Page 89 of When the Marquess Was Mine
His hands and mouth moved over her until she couldn’t tell which way was up. He seemed bent on kissing every inch of her, rolling down her stockings with maddening slowness before smoothing his hands, hot and strong and sure, over the skin he’d just kissed.
And then, when he spread her thighs, he found the source of her aching hunger. She nearly screamed at the first touch, and then she could barely breathe as his hand settled over her, his fingers teasing her, inside her, wringing her entire body into a taut, shivering mess until she simply disintegrated.
Dimly she knew she had started sobbing, begging him, reaching for him, wanting him closer. It seemed as though she might burst without his body anchoring her. He resisted, his wicked mouth blazing a path over her hipbones, her stomach, her breastbone, lavishing attention on each breast before reaching her mouth. His tongue tangled with hers and his weight settled over her. Unabashedly she threw her arms around him and curled her legs around his.
He pushed himself up on one arm and hiked her knees around his waist. He stroked her once more between her legs, sending another delicious shudder through her. “With this act,” he said, moving against her, “I take thee to my wife.” Georgiana inhaled as he pressed inside her. That hot, throbbing feeling turned sharp, exquisitely sensitive and full. He pushed forward until she had to widen her legs and his hips were tight against hers. “With my body, I thee worship,” he went on in a guttural whisper. He pulled back, and she reached for him with an inarticulate protest. As she pulled him to her for a desperate kiss, he surged forward and she rose to meet him on pure primal instinct.
It was a kiss without end. His free hand wandered up and down, cupping her breast, stroking her stomach, smoothing the hair from her neck so he could cradle her skull in his palm. The blood seemed to be singing in her veins, warming her from the inside out with joy. She held on to him and rose to meet his every thrust, reveling in the joining of their bodies.
He tore his mouth away and rested his forehead against hers. His eyes closed and his face pulled tight in a grimace, and then he reared up above her, his arm shaking this time. “I want to feel you climax.” His eyes glittered beneath half-lowered lids, and he smoothed that free hand down her stomach. “Spread your legs wide,” he growled.
Twined around him, Georgiana could barely understand what he meant. He was still inside her, still on top of her, and even though she felt that primitive pulse in her blood, she had no idea what he meant to do now.
Rob reached around his back and unhooked her leg, spreading it to the side. He licked his thumb and trailed his fingertips down her belly, making her shudder. “Like this,” he breathed, and he touched her.
Georgiana sucked in so hard she almost saw stars; her back bowed and her hands fisted in the linens as he stroked her, delicately, firmly, relentlessly. He’d given her a climax, she thought she knew what it was, but this was harder, brighter, hotter—
It made her shake. She forced open her eyes and watched the fierce smile on Rob’s face dissolve into something like rapture. He moved against her once more and went still, his arms taut as iron.
She had no idea how much time passed. When she opened her eyes again his head hung down, his dark hair damp with sweat. His chest heaved, and she saw with some alarm marks on his chest and arms. Just as she realized thatshemust have left those marks, scoring him with her fingernails, he raised his head and looked at her. “Till death do us part,” he said in a ragged voice.
Georgiana managed a shaky laugh. “I think you left out some lines.”
His lips curved into a lazy, sensual smile. “I’ll get it right next time.” He lowered himself to kiss her, then rolled them both over. She had no protest; her muscles had melted, and she could have lain there forever, listening to his heart.
At some point he sat up and drew the blanket over them, settling onto his back. She stretched out against his side, thrilling when his arm tightened, pulling her closer. He was beautiful, and he was hers. In wonder she ran one hand over his chest, slowing at the ridges of scars.
Her brain, against her wishes, kept remembering images of how battered he’d been. “I’m glad this healed,” she whispered, touching the spots where he’d been bruised and bloody.
“Entirely due to the high quality of devoted care I received, no doubt.”
“I wasn’t sure you would survive it.” She gave a sharp shake of her head. “Everywhere I looked, there was blood...”
He canted his head to see her face. “And still you stayed.”
“What choice did I have?” She wiggled one shoulder. “I’d already told Kitty you were my fiancé, and I was terrified you’d wake and tell her you were not, and also, by the by, you were the new owner of Osbourne House and would she please pack up and leave?”
“That would have been a very rude thing to do.”
In spite of herself, she smiled. “Appallingly! You were deeply in her debt, merely for the amount of laundry created.”
A silent laugh rumbled through him. “So practical!”
“Of course! I was stained red from top to bottom.”
“You could have told Angus to do it.”
She made a face of indignation. “I was supposedly violently in love with you. I could hardly hide in my room and let someone else wash you clean.”
“Well now.” Interest warmed his tone. “Violently in love?”
“I am now,” she said, swirling her fingertips over his abdomen and marveling at the flex of muscle beneath his skin.
“Thank God. And you were the one who stripped all that bloody clothing off?”
“Yes—”
“And tenderly bathed my naked body?”
