And it was so good, too good. She was impossibly tight and hot and wet and he was lost. Helplessly, hopelessly, happily lost in her. He remained as he was, their bodies perfectly aligned, her breasts a soft seduction against his chest, and he swore there could be no more perfect moment than this. Until she shifted, and pleasure hit him like a wave, rolling down his spine, and the temptation to move was too irresistible.
He buried his face in her throat and slid his fingers between them. Unerringly, he sought her pearl, rubbing over it in small, quick circles that had her sheath gripping him. He withdrew, then sank in again slowly, deliciously, savoring the way she clung to him, the way her hips chased his.
Together, they found a rhythm, moving together sinuously, frantically, each of them seeking the completion their bodies so desperately craved.
“Come for me, my sweet Bess,” he urged, dotting kisses down her neck to her collarbone. “Come on my cock.”
More firmly, he circled her swollen bud, gratified to find her wetter than she had been before, throbbing. She moaned again and arched her back as he sucked a nipple into his mouth while driving in and out of her slick cunny. He was already close, and so was she if her body’s responses were any indication. She rocked with him, nails trailing down his shoulders and back, as if she intended to mark him. Some primitive part of him hoped she did.
In and out, he drove, losing some of his ability to be gentle, losing any control he’d managed to retain. There was nothing but the soft, breathy pants of his name on her lips, her hard nipple in his mouth, the wetness of her cunny bathing his rigid cock, the pounding of his heart, the roaring in his ears as he strove to hold off his looming orgasm.
His ballocks were drawn tight. He was there. But she had to get there first. He wouldn’t allow himself to spend without her. Torrie released her nipple with a carnal pop and kissed the swell of her breast, the valley between them, fucking in and out of her with fast, deep thrusts.
“Let yourself go,” he crooned. “Fly with me.”
“Yes,” she cried out, tensing beneath him as her body shook with the heady tremors of her release.
Her cunny tightened on him viciously, deliciously, squeezing him from her. Taking himself in hand, he sheathed himself in one quick thrust, until he was buried ballocks deep again, and there was nothing left to do but spill himself inside her. Taking her mouth in an open-mouthed kiss, he came so hard that little black stars exploded before him.
He collapsed against her, breathless and utterly spent and happier than he could recall ever being.
CHAPTER9
Viscount Torrington had put his head between her legs and had kissed her there.
And she had liked it.
These bewildering thoughts were dancing through Elizabeth’s mind as she traveled through the trivialities of her day, making her grow flushed and uncomfortable. Unfortunately, she was neither alone nor with her husband, either of which scenarios might have proven less embarrassing. Rather, she was on her promised shopping expedition with the Duchess of Montrose.
“We shall certainly be needing ball gowns, Madame Beauchamp,” Hattie was telling the modiste as Elizabeth stood patiently in her chemise, allowing for all her measurements to be taken by one of Madame’s seamstresses.
“And some new chemises and petticoats, I presume?” Madame asked, casting a withering eye over Elizabeth’s worn, oft-repaired undergarment.
A different kind of flush rose to her cheeks at the question. She was more than aware that none of the garments in her possession were fashionable or well-suited to her form. However, she’d never had a choice in the matter. Not that she had one now, for it seemed as if the duchess and the modiste were more than happy to take command of her new wardrobe without her.
“She will require everything, Madame,” Hattie confirmed, directing a sympathetic smile in Elizabeth’s direction. “Your beauty deserves to shine rather than be hidden away, my dear. Torrie will approve, trust me on the matter.”
“Thank you for saying so,” she offered, growing weary of holding herself still and remaining on display, even if it meant she would soon have a host of new gowns at her command.
For Elizabeth could scarcely wrap her mind around the cost of an entirely new wardrobe, and one to be created for her with all haste. Madame Beauchamp had assured Hattie that she would have her team of seamstresses working on Elizabeth’s new wardrobe day and night.
Nothing but the best for the Duchess of Montrose and Viscountess Torrington, Madame had added smoothly, her words lightly tinged with a French accent that could have been feigned or real. Elizabeth wasn’t certain. And Hattie had responded with perfect grace while reminding the modiste that she would prefer not to share her dressmaker with the Countess of Worthing and was willing to pay handsomely to see that she didn’t have to do so. Madame had also been happy to accept the offer, and Elizabeth had been touched by her sister-in-law’s loyalty.
“By the time I’m finished, that dreadful woman will be fortunate if she can find a sack to wear,” Hattie had told Elizabeth with a wink,sotto voce.
If only the dowager had possessed such an easy and welcoming nature as her children did. Breakfast that morning had been as frosty as ever, although blessedly without further accusations that Elizabeth had intentionally caused the scandal that had led to her marriage. Perhaps the other woman’s ability to hold her tongue had been down to the presence of her son at the breakfast table. Torrie had been pleasant and cheerful, sharing no shortage of stolen glances with her after he had procured her a plate laden with food.
Now that their marriage had been consummated, she felt…
Different.
She felt rather like a wife instead of a mistake, and Elizabeth couldn’t lie that the former was far preferable to the latter.
“Just a few more measurements, my lady,” Madame Beauchamp chirped, no doubt pleased herself at the notion of what her commission would be. “Tell me, what colors would you prefer for the evening gowns? Shades of blue and green would suit your coloring well,je pense.”
Green, like Torrie’s eyes.
Elizabeth bit her lip as a rush of longing swept over her at the thought of her handsome husband. For with it, inevitably, came more memories of the night before. Good heavens, she was going to be red as a beet again. She hoped no one could tell what she was thinking by looking upon her.
