Chapter Sixteen

G enevieve might have gasped if she’d had enough air in her lungs. As it was, Rory’s closeness—the heat of him, the faint scent of amber—made it hard for her to catch her breath. As soon as the robe opened, she felt her body reacting. Her skin tingled, her nipples hardened, and she felt an insistent throb between her legs. She wanted him to kiss her so her pink face wouldn’t be on display, but he simply stood in front of her, hands on the remains of the tie to her robe, staring at her nightrail. Was he pleased at what he could see—and she had no doubt he could see almost everything—or disappointed?

“Where did you find this?” he asked, finally releasing the tie to her robe then reaching up to push the outer garment off her shoulders.

“It was on the bed. I thought you had sent it.”

He shook his head. “No, but I’ll find out who did supply it and order a hundred more.” He looked into her eyes then reached around the tug her long plait over her shoulder. “May I?”

Genevieve wasn’t sure what she was agreeing to, but she nodded. He flicked the ribbon from the bottom of her braid, and she had a quick image of him loosening the tie of her nightrail, freeing her breasts. She shivered, and his gaze met hers again.

“I want your hair free,” he said by way of explanation.

Genevieve wanted what he wanted, even if she was thinking about all the tangles she’d have to deal with later. But then he uncoiled the last of her braid and ran a hand through her hair, and she forgot all about snarls and tangles. His hands in her hair felt good, especially when he slid his fingers along the back of her neck and cupped her head. He dipped his mouth, and she closed her eyes.

Finally.

His mouth skimmed hers, but Genevieve did not have the patience for teasing. She was so warm, and her body pulsed with need. She grabbed his robe and pulled him against her, feeling the heat of his body collide with her own. She slid her hands up his muscled arms to his broad shoulders and opened her mouth to lick at his lips. He parted for her, and she slid her tongue inside, tasting him as she pushed the robe off his shoulders to reveal his bare chest.

She’d been peeking at that V of flesh all night and known he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Now she was rewarded with the feel of his skin under her hands. She made a slow path down his chest, pausing at the center of his chest, where she felt the rapid thud of his heart. He really did want her. He couldn’t possibly want her as much as she wanted him, but that rapid heartbeat was evidence enough.

There might be other evidence, she thought, as she slid her hands lower. But before she could reach his trousers, he grasped her wrists and held them fast. She made a sound of disappointment, and his eyes widened. Immediately, she felt ashamed. “You must think me a terrible wanton.”

“I think you keep surprising me,” he said, breathless. “And I like it. I like it very much.”

“You do?”

“But I want to make sure you enjoy this night too, and if you keep on that path, it will be over far too quickly.”

Genevieve thought about reminding him that they had all night, but she bit her lip to keep from saying it.

“Would you mind if I took the reins for a few minutes?”

If her face wasn’t already burning, it all but exploded now. What was wrong with her? Why had she taken the lead? He was supposed to be the aggressor. She was supposed to be submissive. She had simply wanted him so badly that she’d forgotten for a moment what her role in the marriage was. “I don’t mind at all, my lord,” she said.

He smiled and kissed her again. The kiss was slow and tantalizing, and she had to clench her fists to curb her urge to plunder his mouth. He put his hands on her waist and pushed her backward gently, moving with her so that they made their way across the room. She felt her bottom press against his bed, and that was when he lowered his mouth to nip at her jaw and her neck. “Genevieve?”

“Hmm?” The way his lips skated across her skin made her shiver and rendered her completely incapable of speech.

“In the bedroom, do you think we might dispense with my lord ?”

She nodded. “I’ll call you Rory.”

“I’d like that. Say it again.”

“Rory!” She gasped as his mouth went to her shoulder, and he took the thin strap of her nightrail with his teeth and slid it off her skin.

“Ticklish?”

“No,” she said, not certain how to describe what she was feeling. She had never been so aroused before. Her skin felt as though it might combust everywhere he touched. Her nipples were painfully sensitive where they rubbed against the fabric of the nightrail, and she could feel the damp proof of her desire between her legs. “It’s so very warm in here,” she said by way of excuse.

“Let me help with that.” He moved his hands from her waist, skating over one taut nipple and making her whimper, until he took hold of the bow she’d made from the ties of the nightrail. He tugged it free, and the bodice opened. Genevieve had the urge to catch it before it could fall, but Rory made a sound in the back of his throat—almost like a purr—and she clenched her hands at her sides. She wanted him to make that sound again. The bodice slid down, catching on her breasts, and Rory reached up and freed it so the material pooled at her waist.

“Beautiful.” He licked his lips as he admired her. “No freckles here,” he said, lifting one hand to cup a breast. His thumb slid over her nipple, and she couldn’t stop a gasp. “You like that,” he murmured, thumbing her nipple again. Her knees buckled, but thankfully she had the bed behind her as support.

“I like you touching me,” she whispered. His look was a mix of heat and bewilderment, as though he couldn’t quite believe what she’d said.

“Get on the bed,” he told her. Genevieve didn’t think he meant it to be an order, but she rather liked the gruff way he said it. She tried to lever herself up and onto the mattress, but it was too high. She began to turn, thinking she would have to crawl onto the bed, but Rory took her waist in his hands and lifted her as though she weighed nothing. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at him as he climbed up beside her, then he pulled her down and took her mouth again.

The bed was so much better than standing, Genevieve decided. She was quickly lost in Rory’s mouth and his touch as his hands roamed over her skin and the thin material of the nightrail bunched at her waist. He moved over her, kissing her neck, her shoulder, and the valley between her breasts. “Take this off,” she said, pushing at the robe he still wore.

Impatient, he rose to his knees, yanked at the ties to the robe, and shrugged it off, revealing a muscled chest and a flat abdomen. Genevieve’s mouth went dry, but before she could reach up to touch him, he came down on top of her, levering himself on his elbows so as not to crush her. She slid her hands over his back and into his thick hair. His mouth teased the flesh of her breasts until he took her nipple in his mouth.

Genevieve’s hands stilled, and her back arched as pleasure shot through her at the pull of his mouth.

“So sensitive,” he said as his teeth rasped the hard bud. She clutched at his back as he moved to the other breast, digging her nails in as he repeated the gesture on the other side. Then he slid down to kiss the underside of her breasts and her abdomen. “Careful with your nails,” he said, his voice rumbling against her skin.

She blinked then realized what she was doing and loosened her fingers. “Sorry.”

He looked up. “I like it, but I’d rather you don’t draw blood.”

Genevieve lowered her hands to clutch at the bedclothes. The coverlet was peacock blue and the softest material she’d ever felt. She gathered bunches of it, clutching it tightly as he moved lower, kissing her belly. His hands found the material of her nightrail, and he slid it down.

“Lift your hips,” he ordered her. She did as he asked, and then the nightrail was on the floor and she was naked before him. He buried his face against her navel. “Your skin is so soft,” he said. “And you smell so good.”

“Soap,” she answered stupidly. But how was she supposed to think when he was kissing the spot below her navel and sliding down even more? She couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought, especially when he slid a hand between her legs. He must have felt the moisture there, because he looked up at her, appearing surprised.

“Sorry,” she said.

His eyes narrowed. “Why are you apologizing for wanting me?”

“I-I don’t know. You looked shocked. I thought you didn’t like it. Maybe I’d done something wrong.” She was babbling, and forced herself to close her mouth before she talked half the night.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he said. “This is my fault. I’m not used to this reaction.”

Genevieve frowned. He wasn’t used to women wanting him? The man was objectively handsome. What woman wouldn’t want him? She started to ask, but then the hand between her legs moved, cupping her, and all she could manage was a choked moan. He slid one finger over her sex, and she trembled violently. He slid lower, settling himself between her legs and pushing them open. At the same time, one finger slid along her seam and then inside. She clenched it, biting her lip to keep from moaning louder.

“May I kiss you here?” He slid his finger out and circled her sex, making her shiver.

“You want to—” She didn’t even know what to call it or what he was talking about. The few times she’d been with her lover had been hurried encounters in a hayloft or a cramped attic bed. She’d never been naked with a man, never had one positioned in this way between her legs.

“Do you like it? Not every woman does.”

She tried to understand what he meant, but her brain was too fuzzy. “I’m sure I’ll like anything you do.”

“You’ve not done this before?” His brows went up.

She shook her head.

“Good. Tell me if you want me to stop.” He nuzzled her inner thigh then parted her with his fingers. The next thing she knew, his mouth was warm on her sex and his tongue slid over her. She managed to keep from bucking at the pleasure just as he closed his mouth on a particularly sensitive spot. She couldn’t stop a cry, and he looked up at her, a question in his eyes.

“Please don’t stop,” she said, her voice rough and staccato with pants.

He gave her a nod and lowered his head again, and this time she felt his tongue circle the spot where she was pulsing and aching. Tendrils of pleasure uncurled in her belly and spread up to her breasts and down to her heavy legs. Her toes curled and her fingers clenched the soft bedclothes as he licked and sucked and flicked. She closed her eyes, her entire body curving into itself. She was vaguely aware she was saying something or moaning, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything except the mounting pleasure.

She could feel the tidal wave building, and she so wanted the pleasure to crash over her. She sobbed with need, arched her hips, and then Rory stopped teasing and slid his tongue over her, hard. The wave crashed, and she tumbled right into it, swirling under the water and being pulled down into the intense pleasure.

She thought she might drown, might stay under forever as her body pulsed and thrummed. But gradually, she surfaced, opening her eyes to see Rory looking down at her.

“For someone who didn’t want the servants to know what she was doing,” he said, “I think you may have awakened the house.”

*

Rory watched as her already flushed face went even pinker. She was so beautiful right now, her eyes impossibly green, her lips swollen from his kisses, her skin almost translucent and glowing. He couldn’t stop touching her. He loved the shape of her, from those hard, dusky nipples to her small waist to her generous hips. He wanted to turn her over and take a handful of her substantial bottom, but he would have to save that for later. She was staring up at him as though she were in a daze, and from her reaction to the orgasm, she well might be.

He didn’t claim to be any sort of libertine, but he’d never been with a woman who had reacted as she had. She’d said he might think her a wanton, and he did. She was wanton in the very best way. She was either a very good actress or she really enjoyed what he was doing. After years of marriage to a woman who went cold and tense every time he touched her, and then a couple of fleeting encounters with jaded widows, Genevieve’s reaction was more than welcome. He didn’t know women could enjoy the act this much. She clearly liked his tongue on her, though she said she’d never done that.

His cock was hard now, so hard it ached with need. He’d wanted her before, but her reaction had only heightened his desire. He would have slid into her as she came, but he wanted her to be aware of what he was doing, and she’d been completely enraptured.

“Was I that loud?” she whispered.

“No,” he lied, hoping he could make her cry out like that again. He moved off the bed, and she rose on her elbows, her wild hair falling around her shoulders. He’d wanted his hands in that hair ever since he’d first seen her. He hadn’t been disappointed at how soft and thick it felt between his fingers. Another time he’d wrap it around his hand and hold her close. But now he wanted to be inside her, needed to be inside her. He reached for the drawstring of his trousers, his gaze going to Genevieve’s face. He half expected her to look nervous, but her expression was one of interest and…was that eagerness?

He’d never expected this from her. Her reaction only made him more aroused, and he hoped he didn’t embarrass himself by climaxing too quickly. He dropped his trousers, and her lips parted. She let out a breath, her gaze on his cock then sliding up his chest and finally meeting his eyes. “You’re beautiful,” she said.

It was a strange thing for a woman to call a man, but he didn’t object. “You are the one who’s beautiful.”

She shook her head. “I never imagined I’d marry someone like you,” she said.

“I might say the same.” He crawled back on the bed, and she parted her legs, seemingly unselfconscious. Either that or she was ready for him to settle between them. She put her arms about his shoulders and tugged him down, so his chest rubbed against her breasts. Her legs went around him, her sex rising to slide against his throbbing cock.

“I thought I was in charge,” he joked.

“Then hurry and be in charge,” she said.

He was glad she wasn’t a virgin. He didn’t think he could have taken his time or been gentle. He slid his hands under her hips, lifting then sliding into her. She was so wet the path was slick and easy, and he buried himself to the hilt in her heat. She tightened around him, making him groan and clutch at her hips to try to keep control. He looked down at her, wanting to make certain she was still enjoying this, but her eyes were closed, her lips parted. “Genevieve?”

Her eyes fluttered open, and he moved inside her, slowly, sliding out and then deeper within her.

“Do you like this?”

“Yes.” She gasped.

“There?” he asked. He could feel her clench around him, feel her tremble when he moved deeper.

“Oh, yes. Rory. Yes.”

He thought she might climax again, which was remarkable, as he’d felt how powerful her first orgasm was. He needed to make this last, give her time to build to that intensity. It was difficult, though, to hold back. She was so tight, clasping him and releasing. And it had been some time since he’d had any sort of release. He felt a line of perspiration on his brow as he fought for control. It would be so easy to lose himself in her—the feel of her, the scent of her, the heat.

“Rory,” she said. He realized he had his eyes closed and opened them. She was gazing at him, and he could actually see the desire in her gaze. She wanted him. As if to prove that, she lifted a hand and touched his cheek. Rory felt his chest tighten at the surge of emotion this small action elicited. She was moving with him now, and he was reaching a crescendo. He should look away, force himself to hold back. But he couldn’t break the eye contact, and the last thing he saw as he went over the cliff was the tenderness in her eyes.