Page 27 of Chasing the Earl
Another wave of pleasure rolled through her as he took her hard again, whispering her name along with a host of filthy, unimaginable pleasures, all of which he meant to share with her.
Chapter Eleven
No wonder therewere women who pursued the crude and boorish Earl of Huntly with such determination. If Huntly made any effort at all to be charming, women would be wrestling one another to get to him.
She ran her fingers tentatively over his arm, tracing the bands of corded muscle, moving along the line of his broad chest, twisting the crisp dark-blonde hair. He really was rather spectacular. And heavy. A tiny squeak left her as she tried to shift beneath him.
Hearing the sound, Huntly immediately moved to the side, blue eyes full of concern. For her.
“You didn’t hurt me,” she assured him. “You are only heavy.” She cupped his cheek. “I didn’t harm you, did I?”
A chuckle, deep and melodious, came from his chest. “No, Miss Stitch, you did not.” His hand fell to her hip, stroking circles around her skin.
Emmagene sighed with pleasure at the rough feel of his fingers. Calloused. Probably because Huntly refused to wear gloves. Or remain polite. Pleasant. Gentlemanly. Had Huntly always been this way, or had becoming an earl had something to do with it?
“When did you inherit the title, my lord?”
The fingers halted their perusal. “Shortly after South left to travel the Amazon. My brother’s death was sudden. Fell from his favorite horse.”
There was a painful lilt to his words, barely noticeable beneath his usual curt way of speaking. But Emmagene heard it all the same.
“A horse I’d gifted him with.” An ugly, self-deprecating sound left him. “My parents didn’t long survive Douglas.” His harshly cut features grew shuttered. “The shock I would become the next earl was too much for both of them.”
Huntly abruptly rolled over onto his back, taking Emmagene with him, pushing her legs apart until she straddled him. After pushing himself into a seated position, he leaned over and sucked one of her nipples into his mouth while shoving her very firmly against his rapidly hardening cock.
Emmagene grabbed at his shoulders, whimpering as he licked and nibbled his way over her breast.
“I told you, Miss Stitch, I have a formidable appetite.” He lifted her easily before sliding deep inside her again. One hand took hold of her hip as the other floated to the space where their bodies joined. He moved his thumb against her, watching her face.
Emmagene bit her lip. She was going to die from pleasure. Which was a splendid way for him to distract her from any more questions about his family.
“You should put your hands on my shoulders.” He thrust firmly up inside her. “And pray we don’t break this bed.”
Chapter Twelve
Emmagene looked downat her hands, the small bouquet of flowers she clutched crushed by the press of her fingers. She barely heard the minister over the steady, frantic beat of her heart. Images flashed in her mind. Her naked body entwined with Huntly’s. His mouth on every part of her. The number of times she’d screamed into her pillow from sheer pleasure.
She shifted in the pew, wincing at the slight soreness between her thighs.
Huntly had taken her four times last night before finally leaving her drained and exhausted just before dawn. Her eyes hadn’t even opened as he’d let himself out, Emmagene barely registering the possessive cupping of her breast as he’d pressed a kiss on her temple.
“Luscious thing,” Huntly had whispered against her ear.
No one, not even Geoffrey in the throes of desire, hadevercalled her luscious.
Emmagene, whether she liked it or not—whether she wished it or not—felt tethered to Huntly now. Part of it, she guessed, was the sheer intensity of being bedded by him.
Her cheeks warmed as if she was standing before a fire.
The other part was the terrible, awful opening of her heart in his direction.
There was no future for her and Huntly. There couldn’t possibly be. The very idea of the sharp-tongued spinster and the rumpled, ill-mannered earl was ridiculous. They couldn’t evenconversewithout arguing. Their attraction was a result of Lady Trent throwing together two undesirable guests at a house party so they wouldn’t offend the others in attendance and spoil her event.
Emmagene pictured her suite of rooms in her parents’ home. The rows of books lining the walls, all in alphabetical order. The comfortable chair placed at exactly the right angle for the best light from the window. There was charitable work she was fond of, the saving of orphans and such. She had her nieces and nephews, whom she adored. While her parents despaired of her unmarried state, witnessing the lack of suitors and starched behavior of their daughter with mounting chagrin, Mr. and Mrs. Stitch had, for the most part, accepted Emmagene’s declaration she would never marry.
Now along came Huntly, the most unlikely of complications, threatening to upend the placid existence she’d planned for herself. She couldn’t possibly feel anything romantic for Huntly. Didn’t want to. The very thought filled her with the most unreasonable panic.
An image of his head between her thighs flashed before her.
