Page 96 of Why Do Rogues Fall in Love?

“Yes, we are,” she said softly as she placed her finger over his mouth. “I want to taste you as you tasted me. I ache…and it is a torment I will not carry with me to bed tonight, for I shall get no sleep if I do.”

“Are you not afraid if we anticipate our vows…I might jilt you and leave you ruined.”

“I am trusting you to protect my heart, my emotions and my body. I will also entrust yours into my keeping,” she said softly, touching the corner of his mouth. “And if you hurt me, I promise I will sneak into your house when you least expect it with my rapier in hand.”

He held her gaze a moment longer, then drew her back into his arms. She went willingly, one hand sliding to the back of his neck while the other rested against his cheek.

He laughed, and she leaned down and captured it with her mouth. Their kiss grew wild and desperate. Their tongues tangled hotly, then slowed to a more provocative dance and glide. Her body felt incredibly alive, every sense feeling somehow keener, sharper.

At length George rose with her, keeping one arm around her until her feet were steady upon the boards. He crossed to the wooden chest, lifted its heavy lid, and brought out the blankets and cushions he had mentioned earlier. While she stood beside the padded bench, he spread the blankets over the sheltered part of the floor, then arranged the cushions against the broad trunk so they would not slip between the boards. Only when the place was ready did he return to her, take her hand, and draw her down beside him. They faced each other upon the cushions, close enough to kiss without either having to reach.

Raw pleasure rushed through Cordelia like a petal unfurling inside her chest. George kissed and caressed everywhere on her body, the curve of her throat, the press of his thumb against her pulse, a drag of his palm over the slimness of her back, and down to the lush curves of her backside.

They were no longer seated upon the bench. As they shifted upon the blankets, George steadied her with a hand at her back, and she adjusted the cushions beneath her shoulders. The change in position brought them face to face again, and she caught his sleeve to draw him nearer.

He nudged her legs apart with his powerful thighs and settled in the space he’d created. She arched to George, her own thighs widening, her body straining against him. He broke their kiss, his fingers inching down her stomach, slowly, so slowly until he was at her aching sex. The rasp of calloused fingertips against her soft folds sent shivers of heat cascading through her limbs. He stroked his fingers between the aching flesh of her sex, rubbing over her nub. A desperate moan left her lips when his thumb circled her swollen clitoris with firmer strokes, and at the same time, he slid two fingers deep inside her sex.

“I need you wetter to take me,” he said, his voice rough with desire.

George was already beside her on the cushioned floor. He adjusted his position and drew the edge of the blanket beneath her so that the boards would not press against her back.

George shifted, lowering himself beside her and easing her back onto the cushions.

Cordelia’s cry choked off as she twisted under the sensation. He slid his hands beneath her buttocks and lifted her quim to his mouth. Her body was sheened with sweat, her breathing harsh, her cries desperate as he tongued her sex, stroked her hotly with his mouth.

When he came close enough for her to touch his face again, Cordelia turned toward him and caught his mouth with hers. He paused, then bent to kiss her cheek and jaw, his hand braced beside her shoulder.

He dragged his mouth from hers, moving his lips over her jaw, leaving fire in their wake, coaxing and seducing. “Open up for me, my sweet. Just like that…” His voice was a rumble of sensual want against her throat, and her belly grew hot and tight.

Their positions shifted once more upon the blankets, and Cordelia reached for his shoulders to steady herself. George looked down at her, waiting until she met his eyes before moving closer.

His cock pushed in deeper, pleasure mixed with pain as she arched beneath him, accepting this carnal invasion that made her feel as if she would break apart.

His hips rolled, and suddenly he surged inside her pussy to the hilt.

“George,” she cried out his name, shocked by the feeling of being so stretched and pinned by his weight and cock.

The stroke of his tongue against her was deep and carnal, a perfect mimicry of the way his cock thrust in and out of her pussy. Over and over he plunged his cock, devastating her with pleasure. She clutched his sweat-slicked shoulder, ripped her mouth from his to breathe raggedly. She buried her face into the curve of his neck, her lips lifting to more. Pressure built in sharp, wicked spikes, until ecstasy burst over her senses, sucking her under until she felt as if she couldn’t breathe.

CHAPTER 22

George had always considered himself a man of considerable appetites, but the two nights he spent with Cordelia at Seaview Manor had thoroughly disabused him of the notion that he understood the limits of his own desires. She had arrived in Kent with an air of determined composure, and he had resolved to be a gentleman until it killed him. That resolve had lasted precisely until they found themselves alone in his tree house. What followed had left him questioning whether he had ever truly known passion before her.

They had been insatiable.

He could think of no more accurate description, though the word scarcely encompassed the hunger that had possessed them. She was an innocent, yet he had taken her three times that night, and although he had worried about leaving her sore, she had clasped him tightly and demanded that he hold nothing back from her.

George had ensured she was wet enough to drown him by eating her pussy with decadent greed. The memory of her legs tossed over his shoulders, her hips arched upon the cushions he had placed beneath her, her sleek, slick skin, the wild tumble of her hair about her shoulders and breasts, the sensuous look in her eyes, and the way she had come undone, arching and sensually rolling her hips, riding his tongue as she climaxed over and over, remained vividly etched in his mind. Then, when he stroked his cock inside her pussy, swollen and sensitive from the attention of his tongue, Cori had convulsed beneath him, her passionate responses drowning him in a carnality he had never before experienced.

Even now, the recollection could make his pulse race and leave him aching for her. And that was what continued to astonish him. He had known lovers and had always taken pleasure in their enjoyment, but never had another woman’s responses affected him with such intensity. Every tremor, every gasp, every unguarded expression of delight had stirred something within him that went beyond the familiar satisfaction of being an accomplished lover. He had been enthralled by her willingness to trust him, by the tenderness with which she had touched his face, and by the extraordinary intimacy of having her look into his eyes as though she wished to see every part of him. When passion had given way to quiet conversation, he had found himself reluctant to sleep lest he miss another moment in her company.

Was it because his emotions were engaged?

He had enjoyed the company of women, admired their beauty, desired their bodies, and shared countless pleasures, but never before had his heart become so thoroughly entangled with his physical appetites. With Cordelia, the distinction seemed to have vanished altogether. He wanted her with a hunger that frequently threatened his self-command, yet he also wanted to cherish her, protect her happiness, and discover every small, ordinary detail of the life she might one day permit him to share.

He had learned the sweetness of waking with her in his arms as the first rays of dawn filtered through the oak leaves, the peculiar satisfaction of hearing her laugh against his shoulder, and the exquisite torment of knowing that the woman who had so completely overturned his existence would return to London the following day.

By the morning of her departure, Cordelia had glared at him over her breakfast tea, stifled a most unladylike yawn, and informed him that she had enjoyed scarcely a moment’s proper rest during her visit. He had reminded her, with what he considered admirable restraint, that she had been equally responsible for their sleepless nights. Her answering look had promised a particularly inventive form of retribution.