Page 87 of The Lord Meets His Lady
With a toss of her head, she giggled and tugged again. This time the boot yielded. It landed with a thud.
Faint gold-brown lines stained her inner thigh. The brandy. Those tempting streaks contrasted with pale skin and snagged black wool stockings. He rubbed the hard bulge between his legs, glad he’d licked one small part of her clean.
Genevieve bent to remove her garter.
“Don’t.”
She stopped, and her gaze dropped to his hand stroking himself.
“Keep them on. Please.” His voice was hoarse.
Exhaustion hit him, but he wouldn’t stop. Not until he’d sated himself on her. This night had wrung him dry, yet Genevieve’s black wool stockings, the weave thin at her knees, entranced him. One stocking was torn at the knee, the skin scraped from her fall in the woods.
Had that happened today?
Being with her was natural. Real. The same as walking back into Pallinsburn and seeing things in their place. Naked, threadbare stockings, her hair falling uncombed… His new wife was perfection.
“You’re the most beautiful woman. Ever.”
Words gushed unintended. She straightened, her hourglass form perfect. High, full breasts begged to be touched. And those freckles on her nose. By the way her brow furrowed, she didn’t believe him. He should’ve told her downstairs, fully dressed, without so much as a kiss between them. He should’ve told her when she labored in his garden. Or when she read Ben Franklin’s tedious pamphlet on electricity.
And he knew. Right then as he stroked his placket. He was in love with Genevieve Turner Bowles.
His hand worked faster. Breath quickening, he clenched his teeth. This was reckless. He was reckless, yet he wanted to profess his love to the naked lady of his affections while sprawled on the bed rubbing his man parts.
He had piss-poor timing.
Genevieve brushed her hair back. “It’s all right, Marcus,” she said quietly. “You don’t have to ply me with fine compliments.”
Words eluded him. Lust raged, but her pert smile stayed in place. His new wife had no idea about the slope of need and emotion he tumbled down. Positioning herself between his legs, she captured his hand and set it on the mattress. He flopped back, blinking at the canopy overhead, and let her take over.
“I don’t know if I’ll be any good to you. I’m…” His words trailed off.
“Perfect,” she said, rubbing his thighs, the wool fabric rustling under her hands. “I like you just as you are.”
He tried to assimilate her admission, but a rush of helplessness consumed him. She worked on his nearly opened placket, her full breasts jiggling.
He raked both hands through his hair. “You’d think I was the one who met with bad news today.”
“We’ve both had trying times of late,” she said gently.
Genevieve needed coddling, yet she untied his smalls. His cock sprang free, but all he had eyes for were her big, round breasts. He started to rouse, got head and shoulders up, and her hand stroked him. He fell back, groaning. Tingling pleasure shot through him. A spurt of seed glistened on the tip of his penis. From under heavy lids, he watched Genevieve grip the rounded head.
Another quake shook him when she touched the small opening and smeared the droplet in circles. His chest expanded and contracted from the tender torture.
He grabbed handfuls of sheets. “Is this howI’msupposed to help you forget?”
Orange and yellow light glowed on her pale skin. Genevieve climbed on the bed. The ropes creaked as she straddled his legs. This night, the late hour, the upset, he’d hardly done justice to their sensual play. She was entirely in control, and he was still half-dressed.
His head lifted off the mattress. “My clothes…”
“Don’t worry.”
Genevieve’s head dipped low, and she kissed the crown of his phallus. It was a sweet, chaste kiss singeing an unchaste spot. She scooted forward and, grasping his length, positioned the round tip in her curls. His neck strained to hold his head up. He wanted to watch his flesh slide into hers. Demanding pressure spread over his abdomen. His body existed in that moment for one thing—to be inside Genevieve.
She hadn’t fully seated herself. A rim of inner muscles clenched his cock’s head, and he moaned at the craving low on his spine. The need to push back. Hard. To bury himself in her wetness. His breaths turned jagged. His ass squeezed, ready to rock his body into hers. Coiled desire tensed like the force of an arrow notched and the bow pulled tight. He grasped her hips as much to hold back as to hold on.
“Gen…I…” His voice was lost.
