Her Wicked Earl, page 10
part #1 of Imperious Lords Series
“Yes,” she answered him simply.
“And the title of Viscountess,” his syrupy tone emphasised.
Anger spread inside her. If these self-important aristocrats deemed their rank so irrecusable, it would be their business. That they were arrogant enough to think others did annoyed her. “What the darn am I going to do with a title?” her voice spat the question in the deserted hall.
His inspection zeroed on her as if he sought to rummage her most hidden secrets. “Every woman aims at it.”
Honey eyes sustained his firmly. “But I do not.”
At that, his thumbs loosened and his thick arms fell by his side as he kept his scrutiny on her.
If she did not know better, she would say hours slipped by with them frozen on the marble floor. Their eyes clasped to each other with a river of unspoken conversation running underneath them. But they counted mere seconds during which the temperature of her insides soared to combustion point.
She was about to force herself to turn and leave when his taut frame set into motion. Long, predatory strides reached her as her breath hitched. Big hands caught her face before his mouth nosedived onto hers. A moan arrested in her throat, its meaning spelling ‘at last’ for the way that her own mouth opened and received him eagerly, and with no resistance. Her hands grabbed his large shoulders in a struggle to continue standing. She revelled in those sculpted lips taking her to levels of pleasure even her fantasies never dreamed of. Their tongues knotted, unknotted, re-knotted until she lost all sense of time or place. Or of anything else.
The kiss deepened, creating a need impossible to deny or ignore. Her fingers trailed up to his neck where they found exultation in his sleek hair. He angled his head, draped his hand on her nape, laced his free arm around her waist and took the kiss to explosive heights. Her breasts puckered shamelessly, and that secret spot in her demanded attention. Also, shameless.
Dazed, in a cloud of sensation, she barely registered his clever hand plucking the small tiara from her head, allowing the glossy strands to shimmer down to her hips.
His chiselled face lifted to hers, and his gaze took in her falling waves. “I’ve been wanting to see your hair loose for a long, long time,” he rasped.
Said time stopped with them holding fast in the echoing entrance hall, exposed to anyone who happened upon them. And who cared? Not her, not at that moment.
Not ever.
In an agile movement, his strong arms hauled her from the floor, eliciting a squeak of surprise and, yes, delight, from Otilia. Her hair flew. Her skirts billowed. Her heart fluttered.
And then he kissed her again while bold legs climbed up the winding stairs. She did not know where they headed.
And did not care.
Inside the Earl’s spacious bedchamber, he kicked the door shut, passed by the sitting room to the room where the enormous four-poster sat with a sky of cloud-fluffy covers in the middle of it.
Those arms placed her in the middle and braced over her. Brown-sugar hair spread on the pillows, reflecting the fire roaring in the fireplace. It intensified the heat of him as her nostrils inhaled his clove essence and male scent. His solid frame pressed her to the mattress, their breath mingling between them.
His jet stare imprisoned hers while yearning took over every inch of her. “Say no, Otilia.” The words moved his jaw, and her attention darted to the stubble-darkened squareness of it. “Say no, and I will let you go,” he rumbled with hot urgency.
Her gaze snapped back to his, her foggy mind trying to make sense of his words. If she was going to know a man, if she was going to know a single man in this world, it had to be him. Edmund. The man who populated her youth’s reveries. The man who represented the promise of happiness for a girl that possessed nothing. The bliss of a home, a family, a life lived in full. If she was going to give herself to any man, learn about physical ecstasy, it had to be with Edmund. The man who came back to her life, tall, hard, dark. The man that kissed her with everything opposed to home or family, but overflowed with the promise of steamy moments, maddening caresses, and sensual delectation. It had to be him, the only man she had ever wanted; her body would ever accept, desire, crave. There would never be another—now, or in the future—as there had never been another in her existence.
For all she knew, she was condemned to spinsterhood. She would be no lecherous lord’s mistress, nor would she settle for an empty marriage, or the loss of freedom for a social position. A woman in her circumstances, rejecting those options, would solely find herself a spinster. And, by Jove, she risked ageing bitter, unloved; she risked not experiencing sensuality, the touch of a man, or the special touch of a man for whom she hungered. Without this, him, the future spread like a barren land, dry and forgotten. Worse, a future with countless layers of regret and hollow memories. If she intended to build memories, it had to be with him. If she wanted to be able to smile at old age; if she wished to retain any softness, it had to be with him.
Because it had always been him.
Or else, what, save herself for an old vicar? An indifferent shop owner? A boring clerk? What did they care if she came ruined? What did she care? The condition of an orphaned bastard was ruin enough. She would never be a ton lady anyway, not in the pedigreed sense of the term. She had been ruined from the start. Tonight changed nothing.
This must be her choice. And if she would choose, she might as well give in and have a taste of the carnal man whose heated body pressed on hers right now.
Not leaving his eyes for a millisecond, her hands came to her bodice to unbutton the pearls on its front. One undone, his jet glare lowered to it. The second undone, his breath sped. The third gone, his eyes pierced her anew.
“Damn it, Otilia,” the growl warmed her cheeks. “You are supposed to deny me, not throw me in the fires of hell.”
The fourth button popped, and her full breasts spilled out for his eager view. He pressed his steel erection further into her skirts. With a guttural groan, he lowered his stubble jaw to her collarbone and scraped it down her chest to latch his mouth on one orb. Unbearable sensation melted her when he suckled deep and hard; one hand covering the other, his fingers rolling the poor pebbled nipple. Otilia arched into him, one hand pressing him to her, the other exploring his muscled back down to his taut buttocks. This incited him to explore her second breast.
The shred of composure she had left broke with her moan. She started bunching and pulling on his clothes, thirsty to touch all of him.
He lifted a little and looked at her. “Have patience, woman.” But she did not.
Manly fingers unbuttoned his waistcoat while she pulled his shirt out of his trousers and passed it over his head. She could barely wait to palm his solid torso covered in smooth skin and peppered with soft hair. Her mouth came up to graze his muscled chest and lick his nipple. He lowered his head with a strangled sound.
“We need to take this slower,” he murmured and was repaid with her licking his other nipple. Air expelled sharply through his nose as his hips moved restlessly over her.
Her skirts ended bunched up, his hand disappearing under them. He found her centre through the slit of the drawers, on the exact spot where she ached.
“Edmund,” she called.
“Bend your knees, open for me, Siren,” he instructed before his experienced fingers started circling and tantalising that bunch of nerves. “So wet!”
His fingers massaged her there, and his mouth returned to her breast. She did not think she would survive. A ball of fire began to grow in the depths of her. He did not relent, and desperation dominated her.
“Edmund, please,” she begged.
One more stroke and she tumbled down a darkened abyss with a ragged cry, surprised and elated at how her body could give her such joy. Those fingers rode her orgasm until it subsided, and she fell sated on the bedsheets.
He took this reprieve to finish undressing her, sprawling her nakedness on the bed and drinking in her beauty. She was so spent she had no chance of producing shame.
Her hair scattered on the pillow, she watched him take off the rest of his clothes as her gaze strolled over the wall of his chest, his tapered waist, and his muscled legs. She saved the best for last, ogling his big, rocklike cock. It had printed on her many times. The real view of it got her aroused all over again.
He re-approached the bed, and she sat up, extending her hand to touch him, curious. Her fingers closed around his member, testing its hardness under the silken surface. A hiss came from him at her caress.
“You can touch me later, Siren.” His hand closed over hers. “Right now, I am too near the edge.” He placed her palm on his washboard abdomen.
Despite the disappointment, she lay back to continue admiring his manliness.
Kneeling over her, he lowered to her sex. “I need to taste you, Otilia.” The syrupy rasp vibrated on the whole of her.
Goodness gracious, was there no end to this man’s wickedness?
But then his fingers leafed through her folds, his tongue found her swollen clit, and she lost the ability for logical elaboration. He licked everything, every nook, every inch, every part of her sensitive flesh. If she thought she could not feel any more pleasure than she had already, she was wrong. Because his finger entered her channel to move inside rhythmically, his tongue never stopping. And that ball of fire surged stronger at his merciless ministrations. When the explosion came, it resembled an earthquake. This one twice as intense as the first. She screamed his name as his tongue licked the last of her.
He came over her again, her legs bent and cradling him. Instinctively, her hips elevated for him. He kissed her, his hot hardness on her belly.
His head lifted to her. “Otilia…” he growled, squeezing his eyes shut as if in agony. “Stop rubbing against me.” She did not.
“Edmund.” He held her hips, but she did not cease. “I need…I need…”
“I know.” His breath became irregular. “We do not have to go all the way.” His head fell on the curve of her neck. “There are other… Oh.” He groaned when she intensified the wriggles. “You can remain… Damn.” He cursed when her hands pressed his buttocks.
“Take me, please.” Now she managed to place his erection at her entrance and pressed against it.
“I intend to spare you, woman!” His voice had gone hoarser and his cock harder.
Her attempts succeeded in putting the tip of him inside as she arched and moaned with the pleasure of it.
“Bloody hell,” he rumbled, propping on his elbows and moving forward helplessly.
His glorious erection sat deep, filling every single inch of her. No pain occurred, just a passing discomfort. His hands made her legs circle him, and her arms banded him as they clutched tight to one another.
He thrust at last; she followed him, and soon they moved in steamy tandem. How on earth did he want her to pass this? The fire surged anew when he thrust deeper, crushing her swollen clit against his pubic bone, his hardness abrading the whole of her channel. She sobbed at the crescendo of her sensations.
“You are so tight you are clenching me to insanity,” he muttered in her ear.
In between grunts, he stretched one of his arms to thrust harder. She opened more, moved faster, the release nearer. He accelerated, going deeper, crushing her clit more, and she erupted in a blinding conflagration with a loud moan.
He pounded, becoming frantic, erratic until he exited her, held his erection and poured his abundant seed on her navel, arching his back with nothing short of a roar. With a spent exhale, he fell on her.
The room went quiet and still.
Otilia could never tell how long they stayed entangled, sated and drinking in the heat of each other. Her thoughts receded like a low tide as her muscles turned to water from the contact with his unyielding frame, and his stubbled mouth on the curve of her neck. His breath first ragged and then regular spread a sense of peace in her insides, the likes of which she had never experienced in her life.
At last, he lifted his head to look at her in the firelight. Tousled black hair fell on his brows giving him a less stern air, his darkened jaw and even darker eyes filled her view, and she did not shy away from admiring his masculinity. He kissed her eyes, the tip of her pert nose, her chin, the tenderness surprising her.
In agile movements, he left the bed to the washstand where he moistened a cloth and came back to her. In careful strokes, he started cleaning her navel, sliding down to the few drops of blood on her inner thighs. His attention snapped to her. “Did I hurt you?” More syrup than nutmeg, the sound was a balm to her ears.
A faint smile stretched her swollen lips when she shook her hair-mussed head. “Can we do it again?” A mischievous glint coloured her honey orbs.
At this, his eyes blazed as his lips drew in a smile. Her eyes widened on his mouth. If the man was the very definition of handsome when serious, smiling no woman stood a chance. He used to be so brooding and grim the transformation stunned her.
“As much as you want,” he rasped. A flush scalded her with more arousal than embarrassment. He stretched his hand to his nightstand. “But this time I hope you give me the chance to use this.” Picking an envelope shaped parcel, he opened it and took out a strange contraption with a ribbon on the top of it. “French letters,” he clarified at her curious stance. “To prevent my seed from getting you with child.”
Slow after that bout of sensuality, she made him lay on the sheets, and took the cloth from him. “How smart,” came her answer, as she cleaned him, too. Tiring of the cloth, she lay it aside to explore him with her hands. Her palms rested on his bunched shoulders and glided down to his thick neck and muscled chest, to tease his dusky nipples.
A sound came from him before her stare met his. “You are playing with fire, woman,” he drawled. She did not give up though. Her caresses travelled down his tight abdomen to the nest of curls where his arousal awakened. Shamelessly, she explored its entire extension. Jet eyes closed as his breath caught. She lowered her lips to the expanse of his torso, eager to taste the taut softness of him. Her mouth closed on his nipple, suckling on it as he had done to her, fingers teasing the other one. A strong hand came to her head. Her lips grazed lower, following where her hands had been. More sounds came from him.
“Did I do something wrong?”
Sooty eyelids at half-mast, he displayed a tormented look on his rugged face. “Siren, the problem is that you are doing everything right.”
She made to go lower to his…
In a swift movement, he sat up and leaned on the headboard. She sat on her heels as she observed him putting on the so-called French letter. He extended his hand to her. “Come straddle me,” he instructed, and she understood at once what he wanted. Strong hands clasped her waist and positioned her over him. He made her grind down on him as he filled her channel to the last inch.
Mussed long hair fell back, and she emitted a moan with the pleasure. Her hips moved a few times adjusting to the best angle. That gave him the opportunity to glue his mouth to her breast and suckle on it, taking her to mindless delectation. But he did not relent. One of his hands reached between them to her core, where her sensations concentrated, and stroked it. He elevated his head to graze his stubble on her throat.
“You can do this on your own when I am not around.” The mutter caused her to look at him with a rueful smile. “What is it?” he asked at the sight of her expression.
His arrogance held no limits even though it made her hotter for him. “I did not know you were the only masculine specimen in the world,” she said. That he thought he was the only male available to her was appalling.
Her words made his features crumple to a scowl, his jet eyes grim. His iron arm banded her waist, and in a second, he had her on her back, his unforgiving body pressing on hers. “I am the only man who will ever take you.” The growl came final and primitive. “Do you understand?”
He moved deep inside her and the bout of sensation was so intense it scattered her clear thoughts, and she kept the mere ability to moan. Her arms and legs clutched him as he threw her in the throes of passion.
“Do you understand?” he asked harder as he moved deeper.
For him to give her that bottomless ecstasy again she would say anything. “Yes,” she breathed, her pelvis seeking him. His tone and his thrusts took her to the extremes of lust. He lunged faster and she met him with more eagerness, in a crescendo of heat that shook her in the end with a loud moan forming his name.
Losing rhythm, he pounded inside her mercilessly, before he froze, his eyes piercing hers. She felt him undulate inside and knew he was pouring all his culmination in her.
They fell asleep in a tangle of arms and legs.
Just before dawn, Otilia awoke. Certain that no one should catch her in his chamber, she dressed fast and left it for hers.
A
She slept in and, according to her maid, the Lord gave instructions for her not to be disturbed. Honey eyes had opened to full morning momentarily disoriented. The previous night came rushing to her memory igniting every possible response from her body. Soreness manifested in the most unpronounceable and delicious places. And marks of his caresses spread as witnesses all over her skin. In her nightgown, she ordered a bath and dismissed her maid to enjoy it in solitude.
By the time Otilia reached the morning room for breakfast, the footman informed her the Earl had already left for the City. The financial centre of London held many banks, solicitors and lawyers’ offices. Edmund, she learned, had bought his own place there from where he managed his export company. In recent months, he added the Earldom business to it. As a routine, he spent the whole day there, returning home by late afternoon.
The library seemed a good place to take refuge and do her reading. But peace of mind eluded her. The memories of him heated her insides at the same time clashing emotions crashed within her, like waves against a cliff. Never would she have imagined that lying with a man would be so tremendously fulfilling. She had expected Edmund to be fierce and demanding. His kisses implied it. He did not disappoint in that. The moments he showed thoughtfulness and tenderness stunned her, however. His concern for her own enjoyment had been crucial for her eagerness.
