Page 53 of This Earl of Mine

He lifted his head and met her eyes. Only a few inches separated them. His lips were so close that their breath mingled, and Georgie quivered as longing liquefied her insides. Unable to help herself, she gave into impulse and lifted her hand to trace the outline of his lips with her fingers as if she could learn their contours by touch alone.

He stilled, then sucked in a shuddering breath and shot her awhat-do-you-think-you’re-doinglook. “We can’t,” he whispered. He tilted his head to indicate the muffled sounds still coming from outside the hull.

But Georgie didn’t care where they were, or who might hear. She slid her hand around the side of his neck, lifted her head from the wooden boards, and sought his mouth.

“Georgie—” he groaned again, almost in despair, and she waited for him to turn his head away, but instead, his lips found hers and her heart kicked against her ribs. His tongue flicked out to taste and tease, and then he was kissing her, openmouthed and full, and she nearly swooned with pleasure.

He tasted of coffee and sin. Georgie threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him down to her, greedy, wanting more. Languor kindled into a hunger, a craving, in a heartbeat. His hand returned to the swell of her breast, deliberately this time, molding and kneading, and she arched up, inciting him, as her own hands stroked his neck, his shoulders, wherever she could touch.

She wriggled against him, and he gave an almost inaudible hiss, then caught her hand and drew it down his body, over his chest and abdomen, down to the bulge in his breeches. She almost pulled away when she realized where he was leading her, but curiosity got the better of her, and she let him mold her fingers around the rigid shape of him.Oh, dear Lord.

“Yes,” he breathed against her mouth. “God, yes, Touch me.”

Intrigued, she tightened her fingers and felt him flex against her palm. He closed his eyes in silent pleasure and lifted his hips, arching into her hand for a brief moment before he caught her wrist and lifted her hand away.

“Enough.”

His nose nuzzled her jaw. He pressed kisses to the sensitive spot behind her ear, and Georgie closed her eyes against the impossible, forbidden pleasure of it. She was panting, her every nerve ending pulsing with a slow, drugging heat. Oh, this was a wicked game, but the danger of discovery only added to the thrill. She wanted his clever hands on her, that sinful mouth on hers. To hell with the noise, she wanted to go wherever he would take her.

In one swift move, he rolled up and over her, supporting himself on his forearms, settling into the groove between her legs. Georgie stilled, certain the rustle of his movement would be detected, but the noise from outside did not cease.

Their chests were barely touching, but from the belly down, they were a perfect fit. The potent weight of him pressed between her thighs, his heat burned her even through the layers of clothing that separated them.

Her pulse seemed to have relocated to between her legs, a sweet, brutal ache. Some soul-deep instinct told her that here, here was the answer to her craving. His body held the key. If only she knew what to do. She squirmed against him, unable to keep still.

He kissed her slowly, lingering and sweet. “Do you want me to show you what you’ve been missing?” His voice was so low, it was more vibration than sound, a deep rumble against her chest, a wicked secret in the dark.

Her pulse leapt in response, and she nodded her head emphatically. Yes! Shewanted. She wanted with a feverish desperation. Wanted more of those kisses, those wonderful hands on her, making her burn.

For a long moment, he simply stared down at her in the shadows, and then, as if coming to a decision, he rocked his hips against her. The hard length of him nudged between her legs and a jolt of pleasure speared through her. She took a sharp, shocked intake of breath, and his lips curved into that wicked, conspiratorial smile she knew so well.

“Shhh!” he chided softly. “We don’t want them to hear.”

Dimly, Georgie realized that the muffled sounds of the workmen still resonated outside. She bit her lip to stifle a moan. Wylde rocked against her again, forward then back, a slow insidious rhythm that somehow managed to hit that maddening spot between her legs perfectly every time. It was exquisite torture. A sheen of sweat formed at her hairline as her body twisted and begged. Something was building inside her, and she ground against him, reaching for it, but the sensation was like an object bobbing on the water—always just out of reach.

She was so focused on where they touched that she barely registered the slam of the warehouse door, but Wylde stilled and she groaned in frustration.

“They’re gone,” he panted. “We should—”

“No! I don’t care!Benedict!” She bucked again, urging him to finish what he’d started. “Show me!”

With a half laugh, half groan, he claimed her mouth and drove his tongue deep, deliciously demanding, drinking her in, and her limbs dissolved to water. And then his hand was under her skirts, over her stockings, sliding up the smooth skin of her thigh, and she parted her legs eagerly, desperate for his touch there, where it ached. Hisfingers found the slit in her drawers, and she groaned into his mouth as he found the center of her body and circled the little button of flesh, sending jolts of sensation spearing through her.

Good God. She’d had no idea she could feel like this.

Both of them were panting now, their breath mingling together. Georgie arched up as his finger mimicked the action of his tongue and slidinsideher. She let out a shocked gasp, torn between amazement and bliss, even as her body clenched around him. He played, in and out, winding her tighter, higher, closer, and she began to tremble as the pressure built and built until it was almost unbearable.

He seemed to know exactly how to touch her. She threw her head back, held her breath—and everything inside her shattered. She was falling, pulsing, burning up. Her vision dimmed as pleasure washed over her in endless pounding waves.

A glorious lethargy suffused her limbs. When she could finally breathe again, she became aware of Wylde, propped up on his elbow, watching her in the darkness with a faint satisfied smile.

“Now you know,” he said softly. He reached out and stroked her flushed cheek with the back of his fingers. “That really was a pleasure, Mrs. Wylde.”

Chapter 28.

Benedict couldn’t believe his voice came out as steadily as it did, considering that his hands were trembling and his heart was near to bursting out of his chest. That had been the most intense, most erotic encounter of his entire life—and he hadn’t even climaxed himself. He was still rock-hard in his breeches, and yet he wanted to laugh in sheer primitive triumph. With joy.

He gazed down at the woman below him. Her pupils were huge in the half light, her hair delightfully mussed. He swallowed. The scent of her, of what he’d done to her, filled the small space and made the ache in his cock even worse. Desire still pounded in his blood. He wanted to be inside her, right now. No preliminaries, no more playing. Just hard and fast against the wooden boards, deep and full, until she cried out his name, and they both lost themselves in pleasure and oblivion.

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