Page 39 of My Wicked Earl
“I must be mad.” His hand brushed against the slit of her underclothes to gently cup her mound possessively. “So soft,” he whispered as his fingers tangled in the down that covered her.
Miranda gasped as his finger moved through the slit to touch the slick folds of her flesh. His finger circled her entrance than retreated to trail around the source of her desire. Over and over, until she was panting, ready to beg for something she couldn’t name.
“Anyone could come upon us.” Colin’s finger continued to play against her flesh, sliding between the wet folds, brushing delicately against the tiny nub hidden within. “The gardener. A groom. The Dowager.”
A lovely bit of his Irish lilt bled into his words which aroused her even more. God, how she loved the way he spoke when he wasn’t trying to sound like a snobbish gentleman. She sucked in her breath as he gently thrust the finger inside of her while his thumb continued to brush against the folds of her flesh.
“She’s,” her heart fluttered at his touch, “asleep.”
“Spread your legs, Miranda.” His voice was rough as his mouth fell to her exposed breast again, suckling while his finger, now joined by a second, thrust in and out of her. His thumb rotated over her nub, now hard and erect.
Miranda complied. Torture. What he did with his fingers was sheer torture. She found herself pressing her mound against his hand, anxious for some sort of release. A small part of her was dutifully horrified by the sight of Colin’s blonde head, bent over her breast while his hands moved between her legs. The properly bred part of her.
Over and over his fingers teased and swirled until Miranda was panting with need.
“Let go, my love. Welcome it. I’m here,” he whispered against her breast.
A small cry left her lips as her hips moved against his hand, matching every thrust of his fingers. She whimpered and arched her back in a plea for him to release her from this exquisite torment.
“Shh. Love. Don’t make a sound, Miranda.”
Miranda bit her lip in an effort to hold back the cry of pleasure threatening to erupt. His fingers swirled and dipped, caressing her until she thought her heart would stop.
Then her heart did stop. Or felt as if it did. The unexpected burst of pure bliss was so unexpected, sounbelievablethat for a moment she didn’t take a breath. Her body shattered into a dozen pieces or more, every fiber vibrating with pure ecstasy.
“Colin.” She cried out his name, she couldn’t help it.
He pulled her tightly against the hard lines of his body, covering her mouth with his in a deep, lush kiss as her hips bucked against his hand.
Just as it she thought it would end, Colin moved his thumb again and another spasm gripped her. Her head fell back as pleasure rippled through her once again, her body tightening around his fingers. There was nothing but this man, giving her such pleasure. And she surrendered to it. All of it.
Sometime later, Miranda came back to herself, feeling Colin’s breath, warm and gentle against her neck. She was firmly wedged against his chest, his arms circling her protectively.
A bird broke into song in the tree above the bench, and a smile crossed her lips. Music seemed appropriate at such a time although given the sheer magnitude of the experience, she thought the last half-hour merited an entire orchestra. Miranda, who was never without words, could find none to describe what had just happened.
Wondrous. Splendid. Amazing.Erotic. She finally knew the true meaning of the word.
Without her noticing, it seemed her breast found its way back inside her bodice, the lace at the edge neatly tidied. Colin’s hand was no longer beneath her skirts, but instead lay on her thigh.
She looked at the instrument of all the pleasure she’d just experienced and took his hand, bringing it to her mouth for a kiss, before threading his fingers with hers.
He pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. A small, smile crossed his lips and his eyes were dark with emotion.
Kissing the corner of her mouth, Miranda heard him whisper something under his breath.
It sounded likemine.
JESUS.
Had his cock been any harder he’d be considered one of the Marchioness’s statues.
The wisdom of pleasuring Miranda was to be debated, for it had only made him want her more. Which he didn’t think possible. Just the taste of her, the sight of her, would drive him mad the rest of his days. He thought of nothing but Miranda, and how to have her.
Few things frightened Colin. His mother. Being poor, or at least continuing to be impoverished.
Not having Miranda.
Part of him feared that Miranda’s affection was only an extension of her childish adoration for him. That in time, her infatuation with him would wane and she would realize he wasn’t good enough for her. That he would lose her to some fancy bit of fluff masquerading as a gentleman. The other half of him wished to claim her and stop this act of family friend.
