Henry put his hands on her shoulders, brushing his fingers against the delicate bones of her back and arms. He bought his palms up to her cheeks and pulled her mouth to his.
A small cry left her as she grabbed for him.
Them. This. Would be hard. Difficult. Painful. Henry knew it and didn’t care.
He teased his lips with hers, their tongues twisting together as he lowered his hands once again, gently sliding off the robe, which fell to the floor in a heap. Between nibbling at her lips and caressing her breasts, he managed to get her nightgown unbuttoned and off, leaving her naked in his arms. He stroked her back, soothing sounds he hadn’t even known he could make coming from him. He trailed his fingers up and down her spine until the tension left her slender body.
Henry came around and stood behind her, running his big hands over her body to cup her breasts, his fingers circling her nipples. The mirror, large and oval, the very one he’d stood before moments ago, reflected their image back.
“How could you possibly think, Emmie, I would want that pale bit of milk, Miss Cradditch? Look at you. You’re beautiful.” His voice grew rough with emotion. He meant every word.
Her eyes widened, lashes falling over her cheeks as she watched him caress her breasts and stroke the silky skin of her stomach. He skimmed his hand down to the soft hair of her mound and threaded his fingers through the dark strands.
“I’m not beautiful,” she sputtered.
“You are.” He moved his fingers lower. “And you’re mine.” Henry wasn’t sure why he’d uttered those words, only that he’d needed to hear them. So had Emmie. It was a declaration of sorts for both of them. One that meant he had no intention of allowing her to go back to London without him.
“Henry.” His name came out in a low, seductive moan.
He pulled her toward the bed, picked her up, and laid her across it, facing the mirror. He stripped off his clothes and climbed onto the bed behind her, pressing kisses to the backs of her thighs, her buttocks, the small indentation at the base of her spine before moving up the line of her back.
“I’m not even sure I like you,” she whispered.
“You do.” He caught her eyes in the mirror as his hands roamed over her body. “I’m the only interesting person at the house party.”
Chapter Fifteen
Emmagene was nothingbut a mass of sensation and all of it pleasurable. Huntly’s big hands traveled over her skin, stroking. Exploring. She’d been shocked when he’d stood her before the mirror. Watching him coax her nipples into sensitive peaks, touch her stomach, and then stroke her between the legs had been…sinful. Delicious. Erotic. He meant to take her facing the mirror, she surmised from the way he positioned her on the bed. She could feel the hard length of him, heated and thick against her backside.
“Somewhat interesting,” she murmured.
Twisting the strands of her hair together, Huntly wound them around his wrist and tilted her chin back. His mouth covered hers, drinking her in, savoring Emmagene as he had the whiskey. The lush sensuality of his kiss sent shivers along her skin as did the slide of his fingers between her thighs.
“I want you so much, Emmie.” The rasp lit against her ear. “Had I walked you back to the house today, after the wedding, I would have pulled you into the woods and fucked you senseless among the trees.”
Her entire body was throbbing as much from his words as the sight of what he was doing to her. His fingers touched. Caressed. Brushed along her hip and between her thighs. Stroked Emmagene until she was wet and wanting.
Reaching the back of her knee, he pushed her leg forward.
“Look.” He pressed a kiss to her neck.
Emmagene moaned, watching their reflection as he entered her with exquisite care. He had fondled her body into such a feverish state the slightest touch from his fingers would send her over the edge. Her eyes met Huntly’s possessive gaze in the mirror as he thrust into her body, so small and delicate next to his. Trapped in his embrace. Dominated.
“Henry,” she whimpered, feeling the tide of pleasure rise inside her.
Huntly entered her slowly, each time deeper, holding her so tightly she couldn’t move, controlling the pleasure mounting inside her. He kept her chin tilted toward the mirror, forcing her to see how their bodies moved together with absolute erotic perfection until she shattered, sobbing his name as her release rippled across her skin.
“Oh, Emmie.” His voice was hoarse against her throat as he climaxed. Huntly’s arms tightened, their limbs twisting like vines around each other.
Emmagene closed her eyes as the tremors left her, at peace for perhaps the first time in her life. The steady beat of his heart against her chest soothed her. His nose had fallen into the curve of her neck, Huntly inhaling her scent with every breath he took. He made no move to withdraw. He stayed firmly inside her while the fire crackled, and she dozed in his arms. One lone tear escaped to trickle down her cheek, though she willed it not to. She’d never known such beauty.
“I should tell you”—the words came out raw, scratching the inside of her throat—“how I came to enjoy…whiskey. If you’re awake.”
“I am.”
She opened her eyes to find him watching her, his expression unreadable.
“He was the son of an earl, as it happens. I met him in my first season. I thought I was in love.” She shrugged, surprised at how distant she felt from that time, though the pain of Geoffrey’s betrayal still lingered. It had made her who she was, after all.
