Page 91 of What's an Earl Gotta Do?
“Yes,” he replied, his voice guttural.
She gave a shaky laugh. “Then I have good news for you. It’s the reason my hands are shaking, too.”
It was like throwing oil upon a flame. He had no reason to hold back now. He claimed her mouth in a searing kiss as he struggled to pull up her skirts with hands that trembled. He couldn’t get them untangled, and yet the bunched fabric yielded, and Anne settled deeper against him. He realized with a shock of pleasure that she was helping him.
He reached between her legs and found her already slick. She cried out at his touch, and he could tell she was already close. He started rubbing her with his thumb, and—
She was almost thrown from his lap as the hackney jerked to a stop in front of her house. She mewled in protest as Michael withdrew his hand. He all but ripped the door off and climbed out with Anne in his arms.
He set her down just long enough to throw some coin at the driver. It was probably ten times their fare, given the driver’s low whistle and enthusiastic, “Thank you, m’lord!” But Michael could not have possibly cared less. He had already swooped Anne up in his arms and was sprinting up the steps.
Hugh opened the door, and Michael had an impression of the befuddled expression on his face melting into amusement as Michael charged toward the stairs, taking them three at a time.
As soon as Michael crossed the threshold into Anne’s sitting room she kicked her legs free. She looped her arms around his neck and strained up for a kiss, and Michael was right there with her, falling upon her like a starving man. They were tearing at each other’s clothes; he heard a button pop off his jacket and hit the wall. By the time Michael got Anne down to her shift, she had stripped him to the waist.
He moved to sweep her up and carry her through to her bedchamber, but she swatted his hands aside and began struggling with the buttons on the placket of his trousers.
“I need you now, Michael,” she panted.
“Yes. I’ll take you through to the—”
“Now,” she said again, pulling open his trousers and shoving them down. “Right here. Right now. Against this wall, if we have to.”
“Anne,” he said in a strangled voice.
Her face flew to his with wide eyes. “Oh—am I too heavy? Can you not do that?”
He gave her a Look.
She smiled wryly. “Of course you can.” She lifted the hem of her chemise, then jumped up and locked her legs around his waist. He instinctively caught her as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
He struggled to form a coherent sentence as she began kissing his neck. “It’s just—pregnant. You don’t want to get pregnant. And—God, Anne—I—”
“I don’t care. I’ll take the chance. I need you. Right now, Michael.” She attempted to slide down over him.
“I can’t be gentle—”
“I don’t want gentle!”
Her searching attempts to guide his cock to her entrance finally succeeded, and Michael shuddered with pleasure as he slid inside her. He heard a feral groan emerge from his own throat. She was wet and slick and hot and tight and perfect, and more than that, she was alive and she was his, and nothing had ever felt so good.
He swung her around so her back was against the wall, and then he was pounding into her, his last threads of control destroyed. He had no thought but of chasing the climax that was bearing down upon him, but the sensation of Anne’s fingernails digging into his shoulders was able to pierce his lust-filled haze. He glanced down and saw an expression of ecstasy so pure it looked almost like pain crossing her face, and then she was screaming his name as he experienced the delicious sensation of her passage throbbing and trembling and squeezing his cock.
Seeing her climax sent Michael into a frenzy. He wouldn’t have thought he could have thrust faster or harder, but suddenly he was doing it. God, nothing had ever felt this good, he was desperate to find his own peak, he was—
He was interrupted by Anne screaming his name again, another orgasm coming fast on the heels of her first one. Michael made a strangled sound, and then it was his turn to cry out her name, as he was almost blinded by the intensity of his own climax.
He finally stopped with a shudder, still holding Anne aloft, his forehead coming to rest upon the wall just above her head. He was breathing as hard as if he’d sprinted all the way from Lambeth.
Once the room stopped spinning, he smiled at Anne, hoisted her up, and prepared to carry her to the bed, her legs still wrapped around his waist.
He made it exactly one step before he started to trip, as his trousers were down around his knees. His discovery was met with a bright giggle from Anne.
He shifted her onto one of his arms so he could use the other to haul his trousers up but didn’t bother to button them. They were coming off.
“You think that’s funny, do you?” he asked, carrying her into the bedchamber.
“Yes, actually, I do.” Her smile was coy as he laid her down upon the bed.
