Page 64 of The Mad Baron's Bride
“I do,” she mewled. “Ido.”
He lifted his thigh, pressing against her. “Then ride me. Take your pleasure. Use me, beautiful Leda.”
“But I don’t—we’re?—”
“Take it.” Takeme, he wanted to beg. If he could bring her to peak, make her climax, if she could have pleasure because of him, it would mean everything. He tossed aside her muslin skirts and gripped her knee, covered in a silk stocking. “I’m going to touch you here.”
“Oh,” she gasped, nudging her hips toward him as he swirled his tongue around her nipple.
“And here.” He slid his hand up her thigh, past the edge of her stocking, over her garter, to the sweet, firm flesh, hot and smooth as cream. He stroked his way to her inner thigh, pressing against the smooth fabric of his pantaloons, so thin a barrier between them.
Her entire body shuddered. “Oh.”
He paused and caught her eyes, pools of violet shadow, hazy with desire. For him. “Shall I stop?”
“No,” she whispered.
“I want to make you come,” he rasped. “Just like this.”
She closed her eyes as he bent again to her breasts. She shivered as he traced a path over the damp flesh, pinkened from his mouth. He’d found now what she liked and pulled her into his mouth, sucking and licking. She squirmed, allowing his hand to move up her thigh. Her skin was so warm and in a moment he found the soft curls, damp with need. His cock swelled in his pantaloons, reaching for her, for this heaven.
He didn’t know a woman’s body. She would perceive that and pull away. But as he slid his fingers over the unfamiliar flesh, moist and slick and hot, she inched her hips until she settled a tight bud of heat against his finger. The catch of breath in her throat, her moan almost near despair, told him he had found the key.
“Take what you want. Use me, Leda. Find your pleasure.”With me. Because of me. In my arms, and no one else’s.
She bit her lips and dug her fingers into the muscle of his shoulder. Then she began to rock against his hand.
Her ecstasy was beautiful to behold. She shivered as she strove, bucking against him, writhing her back and rolling her hips. Moisture pearled on his finger. His groin throbbed with an ache of pain and he wondered if he would come too, just from the feel of her, the taste of her flesh, his hand buried at the core of her, the scent of her arousal, rich and sweet, and her wild, keening moans. He rubbed his finger against her secret pearl and she dug in her nails.
“Like that,” she whispered. “Just that.”
He wanted to watch her forever, relish her wild seeking, but all of a sudden she went stiff, head thrown back, her entire body quivering, and he felt it in his hand, the tremor of her release. She gave a soft, quiet moan and he watched her face as the sweetness of her climax suffused her. His body throbbed in tune with hers, his breath harsh and rasping to match her soft pants. She dropped her chin to press her forehead to his asshe calmed, and he simply held her, clamping down on his own need, enjoying the wonder, the primal triumph he felt.
“What,” she whispered, her breath on his cheek, “happenedto me?”
He grinned. He wanted to shake his fists and roar, but that would mean letting go of her, his soft, beautiful, pleasured woman. “You never came with your husband?”
“Not even close.”
“But you can bring yourself—surely?” She’d known how to fit herself against him. She’d known the rhythm she liked.
“Not like that,” she said, the words barely a whisper, but they raised a shiver on his skin. “That was—you.”
He wasn’t less than a man, then. He could please a woman. Even if he had offered nothing more than his body to use, she waswithhim. He felt the tendrils sinking into him like weights on a fisherman’s net clawing into the sand. She belonged to him now.
A hesitant, ponderous knock sounded at the door, Henry’s knock, then May’s anxious voice behind it. “Milord, are you badly? We’ve the fricassee of chickens here, and the trifle coming directly.”
Leda uttered a curse and slid off his lap, skirts trailing. He missed her heat at once. With swift hands she yanked up her stays and the bodice of her gown as she slid into her seat. With two vicious yanks she stabbed her loose locks of hair back into their pins.
“You may enter,” Jack called when she had hid the evidence of their tryst, all but the radiant flush of her skin. “We needed a moment. Mrs. Wroth had a—confidence to share.”
The door opened and the servants came in, glancing between the two of them, and Jack knew his grin surely told them more than they needed to know. Leda began a conversation, sharing a whimsical tale Mrs. Styleman had told her about the rug in theparlor of Hunstanton Hall and her mother-in-law’s attachment to it. Jack listened and made the appropriate remarks, aware of the throb in his body, the flush of her skin, the memory of her trembling beneath his mouth and hands. He wanted to be alone with her again, as soon as possible.
All at once it didn’t matter that he had another mouth to feed in his household, when he so desperately needed to repair his income. It didn't matter that all Norfolk and his fellows in the House of Lords thought of him as the Mad Baron. It didn’t matter, right now, if whispers still ran that he’d pushed his wife off the cliff. Leda Wroth had found pleasure with him, and all that mattered now was that she not leave him.
She couldn’t abandon him. Not now, not after he’d tasted her. He’d never be able to let her go.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
