Page 41 of The Theory of Earls
Her eyes were huge and dark. Unfathomable. Maggie wore nothing but chemise, stockings, and a hideous pair of old half-boots, as he’d asked of her. Her breasts were small and exquisitely shaped, the tiny buds of her nipples pushing up against the worn cotton. The dark shadow at the apex of her thighs beckoned for his touch.
“What will you have me play?” Maggie’s voice had gone low and husky. “More Chopin?”
My cock.“Whatever you wish.”
He stood and waved her toward the seat, struggling to keep from touching her.
“You’re barefoot.” Maggie stared at his feet for a moment before seating herself on the bench.
“I am.” He didn’t even bother to hide the heavy outline of his erection from her.
“You have lovely feet,” she said before running her fingers over the keys to warm up her hands. “I didn’t know men possessed such beautiful toes.” A soft heartfelt sigh. “Much like the rest of you.”
It was one of the most erotic things anyone had ever said to him, having his toes admired. It was all he could do not to simply toss her on the chaise and ravish her.
The first notes floated up into the air as Maggie started to play.
* * *
Her mind went blank.What sort of musical composition was deemed appropriate for a seduction? Margaret knew full well she wasn’t here to play a song and then have Peckam escort her out.
The hum beneath her skin threatened to drown out everything else and her thoughts became lazy. Sensual. Every brush of the chemise against her breasts teased the hardened peaks of her nipples. Even the bench beneath her seemed to chafe at the backs of her legs and buttocks.
The piece she would play came to her in a moment, accompanied by an insistent ache between her thighs. It was for him, after all.
Two frail notes echoed in the room before she bent forward, allowing the music to flow into her veins, moving through her slender body as if a match had been struck to set her aflame. Greens and purples swirled before her along with great bursts of sapphire blue. The same color as his glorious eyes.
All she heard was the music, the low vibration of the strings bursting through the keys to her fingertips. She could feel his eyes on her, sensed he was mentally stripping the chemise from her body, and exploring the curve of her spine. When she arched back, Margaret wasn’t surprised at the firm wall of muscle circling her. Welles straddled her on the bench while she played, his strong thighs trapping Margaret’s smaller body. His breath stirred the hair at her temples, his larger form curling around hers.
When she bent forward, Welles matched each movement, his fingers running over the length of her arms, sending flames down through her fingertips. The burn of his lips pressed against her neck as Margaret struggled to focus on the music. His arm snaked around her waist, holding her pressed tight to the hardness at the juncture of his thighs. A warm hand cupped one breast, stroking the underside as if memorizing each curve before rolling the peak of her nipple between his fingers.
Margaret whimpered as sensation shot from her breast down between her legs. Teeth grazed the side of her neck and she missed a note. The arm holding her loosened as the other hand trailed down the length of her hip gently tugging at the hem of her chemise. Another whimper left her at the touch of his fingers against the bare skin of her inner thigh. When he finally touched the swollen folds at the core of her, Margaret was already shamefully wet.
A rumble came from deep in his chest. He bent her back slightly, like a bowstring, forcing her legs further apart. When his fingers traveled over her, teasing and stroking, Margaret hit several wrong notes in a row. When he spread her further and pressed two fingers inside, she gasped, struggling to remind her hands to move.
“Don’t stop,” he whispered.
Welles was everywhere, above her, around her, inside her. Each intimate press of his fingers drove her mad with need. He became part of the music because hewasthe music.
Her music.
His thumb searched and found the engorged bit of flesh hidden in her folds, a place Margaret had only herself tentatively touched. Stroking lightly, he nuzzled beneath her ear, the wide mouth whispering of his desire for her. When he pushed a third finger inside her and gently flicked against the small nub with his thumb, Margaret’s hands left the keys with a clang. She moaned, flailing against him while pushing her hips up to meet every stroke of his fingers against her flesh.
“Jesus, Maggie.” Welles’s voice was rough against her throat. He pulled her back against his chest with a groan, lifting her thighs up until she was in his lap. His fingers continued caressing her until Maggie panted, begging him for relief.
“Please,” she sobbed. Margaret’s entire body throbbed. The fire Welles had stoked within her burned beneath her flesh. His fingers left their ministrations and she heard herself cry out in disappointment. Perhaps Aunt Agnes had been correct, for the combination of Welles and the music had made Margaret a wild, wanton thing. She heard herself beg. “Please.”
“Shush.” Welles took her in his arms and carried her to the chaise. Gently, he laid her down, his hands running along her hips and legs. He lifted one foot and pressed a kiss to the inside of her calf before he removed her half-boot.
Margaret watched the graceful movement of his hands as the other boot fell to the floor. He paused, rubbing his thumb against the bottom of her foot. He pressed another kiss to her ankle. Then up her calves, lifting the hem of her chemise in slow increments. Each time a piece of her was exposed by his fingers, his lips followed. When he nibbled at the hollow of her knee, Margaret’s head fell back against the cushions, her legs splaying wide of their own accord.
Inch by inch he tugged the hem of the chemise further. She gasped at the nip of her skin above her navel. Whimpered his name as his tongue traced the outline of her ribs. Every bit of Margaret was worshipped. Adored. When the cooler air of the room drifted across her breasts, she raised her arms to allow him to pull her chemise free without a qualm.
“Welles.” She breathed his name like a prayer as his teeth grazed one nipple. His fingers once more caressed the spot between her thighs, stoking the fire that burned within her. He suckled one breast while his fingers explored and teased until Margaret’s hips writhed against his hand.
He cupped the base of her skull with one large hand, leaving her breast as his lips brushed over her cheeks, before claiming her mouth. The kiss was slow and deep, asking for her surrender which Margaret would gladly provide. When he nipped at her bottom lip, she opened her mouth without hesitation to allow his tongue to search out hers. Margaret reached up, threading her fingers through the thick waves of his hair, before moving her thumb to graze the lobe of his ear. Her fingers floated over the rough brush of hair along his jaw before gliding down his neck to press her palm against his heart.
He finally pulled away, kneeling back on his heels between her legs. Without breaking eye contact, Welles continued to touch her and tease her swollen flesh. Gently. Insistently. Drawing out her arousal to a careful peak before retreating.
