Mrs. Cromwell knew what was to come. He waited for his mood to improve as he undid his falls. She was wet and soft and willing. And beautiful.
That was all that he required.
Hell, even beauty was unnecessary for what he needed.
“Oh, Marcus, oh, yes. Harder, Marcus, you nasty man, harder.” As he buried himself methodically, listening to her moans, he wished he’d taken another shot of the scotch. Her voice grated. He wished she’d shut the hell up.
An Educational Experience
Perched upon the catwalk, hidden by a tall column, Emily had thought she’d find some solitude in the old library.
And when Lord Blakely had entered, she’d intended to announce her presence… but she had not.
He’d appeared… bothered, haunted. So, instead, she settled quietly into her corner and watched him down nearly half a bottle of their host’s scotch.
Oh, drat. Someone else was coming. She curled herself into a tighter ball and practically held her breath. It would be too embarrassing to be discovered now.
Even more so upon realizing she was witnessing an assignation!
Perhaps watching Marcus Roberts in such a tawdry situation would squelch this ridiculous infatuation once and for all. A tiny crack tore through her heart at the thought, but she ignored the sensation and forced her natural scientific curiosity to take over.
She almost felt sorry for Mrs. Cromwell.
Almost.
The woman promptly pulled down her bodice and then allowed Lord Blakely to bend her over the arm of the settee.
Emily cringed.
She had once discovered a picture book in her father’s library. Illustrations of nude men and women engaged in coitus… sometimes more than two. All the captions had been written in Latin. She surmised that her exposure to such literature prevented her from falling into the vapors at the sight of Mrs. Cromwell’s heaving bosom. And then again, when he gathered the lady’s skirts and lifted them nearly to her face.
She’d never expected, however, to witness such a crude exhibition.
When she realized what Lord Blakely was doing with hismentula… One of her hands fluttered to her chest.
Oh, my!Her eyes nearly popped out of her head at the sight ofit.
Straining, purplish and red.
Itwas so much larger than those depicted in the drawings. And almost as though it had a life of its own, it bobbed against his trousers before he’d taken control of it and…
She’d never have guessed at the colors. Perhaps if she could take a closer look…
Itlooked almost angry.
How did they not hear her heart beating?
She wished she had a paper and pencil to document her impressions. For when he began his rhythmic thrusts, she found the sounds they made quite intriguing. Not the mutterings of Mrs. Cromwell, but the thuds and squishes produced by the act itself. Slapping noises, and an occasional sucking sound.
When she wasn’t watching the place where they were joined, Emily watched his face.
His eyes were closed, and his lips pressed together in a tight line. Occasionally, he appeared in pain or concerned. Yes, the vertical lines appearing in the center of his forehead caused him to appear distraught.
How odd.
When he increased his pace, as the widow demanded, he seemed to plow into her with even greater intensity.
And yet…
