26. Chapter Twenty-six

Damnation! Tossing and turning with a cockstand was excruciating. But rubbing it out after spending the afternoon engaged in the best sex of his life left Evan feeling as if there were a cold stone in his gut. He should be sated. But hell no, he wanted more of his siren. Truth be told, he'd probably never have enough of those passion-filled eyes or her mewls of pleasure. He craved her gasps as she came apart beneath him… above him… riding his face… Her erotic moans were utterly addictive.

A combination of physical exertion and fresh air usually cured Evan's insomnia. How fortunate he was on the coast, where a sea dip at midnight was possible. Therefore, he retrieved a towel and a lantern and stole into the night.

His trek afforded him time to ponder his situation and come to an unpalatable decision. Despite the web of desire Katrina wove, he needed to keep his prick in his trousers until his brother-in-law—the arrogant arse of a duke—and his best friend—the moody ex-rogue—consented to his betrothal to her.

Once he reached his favorite spot below the overlook, he slipped out of his boots and stockings. After stripping down, he tossed his clothing into a pile. He chuckled as he recalled Katrina's picture of him naked. Someday, he would ask her about it. However, right this moment, he needed to swim.

The storm had charged the sea with brutal anger. Waves roared and crashed.

Evan dashed into the water, smashing through the breaking waves. As a particularly elephantine crest rose before him, he dove beneath it. He miscalculated, and instead of coming out on the other side, he somersaulted as he was thrown about like a child's rag doll. No matter. He emerged unscathed and continued to meet the powerful foam head-on.

He was an intoxicated kind of breathless when a bobbing light from the shore caught his eye. It moved closer to the one he'd left beside his clothes.

Someone was watching him. If it was Greyson, he'd carve the man's eyeballs from their sockets using a broken shell. It would be easy enough since dozens were lying about.

Unless it was his other spy. The beautiful one who kissed like sin incarnate.

He swiped water droplets from his eyes and crept closer to the pebbled shore. The moonlight and the two lanterns illuminated a woman, her dress and bonnet strings blowing in the breeze. Clutching fabric to her chest, Katrina bent forward. She placed her light source beside his, stood, and waved.

He'd bet his dry towel and boots she'd come here looking for him. His heart thumped like the dickens as he waved back.

She spread the blanket and sat.

Who was he to deny her a show? He conjured his agile athlete, leaping over the waves and frolicking like a child. Her cheers, almost drowned out by the rumbling sea, were barely a whisper. Still, he relished them.

Diving deep, he placed his palms on the sandy bottom and pointed his toes to the sky. He stood on his hands until Mother Nature saw fit to upend him. Flipping gracefully, he rode the wave until he almost reached the shore. He popped up. Elegantly sweeping his arm wide, he took a bow, his cock wagging about.

Laughing, Katrina clapped with delight, hopefully at his acrobatics and not his absurdly cold and exceedingly eager prick.

He was preparing to do a backflip when she stood. Spellbound, he watched as she took off her gloves and untied her bonnet. She dropped her accessories onto his pile of clothes. Her dress drifted over her shoulders and slid to the ground.

What kind of garment came off that easily? Perchance, it was one of those new bathing dresses ladies were going on and on about. If so, he'd like to shake the seamstress's hand.

He mumbled a half dozen ungentlemanly epithets as her chemise dropped to her ankles. The moonlight dappled off her bare skin, silhouetting her hourglass curves and long legs. The wind whipped her hair in every direction. The ton's perfect darling looked positively feral. As if she ran with wolves, seduced demons, and needed to be fucked good and hard. Luckily, he was just the man to commence with her thorough tupping.

Intending to throw her onto the blanket, he rushed toward her. She toed off her slippers and met him at the water's edge. Shoulders pulled back, and bosom thrust forward, she strolled right past him. He gawked after her and her swaying peach-shaped arse as she fought through the surf. Once she was immersed up to her armpits, she dropped into the water, disappearing beneath its surface.

Was this the same woman who had been terrified of a sea dip just days ago? Damn, she was a fascinating enigma.

When she resurfaced, she threw her head back, and water splayed from her hair. His mermaid grinned as she curled her finger, calling him to her.

"Bloody hell."

Katrina was beautiful.

He dove, then kicked as fast as he could to reach her side. He had her cradled against his torso, more quickly than he could whimper another "Bloody hell."

She wrapped her arms around his waist and covered his chest and shoulders with tender kisses.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. Please, Poseidon, let her confess she was there to see him.

"I sneaked into your room, and you were not there." She chewed on her bottom lip. "And I know you swim here at night."

It seemed she missed him as much as he'd missed her these last few hours. And how flattering that she licked her top lip as she stared at his physique—his pectorals, to be exact—as if he needed any more reason to preen.

"Did you, by chance, spy on me one night as I swam?" he asked.

Only an imbecile would embarrass a lady by asking such a question. Just call him Emperor of the Fools because arrogant shite-bag that he was, he needed to hear she desired him. He winked, then inclined his chin to the overlook.

She exhaled the indignant gasp of a guilty woman. "I would never…"

Chuckling, he reached for her.

Katrina evaded his grasp and splashed him in the face.

Before he'd even wiped the water from his eyes, she splashed him again. Wearing a devilish grin, she shoved armful after armful of water in his direction.

What a playful little wench. He should toss her over his shoulder, carry her to the shore, and tup her senseless. And he would have, except she squealed with delight as she dashed away from him.

The chase was on!

He navigated the water as if he had fins. Once he caught up to her, he pretended his fingers were shark teeth, clasped her legs, and pinched. When he bounded from the water, he expected her to continue their game and run away—not that she stood a chance of escape. Instead, she spun to face him.

"I win. I win." She leaped upon him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

Apparently, their game of shark chases fish was over. Thank heavens since his cock had hardened the second her warm flesh rubbed against him in that cool water.

Clinging to him, she angled her lips over his.

He tilted her head back and devoured her. Fucking delicious. Even the salt water on her skin did not detract from her sweetness.

Unfortunately, a wave caught them off guard, knocking them over.

He was instantly on his feet. She was nowhere to be found.

"Katrina," he called, searching the dark and stomping about in the water. "Katrina!" His erratic heartbeat seemed to thump louder than the sea gurgled. If only she were a more experienced swimmer.

At last, a flailing arm, then a long leg, stuck out of the water. Fighting the tug of the tide, he rushed toward the shore.

By the time he reached Katrina, she sat on the beach, the shallow waves washing over her, her head in her hands. Her sobbing ripped his heart in two.

He crouched beside her. "Katrina, are you hurt?"

She dropped her hands, peered up at him, and giggled. He'd been mistaken. She wasn't crying. Quite the opposite. She was laughing so hard her body convulsed.

"I am unharmed," she said between chortles.

Lust accompanied his relief. Let the record show, it wasn't his fault he was a lecherous shite-arse. How could he stop his wanton desires when her bare breasts bounced with each chuckle? Even more enticing, the curls covering her quim were visible every time the waves receded? Hell and damnation. He needed to get her into her frock and deliver her to the inn. And he needed to get his aroused prick back into his trousers.

He stood. "We should get dressed before someone comes along and sees us." Extending his hand, he pulled her onto her feet.

"Who would possibly come along this late at night?" She swept her free arm outward, indicating the empty beach. "And to this secluded spot?"

Any manner of individual. Drunks. Scoundrels. Greyson. Her brother.

As she tugged him toward their belongings, his brain and cock battled. The latter wanted to plant itself deep inside her while the smarter of the two screamed, "Make haste and dress!"

The decision was taken from him when she dropped onto the blanket and pulled him down to lay beside her.

He should stop her. Tell her they would be caught. Again. And soon, their luck would run out. However, it was impossible to say anything while he was moaning. Pleasure shot through him as one of her soft hands grasped his cock, and a finger of the other traced gentle circles on his chest. And her tongue? Christ! It was licking its way down his torso.

To the devil with it all. He couldn't have dressed himself if threatened at gunpoint. He pillowed his head on his palms, relaxed into the blanket, and watched her.

Grasping his cock firmly, she peered at him from beneath her fluttering lashes. "I want to taste you."

Hell yes! "Please do."

"I know not what to do. Tell me what you like." She stroked and kissed this length.

Katrina Harrington was his to command. Her innocence, combined with her newfound boldness, created the ultimate aphrodisiac. How damn fortunate could one man be?

"You are doing perfectly on your own, my darling," he said. So well that semen leaked from his tip.

She halted her ministrations to ask, "Will you tell me what you like? I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel this afternoon."

He muttered a string of guttural curses, every single one of them seeped in desire. How could he have ever thought her self-centered when she was willing to devote herself to his pleasure?

"Please teach me," she said right before the seductress licked the splash of cum from the tip of his cock.

She was doing a fine job indeed, but since she wanted guidance, he'd oblige. "That's it, darling. Lick me," he commanded.

Her grip firm, she licked from the base to the tip of his cock.

What a superior pupil she was. He might be a shite art instructor, but it seemed he made one deuce of a tutor in the art of seduction.

"What a good girl you are," he said, his voice hoarse with desire. "Now, flick your tongue."

Her warm tip flicked at the underside of his cock. Up and down, side to side, and in small circles, she worked him, as if she were experienced in such things.

"That's it, Luv," he encouraged between his moans of pleasure. "Now, take me into your mouth. Deep." Please let her be able to swallow him whole.

Wide, innocent eyes blinked at him. Perhaps he'd pushed too hard and asked for too much. Damn, he was an insatiable blighter. He should be showering her with romantic kisses, not shoving his bloody roger down her throat. Before he could switch to tender lovemaking, she guided his cock to her mouth.

At first, her attentions were tentative, but within moments she greedily sucked on him, taking him deeper and deeper, all the while moaning around his girth.

If he was not mistaken, she was intoxicated with his taste. Dropping his head onto the blanket and closing his eyes, he succumbed to the pleasure of it all.

His heart hammered. A tingling took hold in his stomach, radiating outward until it was as if a butterfly tickled the head of his prick. All rational thought left him except for one burning question. To come inside her mouth or deep inside her?

She wasn't a doxie, and he couldn't treat her as one. Would he scare her to death if he pumped into her throat? The damn sheath he'd left behind on his nightstand was no help. Should he compromise again and spill on her belly?

Ridiculous! Why the hell was he thinking about anything other than an explosive orgasm?

—because she wasn't just a tup. Because he wanted them to experience their pleasure simultaneously. Because he loved her.

He gently tugged on her hair until his cock slid from her lips.

"Am I doing it wrong?" she asked as a heart-wrenching frown spread across her face.

"You are beyond perfect. In fact, you're exceedingly good at this," he told her. "But I want to fuck you."

"Oh." Grinning wickedly, she crawled up his body, swung her leg over his hips, and straddled him. They were both so wet and aroused that she lowered her cunny onto his cock, and in one swift motion, he was buried all the way to the hilt.

Good Lord. "You're so bloody tight." And warm and safe. "And perfect."

"You're so hard," she panted out in breathy little gasps as she undulated.

His fingertips dug into her hips as he helped set their pace. Those fucking beautiful breasts bounced the same way they had when she'd rode his face, and he'd feasted. Damn beautiful breasts. Utterly perfect breasts. Full and perky and moving in time to his upward thrusts. If only he had four hands.

Within moments, her leisurely ride grew frenzied, and she threw her head back in abandonment. Their bare skin slapped to the beat of his heart's desire, and with every thrust, his senses heightened.

Tingling took hold in his stomach, traveling to his groin. Every part of him spiraled into a single point in his balls. They throbbed as he was tugged into another sphere.

"I'm going to come." Despite his shattering, he needed to protect her. He tried to create space between them and pull out. However, he failed because she slammed her cunny against his hips. His cock remained embedded inside her. Warmly and deliciously deep inside her.

"Oh, Evan." Her back arched, and she whimpered as her walls spasmed around him.

There was no going back. He tensed to the point of delicious pain. "Fuck," he grunted. With an uncontrollable shudder, he exploded, his seed filling her. Splintering into a million pieces, he rode the euphoria.

Colors, ecstasy, and completeness turned into weightless floating. He held onto the rush of sensations until his body lay heavy on the beach.

Smiling and still straddling him, Katrina peered down at him.

He caressed her cheek. "I have fallen completely and madly in love with you," he confessed for the second time in the last twenty-four hours.

She collapsed beside him and playfully tapped his nose. "How wonderful. Because I think I have loved you forever."

What a road they'd traveled to be together—were still traveling.

He'd worry about his spilled seed another time. For now, he wanted to cuddle. He reached for the dry towel and spread it over top of them. Although it didn't cover much, it was soft and comforting.

"The dowager countess will adore you." Evan pulled Katrina close. "As will the rest of my family."

"It has been so long since I have seen your siblings. I cannot wait to meet our nephew."

"I've enjoyed Brighton, but I cannot wait for you to see Trent Castle." He kissed the top of her head. "I shall be the fun uncle, our brothers being such sticks in the briars."

"No doubt," she said. "Tell me all about your family. I know Georgiana quite well, but I want to hear about the Dowager Countess Trent, Alistair, and Stephen."

"There is also my brother's ward, Jimmy, and my sisters-in-law, Evangeline and Madaline. Baby Alistair is an energetic little lad. He is quite fun. And wait until you meet Mrs. Clayton."

"Mrs. Clayton?"

Was his princess jealous? Any other time he'd taunt her, but not while he was so damn cozy and sated.

"Our cook. The most superior cook in all of England. Makes a superb apple pie. And her crust…" He held his thumb and forefinger to his lips and blew a kiss into the air. "To die for."

Katrina snuggled closer.

Although drowsy, he wanted to talk to her forever—about everything, especially his family—make that their family, for they were related through marriage. And surely, William and Ethan would soon consent to their courtship. And if they did, mayhap he would propose, and then they would be partners for life. Make love every single day. Forever…

He blew out a heavy sigh.

Forever was such a terrifying notion. Or was it a comforting thought? He was overanalyzing things again. First, he needed permission to court her. Perhaps he should seek Georgie and Anna's assistance. The Harrington brothers were quite docile and malleable around their wives. Not to mention, Grandmother Louisa was the best weapon in his arsenal. She'd adore Katrina and insist her grandson-in-law agree to the courtship. Just let the Duke of Astleyshire tell Grandmother Louisa that a third son was not good enough for his sister. And if Ethan mentioned Evan was too much of a rake after his own hedonistic days, the duke's brother would receive a scathing rebuke from Lady Trent. Evan smiled. Why hadn't he thought of this sooner? Yes, indeed, siccing the Eaton women on the Harrington men was a bloody brilliant plan.

And if it failed, he'd commandeer a carriage so he and Katrina could sneak off to Gretna Green.

Gretna Green? What the bloody hell?

The truth hit him in the chest with the force of a cannonball, knocking the last of his reticence from him. More than anything in the world, he wanted to marry the little girl who'd stolen his heart years ago.

It took all of his discipline to get them dressed and escort her back to the inn. So much that by the time he stood behind the old oak by the servants' entrance, his exhausted body again trembled with need. If he was this randy after a few minutes walk with Kat, how in bloody hell was he to last days in a carriage sitting across from her? He'd have to clench his fists and talk down his cock as his best mate scowled at him.

"Until tomorrow, my darling princess," he whispered as he passionately kissed her goodnight.