He’d come into her bedchamber to give her a gift to wear at the ball tonight. He’d found her half-dressed in her corset, stockings, and garters. The electric look that passed between them had sent her lady’s maid scurrying out of the room. Hawk had backed his wife into the nearest wall. Her arms had circled his neck as their lips melded in a scorching kiss. It had taken the work of a moment to undo his fall, release his rearing erection, and order, “Hop on, sweeting.”
She’d done so with a sensual grace that stopped his breath. While his wife appeared delicate, she had the lithe athleticism of a ballerina. Perhaps dancing lessons had given her such supple feminine strength. Whatever the case, he thanked his lucky stars that she had no trouble wrapping her legs around his hips and holding onto his shoulders as he plowed her against the wall.
“Oh,heavens,” Fiona gasped.
He stared at her passion-flushed face and thought he would be content to look at naught else for the rest of his days. Yet her other charms also drew his gaze: the curves of her tits bouncing above her corset, the hourglass perfection of her waist. Lewd delight shuddered through him as he watched their joining. The way his cock speared her pretty cunny, her pink petals spreading to accommodate his veined girth. When he withdrew, his shaft glistened with her pearly dew.
Seeing their fucking as well as feeling it nearly took him over the edge.
“Hold on,” he bit out.
When he released his hold on her hip, she clung on, crossing her ankles behind him, her hands clenching his hair. He used his free hand to delve between them. Searching out her bold little love-knot, he frigged her in rhythm to his thrusting. The effect was instantaneous. Her silk-covered heels dug into his flexing arse, her thighs clamping his hips. Her sheath pulsed around him, the voluptuous massage too much to resist. Bliss erupted like a geyser, jetting from his prick, and he swooped his head down, drinking in her cries, then pouring his own groans down her throat.
When he regained his wits, he withdrew, shuddering at the wet rush of their mingled pleasure. Gently, he set his wife on her stockinged feet and touched his forehead to hers. They said nothing, breathing in unison, the soft, ragged sounds filling the chamber.
“I take it you missed me last night?”
Fiona’s teasing wrestled a chuckle from his throat. Since the interview with Miss Farley had lasted until the wee hours, he’d decided not to disturb his wife. He raised his head to look into Fiona’s bluer-than-heaven eyes.
“I did,” he affirmed. “Did you miss me?”
When she nodded, his chest expanded.
“I’m glad you came to say hello before the ball.” She blew at a stray curl that dangled over her eyes, managing to look both adorable and thoroughly debauched. “Luckily, there is sufficient time for Brigitte to fix my coiffure. If I can coax her back in here after our scandalous behavior, that is.” She giggled. “You did not even remove your trousers, my lord. Or your shoes.”
Bemused, he realized that she was right. He’d never been this impetuous before, this unbridled in his desire. And it made him feel…free.
After he rearranged his clothing, he raked a glance over his countess. Took in the erotic details of her, locking them away in the vault of his fantasies. Her red, kiss-swollen lips. Her heaving bosom. The glossy trail that leaked from her pussy, wending down her thigh to seep into her stocking. He felt lust, yes…and something else. Something deep and proprietary.
Something that whispered,She’s mine.
Taking out a handkerchief, he wiped his seed from her thigh, savoring her tremble of awareness. He tucked the linen back into his pocket and looked into her heavy-lidded eyes.
“I’m going to keep this handkerchief with me tonight,” he murmured. “As a token of what you gave to me just now. I want you to remember that when you are dancing with all those namby-pambies who will no doubt be vying for your attention.”
She blinked. Roses bloomed in her cheeks.
“How could I haveeverthought you dull and proper?” she breathed.
He barked out a laugh. “You must be a bad influence, minx. Speaking of which, you distracted me from my purpose. I came in here to give you this.”
Removing the jeweler’s box from his coat pocket, he handed it to her. “For your first public appearance as the Countess of Hawksmoor.”
She dimpled, opening the flat velvet box. “How thoughtful of…oh my goodness.”
Her gasp justified the extravagant purchase. Knowing the importance she placed on tonight’s event, he’d wanted to give her an accoutrement worthy of a countess. The string of sapphires and diamonds from Rundell, Bridge & Co. had fit the bill.
“To match your engagement ring. Do you like it?” he asked.
“Like it? I absolutelyadoreit!” she squealed. “Help me put it on, will you?”
He hid a smile at Fiona’s unabashed excitement. He liked that she enjoyed gifts—liked being able to please her in this fashion. As he removed the necklace from its bed of satin, she turned around, and he almost dropped the costly piece at the sight of her corseted backside. Devil and damn, his wife was temptation from every angle.
He fastened the necklace and led her to the cheval glass by her dressing screen. Their combined reflection filled him with pride: his wife was without equal, and every glowing inch of her belonged to him. She touched the strand around her neck, her eyes outshining the jewels.
“It suits you,” he said huskily.
She faced him. “Thank you, Hawk. For the gift and your thoughtfulness. I’m so lucky to be your wife, and I vow I’ll make you proud tonight.”
