Page 20 of How to Tempt An Earl
‘We’ll see, minx.’ He laughed at her throat, his hand moving against her, his finger tracing the intimate folds of her which proved to be its own kind of tantalus.
She gave an accusatory moan. ‘You are priming me like your pistol.’ Teasing her towards oblivion would be more accurate.
‘Is it working?’ His mouth was on hers in a series of slow kisses, his hand going at last to that hidden place secreted within her labia.
‘Heavens, yes…’ She breathed. Her nub was swollen and throbbing. She pressed against him, seeking release. She was greedy, hungry in her desire—perhaps because this was for her alone, perhaps because she’d chosen this for herself. The release came quickly, explosively, and hot. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the oak trunk, face turned upwards to the sky. Her mind traced the rivers of pleasure as they fanned out from her core, sending twin ripples of peace and repletion through her.
‘Ahh…’ she sighed in soft delight. ‘If only this feeling could last.’ She let her head loll against the tree and slowly opened her eyes to find him watching her, his own eyes dark with desire.Hewas enjoying this; he’d found a kind of pleasure for himself in helping her achieve hers. ‘Do you think there’s a name for this feeling?’ she asked dreamily.
He pushed back a lock of her hair and gave a lover’s smile. ‘The French call it“la résolution”.’
She tugged at the waistband of his breeches and flashed him a coy smile. This fun, this play amid pleasure, was new territory for her and she was enjoying it immensely. ‘Shall we findla résolutionfor you too?’
He stayed her hand, his eyes serious even as desire flickered there. ‘Only if you want to. This does not have to be a trade. You don’t owe me.’ His voice was rough, edged with want, making it evident what those words cost him.
Shedidowe him, though. He’d saved her life, he’d given her shelter and so much more. But she wouldn’t argue the point. She stretched up on tiptoe to reach his mouth with hers. ‘I want to,’ she whispered against his lips.
* * *
A woman in charge of her passion and his was heady indeed. When he added in the allure of the out of doors on a warm summer day, the seclusion of the stream and oak trees, there was no resisting. When she reached for him this time, he let her have him. She danced him about in a half-circle until they traded places. ‘You may need that tree trunk before we’re done,’ she warned in a throaty whisper that held the promise of great delight.
He answered with an intimate laugh. ‘That’s awfully arrogant of you, minx.’
To which she replied with a twinkle in her sea-green gaze, ‘We’ll see, sir,’ as she worked the fastenings of his breeches and took him in hand.
The first long stroke brought him to full attention. The first pass of her thumb across the surface of his cock-tip had him reaching overhead to grab the sturdy oak branches for purchase, and he held on for dear life. When had a woman’s touch felt like this? It was like pleasure’s agony and ecstasy’s ache all at once, each stroke a wicked allegory of what it must be like to slide inside her.
She thumbed his tip again, playing with the moisture at its slit. ‘You do not disappoint, sir.’ Her voice was husky with desire; her eyes glittered like hot emeralds. ‘Your cock is magnificent.’
What a delicious word that was coming from her mouth, and a bold word too:cock. There wasn’t a well-born debutante in London who used that glorious word.
He pressed against her hand and she scolded, ‘Patience. It will be worth it.’ Her other hand reached for the tender sac behind his cock and gave a gentle squeeze that had him nearly breaking the branch he clung to.
‘You are a mind-reader,’ he rasped. It was hard to put two words together, let alone a whole concept. All he wanted in this moment was release. She knew it, too, the rhythm of her hand speeding up. He felt his body tighten and gather. She felt it, too. A satisfied smile took her face, and then she let him go, letting him claim the cliff that waited for him and jump off it into pleasure’s free fall, while she held him in all his pulsing glory as he panted and spent until he was exhausted, purged and whole again for the moment.
He let go of the branches. ‘You’re right. These are the best moments.’ His own breath still came short. He’d been entirely winded by her. He gathered her to him and she came, wrapping her arms about his waist and laying her head against his shoulder. Somewhere, a bird sang. In the stillness, there was no threat, no Ammon Vincent, no Cabot Roan. There was just the two of them and the wholeness they’d created together. If only that could last. How peaceful that would be—not just for her, he thought, but for himself as well. One gave up peace when one became a Horseman.
A breeze blew and he raised his hand to catch the wind. ‘Autumn is coming,’ he said softly. ‘The wind feels different at the end of summer. It’s still warm but there’s a cool current beneath it now.’
She sighed against him. ‘It was the first of September yesterday.’ He supposed it had been. He’d been too busy squiring her around the city and escaping Roan to take note.
‘The first of September is my mother’s birthday,’ Celeste explained. ‘She would have been forty-seven.’
Only eleven years older than he was now. Forty-seven didn’t seem terribly old, after all. ‘What happened to her?’ he asked quietly so as not to disturb their peace.
‘What happens to many women. She died from complications of childbirth.’ He felt her give a rueful smile against his chest. ‘For a week, I had a baby brother. He was so small, and cute. Mother would let me climb on the bed beside her and hold him. I’d stay there for hours, all three of us snuggled together.’
She turned her green eyes up to his face. ‘It might have been the happiest week of my life. Of course, I don’t remember exactly, but I remember how that week felt. Father would come and read aloud when he was done with work. We were a real family. And then it was over. She went fast, in the night, before a doctor could come. Without her, my brother didn’t thrive. Father said he didn’t take to the wet nurse. He died the following week.’
Kieran thought of his own mother and the luck and ease she’d had bringing five healthy children into the world. He thought of his sister, Guenevere, who was expecting her first child in December, and his heart cracked a bit for the woman in his arms. ‘I am sorry,’ he murmured into the dark halo of her hair. ‘Do you want children?’
‘Wanting a child and the practicality of raising a child are vastly different things. I would not bring a child into Roan’s world,’ she said solemnly.
‘Nor would I bring a child into the Horsemen’s world.’ He held her a little tighter, feeling as if he’d found a kindred spirit who understood the dilemma between wanting and the reality of having. Satisfying that want was the height of selfishness. They stood a while longer, silent and still beneath the oak. He was conscious of the deep peace of the moment. He would not disrupt this until he had to or until they disrupted themselves.
But he could not let this last for ever. The day was advancing. ‘We should go back,’ he suggested quietly. ‘It’s time to get on the road. Bert will be waking up and the horses will be ready to stretch their legs.’ He reached to pull a leaf from her hair. ‘The weather’s good today. Perhaps you’d like to ride with me? Tambor can carry two.’
‘I would love nothing better.’ She smiled and, as they strolled back to camp, he felt her fingers lace through his. This was progress and it was both comforting and complicated.
