He got on the bed and climbed atop her, taking his weight on one arm. With his other hand, he fitted his cock to her opening and sheathed himself in one thrust. Pleasure scalded his insides as his wife’s snug, dewy passage enveloped him; it took all his willpower not to take her hard and fast. To resist pounding into her quim, his balls smacking her nether lips with rough possession that she would feel the next day.
Setting his jaw, he took her in a steady, disciplined, spousal rhythm. He would not come until she did again. Gritting his teeth, he turned to an old trick, mentally naming kings of England to distract from the prodigious pleasure of his wife’s tight cunny.
Edward I, Edward II…ah, God…Edward III…
Fortunately, he didn’t have to go past the House of York. She was writhing beneath him, her fingers gripping the bedsheets, and he knew she was close. He bent, closing his lips around her nipple, sucking rhythmically with his thrusts. With a wild cry, she climaxed again, the ripples of her pussy massaging his shaft…and finally he let go.
He bit back his groan, shuddering as his seed shot from him, as her spasms sucked him of every pulsing drop.
Regaining his breath, he withdrew from her. She mumbled something drowsily as he tucked her beneath the bedclothes. From experience, he knew that the aftermath eased her into slumber—and sure enough, a wisp of a snore escaped her. His lips twitched…and then he firmed them.
He dressed with his usual efficiency. But he didn’t leave right away, his wife’s loveliness holding him as surely as her body had. Making him linger.
Bathed in golden light, Gabriella looked like an innocent goddess, her auburn lashes fluttering against her creamy, gold-speckled cheeks. He had the urge to stretch out beside her—not to sleep, for he wasn’t one for idle napping—but just to…watch over her. To guard his wife as she dreamed the dreams of the blameless. To vicariously experience the innocence that he, himself, had lost a lifetime ago.
As his fingers reached to brush the errant red curl from her cheek, his mind chided him.
Don’t get distracted. Maintain your discipline. You’ve stops to make before the business with Sweeney tonight.
He dropped his hand. Straightening his lapels, he left the room.
6
Adam continuedwith his regular Friday schedule, making his first stop at his office.
The building was located in London’s financial hub, close to the Bank of England. The tasteful interior with its wood paneling and elegantly subdued décor told patrons that this was a legitimate business and not some shady, back alley operation. Indeed, Adam considered his trade no different from that of a bank or joint-stock venture. Seated in his opulent suite on the third floor, a view of the bustling city behind him, he was proud of how far he’d come…and knew how hard he’d fight to keep what was his.
Even when the work was bothersome.
“Please, sir, you know I wouldn’t ask it of you, but it is a matter of life ordeath.”
The dramatic declaration came from Lord Evanston, the rumpled, bleary-eyed lordling who occupied the chair across the desk from Adam’s. Since the cull made a visit at least once a month, the seat probably bore his arse print by now.
“That’s what you said last month,” Adam said.And the month before that.
“But it trulyisan emergency. Just last night my grandmama died and the poor thing hadn’t a feather to fly with. Being a good grandson, it falls upon me to give her a proper burial.”
Evanston’s pious look was at odds with the rouge stains on his collar, the alcohol fumes he emitted with every word. Bloody hell, it was three in the afternoon, and the cove was already in his cups. In his early twenties and new to London, Evanston was a feckless but amiable fop. He had a large inheritance waiting in the wings, but for now he had to get by on a stipend…which was where Adam came in.
“Strange.” Leaning back in his chair, Adam steepled his fingers. “Here I was thinking that a man could only have two grandmothers. This is the third one you’ve killed off.”
“Did I say grandmama? I meant grand-aunt.” Evanston’s smile was beatific. “One who waslikea grandmother to me.”
“Get out, Evanston, before I have Kerrigan toss you out.”
Most men were rightly afraid of Adam’s head guard, a nearly seven-foot mountain of muscle whose shaved head and eyepatch added to his aura of intimidation.
“Kerrigan wouldn’t do that,” Evanston said affably. “He and I are old friends by now.”
Adam was certain that Kerrigan had fantasies of making a human projectile out of Evanston. And he knew this because the taciturn guard had growled more than once, “Give me the word, sir, and I’ll bounce that cull out of here like a bloody ball.”
Adam hadn’t given the word because Evanston was a good patron who always paid his debts in the end and with heavy interest. Also, the young lord was so cheerfully annoying that, when tossed, he’d probably bounce off a wall and hit Kerrigan in the face. In truth, the diversification in Adam’s business meant that he didn’t need to take on much risk in the moneylending department. He only worked with thecrème de la crèmeof clients, relying less on muscle to get his due and more on his ability to make a good speculative investment.
Evanston was such an investment, even if he needed to be reined in on a regular basis.
“No more credit until you pay off your debt. Entirely,” Adam said sternly. “Now begone.”
“Thank you for the advice, sir.” Evanston scrambled to his feet and bowed his way out. “See you next month!”
