She grudgingly seated herself on the edge of his lap, still stewing, he could tell, before he turned her to straddle him, hands busy at her shirt, quick to bare her stays. She remained stiff and stubborn.
“What, no kisses tonight, Fox? And here I thought we’d moved past your mulish reticence. I thought you’d come to like me just a little.”
“I like you less tonight, sir.” Her tone was flat.
“Because I tell you women cannot be trusted?” His lips met the valley of her breasts. “I know it to be a fact, Charles, else I should never have left London. Women all profess one thing, then do the opposite. I’d not trust you with my life for a second, girl.” His hands, gripping her backside, pulled her to his crotch.
“Yet you trust me with your sex, sir.” She leaned in and bit his ear, making him wince. “You trust me with your hearth, your bread.” Her mouth moved to his neck, nipping flesh harder still. “You’d trust Cuthbert with your life but not just any man, meaning not all men are created equal either.” Her teeth now traced the swell of his Adam’s apple, dipping to his windpipe, where so positioned he felt she might crush it with her jaw. “So how is it you claim all women are the same, my lord?”
Wells inhaled a breath; her words were argued well. Rationally. They gave him pause. “Because Eve, my dear, brought Adam’s downfall.”
“Eve, my lord, gave Adam theworld.” She lifted her head to face him. “Would you rather discover the world, Lord Wellesley, in all its exquisite, complex wonder, or remain eternally a babe in Eden?”
His pulse quickened. “I did not say I regretted Eve’s decision, woman.”
“Good,” she told him, “because I thank her for it every goddamn day.”
And then her lips met his in a dark and daring kiss, obliterating all further talk, until he carried her to his bed. There, he stripped her of all clothing and laid her out, his thoughts single-minded in purpose. He was done waiting. If she wished to embrace Eve’s downfall he would show her this night how that downfall happened, and she would thank him for it after.
His knee pushed her legs wide as his hands gripped her hips, lips meeting one breast, making her gasp. Then he leaned in close, his breath at her ear caressing, “You’re ready, Fox, and I’ll no longer wait. Tell me you are Eve and I will give you Adam.”
In answer she arched her back and pulled him down, her nails scoring through his clothes to draw him closer, her mouth on his own her sole answer. His Fox, it seemed, gave in to him at last.
His hand slid inside to test her, finding her willing, eager even beneath his touch. He stroked her there while his tongue returned her kiss, testing and teasing as he brought her close but not too, wanting her at the edge when he entered, wanting to revel in her surrender. His hand stroked a rhythm till she whimpered with need, and then he undid his fall and with one thrust broke her defense, delighting in her undoing. He freed her lips to gaze down at her face, her eyes wide with surprise as he eased himself in, her mouth parting in shock and something akin to . . . fear?
He tensed, waiting, then said softly, “It hurts but once, Fox, and I promise to be gentle. Move with me, Charles. Let Eve’s body feel.”
And she relaxed—he could feel her body give as he opened her to him, taking great care, though he wished only to plunderher depths with abandon. He steeled himself to ease her in slowly, his hand returning to work her core, rewarded by another gasp as he felt her open more. Eyes locked on her face, he increased his pace, checking again for more pain, but her fear had now vanished, replaced by wonder as he finally let go his restraint. He took her less gently as she took him now eagerly, open to the experience. When she shuddered under and around him, his own response was near to desperate as he pulled out in haste to spend across her belly, collapsing atop her in a heap.
Wells lay there breathing shallowly, his mistress’s chest rising and falling beneath his weight. When her hand crept up to fondle the curls at his nape, he moaned, content to suckle at her breast.
“My lord,” she whispered, “I did not know it would be like this.”
He shifted his weight, then rolled off her, slaked. “I did not hurt you?” His hand plied the stickiness at her belly, kneading his seed into her skin.
“No.” Her hand joined his in play. “You did not hurt me.”
They lay there a moment more in silence, until she ventured at what felt like forgiveness.
“Thank you for waiting, my lord. I do not think . . .” She struggled for words. “I do not think I should have been so willing had you . . .” She swallowed. “I am grateful you did not force me sooner, Lord Wellesley,” she said more formally. “It is no small thing for a woman to give herself to a man and I?—”
His lips took hers in a searing kiss. “I know it is no small thing, Charles, but it is no terrible thing either I hope you now see. It is a joy between man and woman—the knowledge Eve longed to gain.” He looked her in the eye. “There is no shame in such knowledge, Charles. I hope you will no longer feel shame in being my mistress.”
She smiled then, timidly curling herself into his body. “I shall try, my lord. And I shall try to like you more too, now that I may enjoy you.” Her eyes sparked up at him, filling him with delight.
He drew her closer. “That pleases me greatly, Fox, and the more you please, my dear, the greater my wish to pleaseyouin return.” His lips suckled a tender place at her neck until he felt her melt deeper into his arms. Until her hands moved to undress him, eager to press her flesh to his own, as if his mistress relished his naked self, just as much.
CHAPTER NINE
Come morning Charles was roused from sleep to feel Lord Wellesley’s manhood pressed hard against her backside, as it had been nearly every morning she’d awoken in his bed. Only this morning she knew he’d not hesitate. This morning he’d make good on past threats, which made her shiver with anticipation.
She could not believe how much she’d enjoyed him last night.
Wellesley drew her to him, then slipped a hand between her thighs where she was wet still from desire. He’d taken her more than once and he’d take her again, it seemed, with one thrust entering from behind this time, the position new to her, the sensation shocking. He stroked her with alarming skill as she cried out in surprise, making him press only harder, deepening his entry, his breath at the nape of her neck soon nipping skin as he grew in size.
Before she knew it, Lord Wellesley had rolled her onto all fours, arse up like a mare in heat, and proceeded to enjoy her thus.
Charles was overwhelmed by the onslaught of emotion clamoring in her breast, for to be mounted like an animal brought lewd and loathsome images to mind. She battled herbody’s panic, at war with her shame and pleasure, appalled at passions she should not—could not—accept.
