“Ah, yes,” he confirmed. What was it about being at Eden’s Court now, surrounded by people who knew them, that heightened his awareness of her? Of Emily?
Before the fateful night just one week ago, he hadn’t the right to touch her. She’d been her own person.
Just as he’d been free.
He’d explored every inch of her person. He’d put his seed in her.
His wife.
An English lady who held nothing back when it came to giving of herself. An English lady who saw nothing wrong with exploring sensual delights with him.
There was nothing exceptional about her looks. Except for the perfect size and shape of her bosom.
And her legs, soft where they ought to be soft, tapering to slim calves and ankles. And her face: heart-shaped, ivory complexion with a smattering of freckles. Intelligent eyes.
At a glance, she was quite easily overlooked.
But now that he’d seen beyond what everybody else saw, he felt strangely… gifted.
“And what will be required in order to perform this experiment?” She wrinkled her forehead and tilted her head.
Marcus settled his hands around her waist and backed her up against the bed.
Their bed.
In a quick motion, he lifted her bottom so that she sat on the mattress, legs dangling. “You need only lay back and pay close attention, my lady. My hypothesis is that greater satisfaction can be achieved with greater accessibility. Make a thorough analysis, my dear. Take notes, perhaps.”
She fell back with only the slightest pressure applied to her chest. Marcus gathered her skirts and slid them to her waist.
“Didn’t you do something like this?” Her voice hitched. “Already?”
Hooking her knees over his shoulder, Marcus trailed his fingers to the delicate skin of her inner thighs. “I’d like to make a few adjustments.” He spoke as though reading the financials from the papers. “Adjusting your position, I ought to implement my skills more thoroughly.” And with a lick of his lips, he thought to silence her.
He ought to have known better.
“You’ve done that before, Marcus.” Her words sounded far too controlled.
Perhaps the first of his… adjustments was already necessary.
“Oh. That’s new.” A gasp. A soft moan. “Ah, yes, new. Certainly.” Gasp. “New.”
Perhaps he’d try—
“Oh, God. Marrrcus. Oh!” A louder moan this time. And then some clenching.
She’d invoked the Lord. Progress, indeed.
“You see here, when I do this?” he teased. “What thoughts might you have on this particular technique?”
Fists grasped at his hair with a fierceness no one would expect of her, and she stuttered but could not quite answer.
He chuckled against her flesh.
Her hips jerked. “Marrrrcus.”
The less coherent her words became, the harder Marcus got.
By God, Marcus enjoyed himself immensely. Not because he sought his own satisfaction, but because he could invoke hers. Not once. But twice.
