Page 47 of The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons 1)

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.

“I wish to do everything to you.” The heat in his gaze was unmistakable.

“Yes,” she sighed as his fingers thrust gently inside Margaret before he bent to take her in his mouth.

She cried out at the feel of his tongue flicking against her sensitive flesh.

He nudged her legs apart, cupping one buttock, holding her still. The sight of Welles, still clothed, his dark head between her thighs was so erotic, every nerve in her body sparked adding to the sensations building at her core. His fingers curled inside her as he sucked the small bit of flesh between his lips.

Margaret’s head fell back, breath stopping, before falling through the night into a dazzling array of colors and music, like the twinkling of a thousand stars. Intense pleasure rolled over her in great waves, lapping at her skin until her toes curled. When he finally released her, Margaret lay boneless beneath him.

Harriette Wilson’s description of this act did not do it justice.

A puff of air blew through the soft hair covering her mound, tickling her. Welles was kissing his way up her naked body again, whispering against her skin, stopping every so often to nip or press a kiss to a particular spot, claiming each piece of Margaret for himself. He sat back with a hiss and looked down at her. Even in the candlelight, she could see the hard, raised ridge against his thigh.

“You should leave.” His baritone was raspy.Pained.

She shook her head and opened her arms to him. Didn’t he understand? She wanted all of this. All ofhim. Even if it was only tonight. “And before you ask, I’m sure.”

He looked so conflicted, so anguished by her decision.

Margaret’s fingers grabbed his forearm. She sat up trying to pull him to her.

Welles took her hand and pressed a kiss to the pulse beating in her wrist before he nodded, making his decision. “Undress me.” He slid off the chaise and stood before her.

Margaret moved until she was kneeling before him. Her fingers trailed over his chest, plucking lightly at the fabric, uncertain how to proceed.

“Buttons first,” he growled in a dark tone laced with amusement.

Margaret had never undressed another human being in her life and the current task seemed a bit daunting. Deciding imitation was the sincerest form of flattery, she stretched up as far as she could and boldly pressed a kiss to his neck.

“A good start.”

She undid another button, pressing her mouth to his shoulder. When she slid her hands beneath the shirt and pressed against his chest, Welles’s eyes fluttered shut and a low sound of pleasure rumbled from deep within him.

Encouraged, Margaret continued, unbuttoning and kissing until his shirt hung open.

He leaned forward with a smile.

Grabbing the edge, her fingers shaking, she pulled it up and over his head.

Welles impeccably clothed in his uniform of indigo coat and buff riding breeches was a stunning creature, but nothing prepared Margaret for his appearancewithoutclothing. His body was a thing of masculine beauty, as if he’d been carved and sculpted by the finest craftsman. Margaret’s fingertip traced the curvature of one pectoral muscle, firm and sleek, to the line of his ribs. Welles bore not an ounce of fat on his body; every bit of him was solid. Powerful. A dusting of dark hair spread out over his torso, tapering down into a thin line before disappearing into his waistband.

He took her hand, pressing an opened-mouthed kiss to her palm. “Now the rest just as you did the shirt.” The nipple of one breast tingled as he brushed the tip with his thumb, stoking the flames simmering between her legs back to life.

She took hold of his waistband, allowing her fingers to slide between the material and his skin, reaching down until she could touch the hardened length of him with her fingertips.

Welles sucked in his breath.

Margaret ran her finger along the velvety length smiling at the sounds coming from his chest. He smelled delicious, like the wind before a storm. She inhaled deeply before urging her fingers to finish the buttons, nuzzling her chin to his stomach.

“Tease,” he growled out.

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