Page 35 of The Earl Takes All
The glass in his hand was in danger of breaking with the exertion he was placing on it. It was a risk, but he had to ask. “If you wanted to do this before, why didn’t you?”
“Because I didn’t think you’d approve of my boldness. But then this evening, when I feared something had happened to you, that I might lose you, I realized how silly I’d been.”
Turning slightly until he could see her, he said, “Julia, I’ve always liked my women bold.”
Her brow furrowed slightly. “I thought you wanted me prim and proper, a countess above reproach.”
“I want you to be however you are. You don’t have to pretend with me.” The irony of his words didn’t escape him since he was pretending with her. And he hated it. Hated that he couldn’t yet tell her the truth. Only a few more weeks. He could hold onto the ruse a bit longer, but there was no reason for her to be anyone other than who she was. He didn’t like considering that perhaps his brother had caused her to hold her passions in check. He’d have not done it on purpose, but of all the hellions, Albert had been the most upstanding, avoiding Society’s censure while the others embraced it.
She scooted around until he could see her more clearly. With the pads of her palms she began creating small circles over his shoulders, carrying them down his arms, back up, her eyes focused on the movements of her hands rather than on his face.
“I’ve missed the intimacy,” she murmured so low that he nearly didn’t hear her.
“We agreed that for the sake of the child—”
“Yes, I know,” she cut in, lifting her gaze to his, “but that doesn’t extinguish the want, does it.” A statement, not a question.
He should banish her now, announce that he was ready to dress, but her eyes, her voice, held such raw need, he could no more dismiss her words than he could dismiss her. “No, it doesn’t.”
His words rang with far too much truth.
Her hand slowly dipped below the surface of the water, closed around him, her lips curving into a slow, sensual smile, no doubt because she’d discovered him hard and ready. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, stilling her. “Julia—”
“Please, let me do this for you,” she rasped with such longing that everything in him tightened with unbearable need.
“I’m not in the habit of receiving without giving.” Dear God, the words were out before he’d given them any thought. How could he think when she was tempting him so? He could only hope that he hadn’t revealed himself, that she wasn’t going to call him a liar.
“One of your unspoken rules, no doubt, but rules are meant to be broken. It would give me so much pleasure to break this one.”
“The pleasure would be all mine, Julia.”
She shook her head. “No, it wouldn’t. I promise I would take equal delight from watching you. It’s been so, so long. Allow me to grant you release. Please.”
She would despise him when she learned the truth, but how could he deny her what she so obviously yearned for without causing her to doubt her husband’s attraction for her, his love of her? When weighed against what the future held, all that mattered was this moment, ensuring that she was happy, that she was secure in her belief that her husbands’ regard for her had not changed.
Slowly, he relaxed his fingers, lifted his hand to her cheek, not caring that water dripped onto her gown. He brought her nearer, settling his mouth over hers. Her lips parted on a quiet sigh, his tongue stroked hers with the same determination that she caressed him. He brought up his other hand, cradling her face, not bothering to keep his passions in check, falling into the depths of sensations that she created so masterfully.
She was correct. It had been so long, too long. While he wanted her out of the blasted gown, wanted his hands gliding over every inch of her, he kept them where they were—knowing it was imperative that he lessen her regrets. Oh, but it was difficult when she sighed so softly, when his body was betraying him, when she was so very skilled—
He trailed his mouth along her neck, dipped his tongue in the hollow at her throat. “Jules, dear God, Jules.”
“Shall I stop?” Her voice seemed to come from far away, another world, another sphere.
“Not unless you want me to die.”
She nipped at his chin, took his right lobe between her teeth, worried it for a bit before pressing her mouth to his ear. He could feel the heat, the moisture—
“I love your hot cock straining against my hand,” she murmured in a low, throaty voice.
Christ! He nearly reacted, nearly exploded then and there, but he caught himself just in time, recalling Albert’s bad hearing in one ear. Right ear. Deaf ear. She thought he couldn’t hear her words. How was a man not supposed to react to that? He was a bloody saint.
Hungrily, he took her mouth, craving as much intimacy as he could allow without being eaten by guilt. But it would come later. He knew it would. But for now, for this moment, he was lost in the sensations she brought to life with deft fingers and wicked palms and naughty suggestions. Her other hand journeyed over him as though she were an explorer who had discovered a lost continent and needed to map out every trail, every valley, every rise.
His body bucked with the force of the orgasm slamming into him. His groan was feral and deep, even as his mouth remained latched onto hers, swallowing her soft moan, her triumphant cry. He very nearly dragged her into the copper tub with him.
Instead, breathing heavily, he pressed his forehead to hers. “Damn you.”
Her laughter was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. Leaning back, she cradled his face. How could she look so blasted innocent, so sweet, when she uttered such naughty words about his cock? And he had to carry on as though he hadn’t heard them when they were in fact burned into his brain and being repeated like a favorite ditty.
