Page 91 of The Earl Takes All
With a laugh, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, buried her face in the curve of his neck and began to press kisses there, tasting the saltiness of his skin. She wanted him with an unyielding fierceness that terrified and excited her. He made her feel alive, no longer numb.
When they arrived at her bedchamber, it was much as it had been before—with clothes being removed in a mad rush, abandoned to the floor. Only it was different. He was a different man, a man she’d never been with completely, and yet she felt none of the awkwardness, none of the doubt that had characterized her wedding night. Perhaps because she was no longer an innocent. Perhaps because she’d been with him as intimately as one could be without being joined.
When he shucked his trousers, she reached out and touched the scar at his hip. He froze. “You didn’t get this in Africa, did you?”
“No. The Orient. Some years back.”
There was still so much to learn about him, but so much that she already knew. Stepping forward, she pressed her body to his, stroked her hands over his broad shoulders down his sinewy arms. How was it that she had believed only four months in Africa would sculpt a man into such perfection? This had taken years of trekking through rugged terrain, climbing mountains, hoisting gear. He was a man who would spend as little time sitting behind a desk as he could. He would take her rowing on the Thames, riding in Hyde Park, galloping over the hills. He would help tenants manage their livestock, their fields. He would nurse a widow and her son back to health.
He would brave cold weather to bring her strawberry tarts.
“I love you, Edward,” she repeated, knowing she would never tire of saying it, could never say it enough.
His eyes slammed closed, his head dropped back. When he opened them, she saw enough love to humble her. He marched her backward until her knees hit the bed. With his mouth latched onto hers, his arms holding her close, he tumbled them back onto the mattress. His roughened hands journeyed over her, eliciting sensations wherever they touched.
He shifted, nestled between her legs. Raised up on his arms, he hovered, looking deeply into her eyes. “Say something naughty.”
The scalding heat of embarrassment rushed through her entire body. “You were never supposed to hear those things.”
“And yet I did and they inflamed me.” He leaned down, took her mouth, released it. “I told you that you never have to pretend with me.”
Christmas Eve. By then he knew her tawdry secret. She turned her head to the side.
“Look at me when you say it. See how much I love it.”
She ran her fingers into his hair, held his head in place, licked her lips. “I want your cock inside me.”
Growling low, feral, he thrust his hips forward, plunging deep, stretching her, filling her. He never took his eyes from hers. “I love how hot and wet you are, the way you close around me.”
Laughing, she pulled him down, opened her mouth to him until their tongues were following the same ancient ritual as their bodies. Being with him was liberating. She felt no need to hold anything back, to keep any secrets. He accepted her wholly. She scraped her fingers up his back. He groaned low, increased the rhythm of his thrusts.
Sensations swirled through her, leaving no part of her untouched, unloved. He was giving her everything of himself, allowing her to do the same. She’d experienced their connection during their kiss in the garden and it had terrified her. Now it only emboldened her.
She could touch him however she wanted, say whatever she wanted. No holding back for fear of censure. No withdrawing for fear of judgment.
With him, she could be herself completely and absolutely.
Was herself completely and absolutely. Was more than herself as the world fell away. She was herself with him, with this man who accepted her openly, naughtiness and all. Who made her his own.
Crying out his name, she tumbled through the void where pleasure dominated. Fell fast and hard, her body arching, clutching him close as he bucked against her, her name a growl forced through his clenched teeth.
They landed together, a tangle of glistening, sweating bodies, their breaths coming in short gasps.
Rolling off her, he brought her in against his side, holding her close with one arm, while his hand trailed up and down her arm. They lay in silence for long moments, simply catching their breath, basking in the glow of lingering pleasure.
“Did you think of him?” he asked quietly.
She trailed her fingers across his chest. “No.”
“Not even a little?”
Rising up on her elbow, she looked down on him. “What are you really asking?”
“When you look at me, do you see him?”
“I see only you, Edward. I have for weeks now. I know the two of you looked alike, but I can see little mannerisms in you that I never noticed before, that he didn’t have. I love him.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “I know that. I shouldn’t have even brought him up.”
