Page 164 of Ironvine

Her fingers dug into his. “More ruination?”

“Filthy girl. I meant courting.”

“Ah. Very well.” Her eyes flared. “You must let go of me, however. Touching is forbidden.”

Releasing her, he clasped his hands behind his back as they walked side by side. He cleared his throat. “What a lovely garden, do you not think so, Miss Georgina?”

“Indeed, it is a lovely garden, sir. The greenery is ever so…green. The breeze flutters just so betwixt the leaves.” She sighed dramatically.

“Yes, quite,” said Charles.

“But I do know of a better garden, sir.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, the one between my legs.”

“Georgie!”

“I cannot help it.”

“You must.”

“I can’t. You awakened me this morning with your tongue in my quim and your fingers in my—”

“Shh!” He let out a laugh.

“And then we…well, the rest of the day it is all I can think of, and I find it most trying to concentrate on anything else, my Lord…to work, to read, to stroll even…anything, I tell you. It’s a fever you’ve set off in my very blood.”

He stopped in his tracks. “And if your husband is not at home to appease these fevered frustrations, what do you do?”

“I sketch a few erotic drawings, but that only serves to intensify the fever, and so I find I must take care of myself, as it were.”

“Dear God.” On a heavy groan, Charles grabbed her hand, and with a glance at his aunt who was still fast asleep, and another glance at the courting couple who were admiring a patch of roses, he led Georgina through the tall hedges and into the small maze.

My lord, where are we going unchaperoned?”

“I need a tour of your perfect garden, Miss Georgina.” He charged to the very heart of the maze, a maze he knew from birth. His pace quickened as Georgina raced to keep up with him. “It is the only way I can convey my suffering to you, madame, for, in your presence, I find my heart, my soul, and my body truly ravaged, and only you can offer me solace and rapture.”

“Charles.” She halted in her tracks, stopping him. “Such lyrical flattery I have never heard before. Truly.”

“I should hope not. Come.” He walked faster.

Georgina hastened to his side. “I was not joking.”

At last, they arrived in the centre of the maze.

She caught her breath. “Ah, this is quite lovely. Will you now recite a poem to me, my lord? A sonnet?”

“Yes, indeed, I shall.” He pushed her down onto the ground, and she gasped dramatically. He pulled up the skirts of her dress and dragged his fingers along her damp inner thigh. She let out a moan, her back arching. “Ah, Miss Georgina, you are eager for my poems, I see.” His fingers swirled around her nub.

“I am, sir.” She twisted her hips in a moan. “Very much so.”

“Here’s a passionate verse for you—” His face sank between her legs, and he pillaged his wife.

“Oh Lord Ryvves, you are…quite gifted in such … poetry.” She grasped his hand and sucked on two of his fingers. Shuddering, she came to her release quickly.

Raising up on a growl, he unbuttoned his breeches. Planting his hands on the ground on either side of her head, he raised himself and sank his cock inside her in one deep thrust, groaning loudly.

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