Page 143 of The Lord Meets His Lady
“You think that’s it?”
“Isn’t it? What more is there to say?” He grabbed a linen on a hook by the washstand and started drying his hands.
“Indeed. What more could I have to say?” Standing behind him, she pressed her body against his back. His queue feathered her cleavage, the soft tip teasing intimate skin.
The drying stopped. Her husband’s stare collided with hers in the glass. “Gen?”
Her left hand meandered over his hip. She liked his use of her Christian name and would tell him as much. Later.
Wool cloth and wooden buttons abraded her palm. Pushing up his waistcoat and shirt bared his pale abdomen. At the mirror’s edge, dark, intimate curls peeked from his smalls. She molded her body to his, feeling what she could. His hip boots pressing her legs. Fine male bottom nestled into her mons. His heat, strong and welcome.
Thick globs of calendula ointment filled her hand reaching around him. “I need to point out you’re married tome. My opinion matters…just as much as yours.”
“I didn’t mean—”
Her fingertips skimmed private curls. His body jerked, sloshing water.
“You were saying,” she prompted.
A glossy trail marked his skin. He stared at her salve-covered hand massaging his flesh, utterly lost in the view.
“Your opinion… I didn’t mean…it didn’t…matter.”
Her cheek rested against his shoulder. Her hand ventured lower, nudging the smalls. “Good.”
He gripped the basin’s edge, hissing between clenched teeth. Back muscles tensed against her. In the silvered glass, his hazel eyes burned deep, forest green.
“What a fine hand you have.”
Standing flush against him, she foraged deeper in his smalls. “All the better to fondle you with.”
As soon as fingers curled around his shaft, his legs rammed the table. Water splashed. He widened his stance all the better for her to stroke him. The salve squished between her fingers. Little snicks filled the silence. Her breasts pillowed his back. Warmth seeped through his clothes. His muscles twitched and tightened against her. This could be a loving embrace, save the hot male flesh she stroked like a wanton for hire.
“Do you think proper wives do this for their husbands?”
“I…wouldn’t know.” His voice strained as if he pushed a boulder. Marcus glommed on to her hand playing with him in his breeches before she eased his erection from the smalls.
Dark red flesh jutted from his body, the skin glistening in candlelight.
“Setting me free?” He braced one hand against the wall, riveted on his cock in her hand.
“All the better to stroke you, milord.”
He looked up, mouth open as if he wasn’t getting enough air. She kissed his arm, her dark stare piercing him in the mirror. He stared back, helpless. She had her way with him, stroking his length, memorizing him. Thick and wide at the middle. A few guinea-gold curls glinted in the dark thatch between his legs. At the tip of his erection, she made a ring with her thumb and forefinger.
Color suffused his lordship’s face. Pupils wide, his eyes were almost black. Her fingers swirled over the round head.
And she bit his shoulder.
He shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut. “A trick from the Golden Goose?” he rasped, bracing his other hand on the wall. “You theater folk.”
“You have no idea,” she purred, her slick hand caressing his bollocks.
He grunted.
She played with his egg-like sacks of flesh.Snick.Snick. Snick.Dark curls clumped, thick with salve. His hips swayed with desperation as though he’d find release despite her. Dark eyes narrowed in the glass.
“What talented fingers you have.”
