Page 135 of The Lord Meets His Lady
“You feel…so good,” she said between feverish kisses on his jaw.
“No.” He buckled, the crown of his penis touching her slick inner folds covered by her shift.
Her bare foot rubbed his calf. “Now, Marcus. Now.”
His erection throbbed enough to hurt. He yanked up the hem and bunched the shift around her waist. Amber hair spread across his bed. Genevieve watched him from under thick blunt lashes, a woman waiting to be pleasured. Her chin was rosy red. His whiskers.
He positioned himself between her legs and kissed the stubborn chin he adored. “My whiskers…I’m sorry.”
Arching into him, Genevieve raked her fingers through his hair again. “I’m not.”
And she gave him a lusty smile. It saidservice me.
Her legs fell open. With her hands in his hair, she’d not guide him in. The tip of his erection landed in her slick folds. He sucked air between clenched teeth. A quiver skimmed his spine. Her nether lips were warm and wet. Genevieve’s body bowed to accept him. He fumbled the insertion the first time. The crown of his penis bumped her a second time. He’d lost all finesse to the craze of lust. Her hips writhed beneath him. The imperfect rubbing. The yearning to be inside her. He pushed again for her entry, and slid deep inside Genevieve to the music of her moans.
His back arched. Every inch of his skin tingled.
Being inside Genevieve was primal.
This was what he came north for. For her. For a lifetime of happiness if she’d stay.
Seated inside her body, he waited. He was losing what little control he had.
“I can’t…be…smooth,” he huffed when her inner muscles gloved his cock. His fingertips dug into the sheets.
“Don’t be.” Her breath came in starts and stops against his neck.
She bit the sinew connecting his shoulder and neck, and he felt the mark all the way to his ass.
Grinning, he pushed up higher. “If you’re playing that way.”
He pushed in and out. He wanted to tease her…slow strokes at her entrance with artfully timed deep thrusts. But a second deep slide inside Genevieve, and he was lost. There’d be no practiced sex. This was elemental. Thirst after a long drought.
In and out. Harder and faster. He set his hand behind her knee and pushed her knee up to her ribs. Genevieve was wide open to him. His thrusts were wild, imperfect. She pumped hard against him, her heavy breaths turning to cries and moans beneath him.
Her eyes shut.
“Look at me.” His voice was ragged. Sweat trickled down his back.
Genevieve opened her lids halfway. The bed creaked violently. Skin slapped skin. Her breasts jostled in time to the slick honeyed sounds where their bodies joined. Dampness sheened her skin.
“Marcus,” she cried, her arms falling wide.
Hot, wet feminine muscles pulsed around him. Dark. Intense. Craving him. Genevieve clutched the sheets. Her face crumpled. The tendons on her neck stood out in full relief. A blush stole over her skin before easing…setting her free, her pleasure peaking with a tortured moan this time.
He pushed once, twice. Every muscle in his body tightened before his seed released inside her. Quakes racked his body. A second wave rolled down his spine, and more seed spurted deep in her womb, taking sound reasoning with it.
Lungs billowing, Marcus collapsed. Still inside Genevieve, he rolled sideways, holding her, tucking her close.
Genevieve’s mouth pressed his collarbone, each breath fast and hot against him. “Please,” she whispered. “Tell me the story ofVenus and Adonis.”
Blankets and pillows bunched around them. Firelight danced across Genevieve’s pale skin, all bare save the one black stocking drooping at her knee and her shift still bunched around her waist. She curled closer for warmth.
Their coupling had exhausted him, yet Marcus lay wide-eyed, his senses pulsing with life.
He was made for her.
Head on the pillow, he stared at the canopy above. Soft-skinned limbs twined with his, anchoring him to her, to Pallinsburn. He couldn’t leave if he tried.
