, his hips surged against hers. Eliza felt wild; she spread her legs wider and gripped her skirts in one hand. Hastings added his fingers to hers, stroking her firmly as he moved inside her. He bent his head and caught her nipple between his teeth, just sharply enough to make her writhe and cry out. Her muscles hurt; her bones were melting. She gazed in dumb adoration at the earl, her love, her lover, her husband-to-be, and then—
Everything went still, and dark, and white-hot with pleasure. A second later her senses roared back, ten times keener than before, and she felt the tears run down her face as she reached for Hastings. He thrust hard into her, his face dark and fierce, once more before he exhaled in a gust. Eyes closed and breathing hard, he rested his forehead on her bare bosom.
