Page 100 of Ironvine

“I said a great many things that night.”

“You said a kiss was a promise of bliss.”

“It is.”

“I like our kisses very, very much, and I want to know what that bliss is for you. Is it this?” She gestured at the walls.

“You’re trembling, dear Georgie. Are you afraid?”

“What I am afraid of is that you will perhaps think less of me because a wife is not supposed to ask for these things, is she?”

“Not from a husband, in my experience. But from her lover.” His eyes narrowed at her. “Georgina Montclare, my Countess of Ryvves, do you wish to experience the bliss of raw carnal pleasures with your husband? Speak.”

“I most certainly do, my lord Ryvves.”

He yanked at her trousers. A jumble of tugging and pulling.

“The boots—”

“No, leave them.” He pulled the trousers down her legs to the boots, constricting her movement. He pulled the shirt over her head and gestured at the other chemise she wore underneath. “Take it off.”

She did so, and she was bare to him. An ache burned in her very centre as he placed her hands on the table and set the candelabra on the floor before the painting of the woman being taken by two men. “Stay here no matter what I do to you.” His voice was a razor over her flesh.

A shudder quaked inside her. “I shall.”

“And look at that painting. Let it fuel your desire and enflame your need. That’s what it’s there for.” His hand stroked a breast.

Behind her, he got on his knees. His hands slid around her thighs sending whispered promises to her centre as they swept over her skin. He blew air between her legs and it tickled her quim. His warm fingers spread her arse cheeks, and she jolted and clenched. Would he enter her there?

A lash of wet warmth found her. His tongue. He was licking her in all her secret places. She melted in his grip, the harsh hardness of the table only added to the sharp unexpected pleasure. His insistent tongue flicked and explored from her cunny up to her …oh Lord. Her pelvis tilted upward to meet his lips and tongue. She was so very wet now. Was it him, was it her?

More friction. More nibbling, more licking. Her cries echoed in the small room.

Fingers easily slid inside her. Two of them churned in her cunny with purpose. His thumb tapped on her sensitive nub, applying steady pressure, and her body seized, a moan burst from her. “Do you feel that, my Countess? Do you feel the pleasure I am giving you?”

“I do, I do, my lord.”

He gripped one of her arse cheeks tightly, and it stung painfully along with the intensity of the mounting pleasure he provided. Her gaze was glued to the cock entering the woman’s mouth, her tongue long and ready to receive her master. Georgina was at Charles’s mercy, exactly where she wanted to be.

Everything she was built swiftly in a towering crescendo, and she could not breathe. “Charles!” She would explode, surely she would. She did, and crashed into a thousand pieces, and was rearranged.

His tongue lashed up her spine. With his hand, he led something wet and smooth to her entrance. His sleek hardness nudged inside her an inch, no more. Her body tingled everywhere. Her flesh knew him, craved him. Demanded him.

She moaned loudly, her hips grinding, hoping in the darkness. A tide of desperate need rose inside her as he pulled on her hair, wrapping it around his hand tightly. “What say you, my Countess?”

“Take me as you wish, my lord.”

He thrust his cock all the way inside her with one move, and she let out a long cry. He bent over her, the two of them breathing hard. Was he being kind, waiting to see if she was uncomfortable, in pain?

She was full. Full of Lord Ryvves. Full of Charles Montclare. Full of her husband.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No. You fill me. Give me more.”

With a grunt, he rocked back inside her. Her body relaxed more and more with his every hard and fast thrust as she clung to the unforgiving table that offered no comfort, no mercy

“Dammit, Georgie.” His pace quickened, his grip tightened, he thrust inside her swiftly, like an animal who knew only need, onlythisone driving need. Their flesh slapped together loudly, the raw sounds echoing in the room, as a musk scent rose around them. Heat. Warmth. Carnal desire. The images surrounding her in the dim half-light came alive. They cavorted and leapt as she and Charles cavorted with them.

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