Page 82 of Lyon of Least Resistance

“Really?”

She nodded. “And now, Lord Bedford, it’s my turn to give you pleasure.”

“But tonight’s about you.”

“Did you enjoy giving me pleasure?” she said.

“Of course.”

“Then permit me to take equal enjoyment from reciprocating.”

She rolled him onto his back. His member jutted from his honey-colored curls, ready and eager, pulsing faintly with his heartbeat. She reached for it and a deep groan left his lips. Then she lowered her head and took him in her mouth.

“Oh, sweet lord Almighty!” he cried.

She curled her tongue around him while he whimpered and whispered her name. Then he placed his hands on her head, caressing her hair with gentle reverence while she continued to tend to him. When his body stiffened, she lifted her head, then crawled on top of him, parted her thighs, and waited.

He grew still, then, with a swift, sharp movement, she impaled herself on him.

“Aah!” he cried out. She lifted her body and thrust forward once more. He lifted his hips to meet her thrusts, then, as she felt him surge within her, drove her body down one final time while he exploded inside her with a shout. Her own body burst with life once more, then she threw her head back and shouted his name. Their twin cries spiraled toward the heavens until she fell forward. Sticky with sweat, their bodies fused together as if they were a single creature, and she closed her eyes, letting the hot tears she’d kept at bay drip onto his chest.

A hand brushed the tears aside.

“What troubles you?”

“Nothing,” she whispered. “I-I just never believed it could be so… That it could make my soul sing with joy. But it does with you, James. Only with you.”

“I know,” he whispered, his chest rising and falling. His heartbeat pulsed in her ear, and he caressed her hair, making soft crooning noises.

She let out a sigh, then drifted into a doze, dulled by the crackling of the fire and the gentle ticking of the mantel clock. Before sleep claimed her, she caught his whispered words.

“I love you, my Dahlia.”

Chapter Twenty

James glanced at his reflection in the cheval mirror, behind which he could see his bed.

His untouched bed.

His valet moved into view, his stoic expression displaying no sign that he’d noticed his master slipping out of his wife’s chamber shortly before the clocks struck seven.

It was not the done thing for a viscount to spend the entire night with his wife. But West was not one for gossip. Which was just as well, given that it was not the done thing for a viscount to marry a—

“Which one, sir? The blue or the green?”

James made a dismissive wave. “I care not, West. You decide.”

“Very good, sir. If you’ve no objection, I recommend the blue. To complement your waistcoat.”

After donning his jacket, James made his way to the breakfast room, where Cordelia was already helping herself from the buffet.

Suppressing the urge to sweep aside the place setting and claim her over the breakfast table, he picked up a plate and joined her.

“Good morning, Cordelia.”

She nodded, then resumed spooning eggs onto her plate.

James gestured toward the fish. “Would you like a kipper?”