Chapter 29

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

B eckett wasn't sure what came over him. Pride? Determination? Lust for his wife?

He wouldn't think about how it had made him feel seeing her talking, laughing, flirting with Lord Lennox. The man was stepping across a line, and he would have a word or several with the young earl before the week was out.

He scooped Genevieve into his arms and strode to her bed, tossing her onto the top of the coverings. He enjoyed the sight of the shock and expectation that burned in her green gaze.

She lay back, supported on her elbows, watching him. "And now that you have me here, what will you do to me, husband?"

Was she taunting him? Hunger burned deep within him, and he wanted to teach her a lesson about heckling a man—her husband—and what he might do to her.

There were so many things he'd fantasized about doing. Tonight, right now, would merely be one.

He wrenched off his coat and waistcoat and threw them over a nearby settee. His cravat followed. For what he had planned, he needed only a little freedom for movement.

He reached for the hem of her dress, sliding it up her slim legs. She wore silk stockings with pretty little pink ribbons about her upper thighs. He stepped between her legs, pushing her knees apart and giving him a full view of the pink, wet quim that was his to enjoy.

She was ready for him, and he could see that she expected him to make love to her.

And while he would take his fill, right here and now was all about teaching her a lesson on who owned her body and soul, who could tease and twist her desire for him for his own needs.

She was his, and by the end of tonight, she would never doubt that or want anyone else.

"Lie back and try not to scream, if you can."

"You think highly of yourself yet again. I do not know why I continue to be amused by your highhandedness."

"You'll see soon enough." He crawled onto the bed, kissed along her silk stocking, lifting one leg and licking behind one knee. She giggled and gasped when he playfully nipped the flesh along her upper thigh, making his way toward her delicious sex.

He could smell her desire, it made his mouth salivate, and he licked his lips, eager to taste her, fuck her in all senses of the word…with his tongue.

He settled between her legs and used his tongue to tease her. She tasted divine, and a hungry growl escaped him before he could stop it.

His hard cock pressed against the bed. He wanted her desperately, but right now, he needed this more. Needed to show her how he could make her feel. Show her the heights only he would bring her now that they were married.

Her legs fell lax, giving him room to enjoy her. He loved on her sex, suckled her little engorged nubbin, and kissed her sweet lips until she was writhing on the bed.

"Beckett."

The sound of his name, a cry, a moan of delight almost made him spend in his breeches. He slipped a finger into her warm, tight heat, and she moaned, her fingers clasping his hair, fisting it tight.

"Fuck my face, Genevieve. Take your fill. Come for me."

"What are you doing to me?" Her breathless plea was music to his ears.

He continued, relentlessly teasing her honeyed flesh. She undulated against his mouth, pressed down on his hand, fucked him as he asked.

"Beckett!" she screamed his name as her body convulsed about his finger. He laved her wanton flesh as she rode out her orgasm, wanting her right to the very end, not leaving her in the least unsatisfied by his touch.

With one last kiss on her mons, he went to move off the bed, but as quick as a flash, Genevieve moved, pushing him onto the bedding to straddle him.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

He stared at her, unable to comprehend what she was doing or how she'd maneuvered him so effortlessly.

She reached for the falls of his breeches, ripping them open. His cock sprang free, hard as hell and unsatisfied.

He was in a great tweague, certain his cods would explode.

She clasped his cock, guiding him into her. The abundance of her gown made it hard for him to see what she was doing, but by God, he could feel it.

He slipped into her tight, wet heat. So good. So fucking tight. He swallowed and fought to control his emotions and needs.

She did not give him time to catch his breath. She rose and lowered herself on him, working him with a madness that stole the breath in his lungs.

She was magnificent. He drank her in, she appeared just as she would in a ballroom, beautifully dressed, wig perfectly coiffured, a gown fit for a queen, and yet, in this room, hidden beneath yards of material that bustled up around them both, she fucked him like one of the best courtesans in Europe.

He would never survive.

His balls tightened, his cock hardened. He clasped her hips, thrust into her, needing to come as much as his body needed air.

She gasped, rolled her hips, and took him deep.

Her second orgasm convulsed about his cock, and it was too much. He couldn't hold back, couldn't delay the exquisite pleasure a moment longer.

"Genevieve," he gasped, rocking into her, taking her, filling her with his seed. He came hard and fast, the pleasure making stars twinkle before his eyes.

"Beckett, yes, oh yes." She worked him, squeezing every last tremor from them both.

His breathing ragged, he watched her in awe of what she'd done. He'd not expected her to take command. He'd thought she would have been satisfied and left their earlier interaction at that.

To ensure he, too, gained release was an act he'd not expected.

She wiggled off his lap and slumped on the bed at his side. Without thought, he pulled her into his arms as he tried to regain his equilibrium.

Genevieve snuggled into his side, her hand idly lying across his chest. He frowned, unsure what was happening here or why he liked having her in his arms.

They had not been friends, not for years. Their marriage was out of duty and that friendship for her family.

Why was he lying here, holding her, wanting her in his arms, protected and safe?

She kissed his chest through his shirt and sat up before shuffling to the side of the bed. The moment she moved away, he missed her already.

His frown deepened.

"Thank you for the pleasant interlude, husband. I shall never think of my room the same way again. See you at home."

With those words, she turned on her slippered heel and left the room.

Beckett sat up, gaped at the closing door, and swore.

She left him here?

Had he just been used? For sex? For relief?

Well, he never… Certainly, he'd always been the one to leave a lover after an interlude, never the woman.

But it would seem yet again his wife was a conundrum. A minx.

A woman he could not make out.

What would he do with her now?