He nipped her clitoris gently and she bucked as her eyes went wide. She was nodding now, probably not even recognizing she was doing it. Encouraging him to give her what she needed. To free her from pleasurable torment at last.
So he did. He sucked her clitoris, rolling his tongue around and around the slick bud. She ground against him, her back arching nearly off the settee until finally her hips began to buck out of control. She thrashed, the rippling waves of her orgasm sucking his fingers even deeper as he drew the pleasure out until she flopped, spent and weak, on the settee cushions. Satisfied at last.
He leaned her body up, pulling her to him as he kissed her, let her taste the flavor of her pleasure. She wrapped her arms around his neck, probing his lips with her tongue with a lazy sensuality that came purely from her very good instincts.
She opened her eyes and held his stare. They were close now. Too close, he would have once said. Today, it felt exactly close enough.
“Take me upstairs,” she whispered. “And let’s do that again.”
He grinned before he pressed his mouth hard to hers, tugged her into his arms, and did just that.
Chapter Twenty-One
Matthew’s neck had a crick. He grinned as he worked the pinched muscle with his hand and remembered exactly how he’d gotten it—hours with his wife, tangled with her in his bed as she arched beneath him in wild abandon. He’d left her there, soundly sleeping, her naked body spread across his sheets and ready for him when he finished with a few items on his to do list.
Something he raced to do now. Then he’d have to decide how he’d wake her. Tongue? Hands? Cock? So many possibilities.
In the distance, he heard a faint sound. A thud, and he frowned as he looked at the clock above his mantel. It was nearly three. Late for a servant to be up and about, though he wouldn’t put it past Portman to already be seeing to the daily routine. The man never stopped.
It was silent now, though. Matthew bent his head back to his work. He’d ask the butler about it tomorrow. Perhaps Isabel could be part of the discussion. She would likely be able to charm him into taking a new schedule.
How could anyone deny her?
He dipped his quill into the pot of ink and scratched a few words along the vellum before him. He had nearly lost himself in the act when the door to his study clicked shut. He lifted his gaze and found himself looking down the barrel of a gun. A gun being held by Fenton Winter.
He jolted back against his chair, pushing away from the weapon as far as he could go as he forced himself to look up at his attacker. Winter’s hair was wild, his eyes were glassy, his hands shaking as he leveled the pistol at Matthew’s head. He looked unwell and unbalanced, and none of that made this situation any less fraught with peril.
“W-Winter,” Matthew stammered in shock. “What are you doing? How did you get in here?”
“I’ve watched you for so long,” Winter said, his voice shaking like his hands. “I know there’s a side door your butler sometimes accidentally leaves unlocked after deliveries. I’ve even used it once or twice before. Stepped into your house and stood in your pantry, then let myself out again. Just to know I could when I needed to.” He motioned the weapon in Matthew’s face. “Get up.”
Matthew slowly lifted his hands and pushed his chair back from his desk. As he came around the furniture and stood face-to-face with Winter, he shook his head. He had spent so much time trying to convince Isabel that there was nothing to fear from her uncle, that his past actions would dictate all his future ones. It seemed he had been very wrong.
“I should have listened to her,” he said softly.
Winter’s eyes lit up. “Her. Angelica?”
“No, your niece,” Matthew whispered. “Isabel.”
Winter’s gaze dropped a fraction, filled with guilt. “She will understand someday. I hope she’ll understand.”
“No.”
Both men glanced toward the door, and Matthew’s heart dropped. Isabel was standing there, wrapped in his robe, her hair down around her shoulders. Beautiful and his, but perhaps only for a few more moments. She was staring at her uncle, pleading in her eyes. Terror.
“Go upstairs, Isabel,” Matthew said. “Please.”
She shook her head. “I shall not,” she said with firm determination.
“Do as he says,” Winter barked.
She flinched at the angry tone, but didn’t obey either of them. Instead, she stepped into the room and toward them. Step by step, Matthew tracked her, tensing with every step until she wedged herself in front of him, her uncle’s pistol now pressed into her chest instead of Matthew’s.
“What are you doing?” Winter hissed. “Get out of the way.”
“Isabel.” Matthew grabbed her arm and tried to shove her aside, but she set her feet wide and tensed her body against him.
“Stop it, both of you,” she said.
