Page 73 of What's an Earl Gotta Do?
That did sound… tempting. Very tempting, especially when he increased the pace at which his finger was swirling over that little rosebud between her legs. Oh, that felt good, that felt divine, and suddenly she was right on the brink of climaxing, right there in the hackney carriage.
Much to Anne’s regret, that was when the carriage drew to a stop in front of her house. Michael pulled her skirts down and hastily set her on the seat next to him just before the driver opened the door. Anne wasn’t sure if her legs were going to hold her as she climbed out of the hack, but somehow they did, and the next thing she knew, she was alone with Michael on the pavement.
“Well?” he asked, his eyes bright. The stress of the day—their fight, the murder of Mr. Smithers, the many revelations Michael had thrust upon her, the uncertainty that plagued their future—had all melted away, and he looked boyish and happy.
She made her decision. “Come inside,” she said, taking his hand.
Chapter 26
Michael knew he was grinning stupidly as Anne towed him through the front door of her town house.
Frankly, he didn’t care. Nothing was going to wipe that stupid grin off his face.
Hugh, who opened the door, tried to keep a straight face. He succeeded for all of two seconds. “Good evening m’lady. Lord Morsley,” he said with a bow.
They proceeded to Anne’s rooms. Out in the hall, Michael made a show of examining the lock. “What are you doing?” Anne asked.
“Seeing if I can pick this in case you lock me out again. I’m not sure that I can, but no matter. Next time I’ll just ram the door.”
“That will make a fine show for the household staff,” Anne said, removing her cap and placing it on her dressing table. “The housemaids were distressed to hear that the gorgeous Lord Morsley was naked in the hallway, and they all contrived to miss it.”
He closed the door and turned the key. “How sad for the housemaids, because there won’t be a repeat performance.”
“That depends on whether or not you can stay in my good graces,” Anne said as she pulled pins from her hair.
Michael crossed the room in three swift steps, caught her around the waist, and pulled her body flush against his. “After what I’m about to do to you, my darling Anne, I guarantee that I am going to be in the very best of your graces.” He reached around and began undoing the ties of her dress.
“You sound very confident in yourself.”
“I am.” He shoved her dress to the floor and began working on her stays. “Nothing gives a man as much confidence as the knowledge that he made his lady love climax ten times the previous evening.”
She flushed very prettily. “Was it ten times? Who was counting, anyways?”
“I was counting, and it most certainly was ten. Possibly your neighbors were counting as well, given how loudly you were screaming my name. Let’s see if we can improve upon that tonight.” He lowered his head to hers for a kiss.
She immediately melted against his chest. God, he loved it when she did that.
He tossed her stays to the floor and took a moment to enjoy the sight of Anne wearing nothing but her chemise. She managed to look sweet and seductive in equal measures in the whisper-thin white muslin. Reaching for the ribbon gather at the neckline, he noticed that the embroidered decoration was in the pattern of strawberries. That made him smile.
As much as he liked the strawberries, they had to go. He pulled the chemise over her head, leaving Anne wearing nothing but her silk stockings and garters. Those, he decided, could stay. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed, where he lay her gently down. He quickly divested himself of everything but his trousers and lay down beside her.
She immediately began stroking his chest. Her face held a touch of embarrassment, as if she weren’t sure whether she was supposed to be touching him, but with a strong undercurrent of awe as she gazed at his chest. Would that he could somehow go back in time and tell his skinny-as-a-broomstick-handle, spotty-faced fourteen-year-old self that one day his beloved Anne was going to be lying naked before him, stroking his bare chest with that expression on her face. Without question, this would have been the best news fourteen-year-old Michael had ever heard.
He began kissing her again and running his hands up and down her front, and in short order she was squirming and purring for him again. He rolled a nipple between his thumb and index finger and was gratified when she arched her back in pleasure, her legs falling open.
That seemed like an excellent suggestion, so, as he took a nipple into his mouth, he stroked his hand down over her stomach, then lower to part her folds. She was wet, which he loved, and as soon as his hand made contact with her little rosebud, she groaned with pleasure.
“Ooooh, Michael! Yes! Right there—oh, that feels so good!”
He played with her for a few minutes, lavishing attention on one breast then the other, keeping his hand between her legs deliberately gentle. Every time she scooted her hips forward, he would subtly retreat, keeping his strokes soft and teasing.
After a few minutes, she realized what he was doing. “Michael!” she mewled in protest.
“Yes, darling?”
“You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Doing what on purpose?”
