Her body convulsed as wave after wave of intense pleasure washed over her. On a guttural growl, he grew more rushed, each powerful pump of his cock sending her sliding up the bed into the soft mound of pillows. She clung to him, crying out her helpless pleasure as he slammed into her again and again.
Finally, he stiffened and withdrew. Her channel pulsed, mourning the loss. Gripping himself as he had the night before, he came, a torrent of seed jetting from his cock and splattering on her belly and breasts. She was covered in him, sated, mindless, and boneless on his bed.
Groaning, he flopped to his back at her side, his breathing every bit as ragged as hers. For a moment, she lay there in the aftermath of her crisis, attempting to catch her breath, her heart hammering in her chest. He had rocked her so utterly, he had robbed her of the capacity of thought. Speech was beyond her.
“A fine way to spend each morning,” he said at last. “Much better thanThe Times, darling. Thank you for showing me the error of my ways.”
And then he rolled from the bed to stalk across the chamber, naked as the day he had been born. Utterly shameless. Not a hint of embarrassment. Though, as well formed as he was, she could hardly fault him for his confidence.
Still unable to move, Jo watched him go, admiring the tight curves of his bottom and the long lines of his legs. Every part of him was lovely—that broad back, the dimple above his buttocks, the muscled calves and thighs.
She sighed. If he saw fit to begin every day thus, she was never going to eat breakfast again.
Chapter Thirteen
Ways to be Wicked
1.Kiss a man until you are breathless.
2.Arrange for an assignation. Perhaps withLord Q?your husband? Strike that,bijou.Definitelywith your husband.
3.Get caught in the rain with a gentleman. (This will necessitate the removal of wet garments. Choose said gentleman wisely.)
4.Sneak into a gentleman’s bedchamber in the midst of the night.
5.Go to a gentleman’s private apartments.
6.Spend a night in a gentleman’s bed.
7.Make love in the outdoors.
8.Ask
One whole week.
Decker gritted his teeth and scrubbed a hand over his jaw.
He had been married to Jo for an entire seven wonderful, frustrating, tiring days, and he still had not had his fill of her. They had crossed off two more items on her wicked list. He had made love to her every morning before they breakfasted together. Sometimes, he returned in the afternoon to take her again, the endless wait until night too much to bear.
Half past one, and he was beginning to fear this would prove one of those days. Reports from the piano factory lay untouched before him, along with the ledgers of his publishing company. To say nothing of the rough proofs of his erotic serials, corrected for press.
Macfie rapped on his office door.
“Enter,” he called, sounding as irritated as he felt.
He had every right to be peeved, he told himself. He had been happy with his life as a bachelor, and now it had been upended by his wife. His wife for whom his obsession grew with each tick of the bloody minute hand on his pocket watch.
“The carriage is awaiting ye as ye asked,” Macfie announced. “Along with the cream ice from Claremont’s as ye requested fer Mrs. Decker.”
“Very good, Macfie.” He rose from his desk. No use settling in to work when he could not concentrate on anything buther. “Is the cream ice well packed in ice? It is a rather warm day today, and I do not fancy taking a bucket of milk soup home to Mrs. Decker.”
Macfie inclined his head. “Extra ice, sir. I know how much ye hate tae disappoint yer lady.”
That gave him pause. “How so, Macfie?”
“On Monday, ye asked me tae arrange for five crates of books tae be delivered tae yer house containing all Mrs. Decker’s favorite authors and poets,” Macfie began. “On Tuesday, ye asked for the cream ice from Claremont’s, being that it is Mrs. Decker’s new favorite, and ye were right put out when it turned tae soup on yer way home on account of the ice being puir. On Wednesday, ye asked me tae call upon Mercier and Sons with yer request for the diamond bangle ye wanted made in her honor. On Thursday—”
“Macfie?” he interrupted, more vexed now than he had been before.
