The way he laughed. The way he smiled. The fringe of his lashes. The ruffled tufts of his hair in the morning. How he looked upon her as if she were the sun and the moon, all at once, in his sky.
Oh, how she loved him.
He was kissing her now, holding her as if she were necessary. Breathing her in with slow and steady inhalations, devouring her mouth which was slick with his essence.
Their tongues met.
Their hands were everywhere, traveling over each other’s bodies. Each time with him was familiar and yet new. They were still learning, still finding new ways to tempt and torment and please. Still whispering secrets in the dark of the night.
He had taught her so much, not just how to love but how to trust. How to believe, blindly, in the goodness and caring of another. To believe him when he said he loved her. To accept him when he said he wanted her for the woman she was rather than the coin she had ultimately brought into their union anyway.
When she had been laid low by betrayal, embittered and wary of everyone around her, he had come into her life and shown her the power of faith. Faith in him. Faith in herself. Faith in their love.
Her night rail was gone. And the robe he had worn parted for her ministrations had been long shrugged away as they tumbled to his bed together. Eugie was on her back, her legs open, body cradling his. Their mouths clung in a passionate kiss before he broke free to rain more kisses upon her feverish flesh. Her throat. Her ear. Her shoulder, where his teeth delivered a delicious little nip.
He lingered on her breasts, toying with her nipples with his knowing fingers before lowering his head to suck one pebbled bud into his mouth. Molten honey sang through her veins, pooling in her cunny where she wanted him most.
But how delicious, his mouth upon her, suckling. Her fingers found their way into his hair, which she loved to touch. How soft it was, how full and thick.
He swirled his tongue around her nipple, making her back arch. “Such a beautiful shade of red, your nipples. Light, like a raspberry, not quite as dark as your lips. I want roses in this shade at Lyndhurst House. Along with the red and the white.”
All she could do was agree when her husband’s greedy mouth was sucking her nipples as if he were ravenous for her. “Yes.”
He worked his way down her belly, kissing as he went, until at last his large hands settled upon her inner thighs, spreading her open for him. Once, she would have been horridly ashamed of such a display, but she had been married to him long enough to know the pleasure to be had from such intimacies. They were far more immense than he had introduced her to that first night.
He was staring at her now, his breath hot and humid upon her flesh. She was wet for him, her sex soaked, and she knew it. So did he. The intensity of his expression told her.
“And then I want some pink roses, darling.” He lowered his head and licked her slit. “Pink to match your perfect cunny.”
Just one swipe of his tongue over her, and she was desperate. She bowed from the bed, urging him on in a wordless plea.
A plea he accepted as he warmed to his cause, licking deeper, running his tongue through her folds. He found her pearl with unerring dedication, sucking her into his mouth in the same fashion he had her nipples. And then he moved back to her channel, his tongue sinking inside her, again and again. He hummed his appreciation as he stroked her, working her into a fine frenzy.
By the time he returned to the sensitive bud of her sex, she was mindless. He raked his teeth over her, and she reached her crescendo. Pleasure exploded, so ferocious and sudden, the spasms rocking her body bordered on painful. She came undone beneath him, and the clever lashings of his tongue prolonged it, making quakes roll through her long after the initial, violent burst had subsided.
He moved back up her body, burying his face in her neck. Reaching between them, he aligned his cock with her entrance, and in one swift thrust, he was inside her. He remained where he was, and then he withdrew, only to slide into her again. And again.
Somehow, her legs wound up against his chest, her knees hooked over his shoulders, and he was as deep as he had ever been. The rhythm he began had her crying out wildly, forgetting all about the possibility of anyone overhearing them.
“Do you like when I fuck you, Lady Hertford?” he asked.
The naughty words combined with the angle of his thrusts rendered her helpless. She reached her pinnacle again, shuddering as her sheath constricted on him so tightly she almost squeezed him from her body.
“You did not answer me, my lady,” he growled, pumping his hips faster as she came beneath him. “Do you like when I fuck you?”
“Yes,” she cried out, her nails raking down his broad back as yet another wave of pleasure slammed down upon her.
“Come again for me, my love,” he demanded, thrusting harder.
And she did. She came, spending with such violence, her ears roared and the world turned white until the pleasure showed her mercy and began to subside into delicious ebbs. He stiffened, crying out as he spent inside her, and she knew the warm, hot rush of his seed.
He collapsed against her, his breathing as harsh as hers. “I am not hurting you, am I, darling?” he managed to ask.
The weight of him was divine. “Never.” She clutched him to her tightly, relishing the feeling of him so near.
“One of these days, I hope to put my babe inside you, and then I shall have to take greater care,” he said, still breathless.
She had been caressing his shoulders, loving the hard, sinewy smoothness of them, but now she stopped. “There is something I wanted to discuss with you this evening, but then the ball and Cunningham happened, and I was distracted.”
