Curious how far she could push him, she rolled him over gently onto his back, placed a string of kisses, blazing a trail. She placed one open-mouthed kiss to the spot on his neck that had so intrigued her, biting down lightly, savouring the way his head fell back farther as she did so and the way he said her name: half-gasp, half-growl.
Moving lower, she laved his nipples. Bit one hard enough to make him twitch. Ran her tongue down the grooves of his stomach.
He had more scars than the one he’d earned that night in Paris. A long silver scar ran across one pectoral and down along his ribs. Another cut across one thigh. Accidents in the salle? Bandits in the Pyrenees? Angry Italian husbands?
She wanted to know.
Wanted the details behind every nick and scratch. How had he passed the last six years? Had he been sorry to leave someone behind in Italy?
She wanted to know, and that disturbed her. He’d already got her to break her inviolate rule. To promise far more than she ever had before. He’d demanded, and she’d given in on every point. Wanton. How had he known she’d agree? That was the humiliating part: that he’d been so sure of her.
A shudder ran though him as she carefully moved his foreskin up and down his shaft, drawing it up over the head of his cock and then pushing it back down. Such a small action to provoke so large a reaction.
She studied his face, cataloguing his reactions, taking note of what caused him to writhe and what brought him to quivering attention. He might have won the battle, but she was going to win the war. She was going to leave him a broken man. A wreck. Wretched and pining.
After a few moments of teasing she leaned forward and ran her tongue along the beautifully defined line of his hip. He clenched up, all the muscles in his stomach tightening. His cock twitched and thickened, demanding attention.
George smiled to herself and slid her body down between his legs, nestling into the bedding, and took him into her mouth. Men were so easy…
Chapter Six
Lord G—’s party has at last come to an end. We wait with bated breath to see which of the earl’s many guests may have become Mrs E—’s latest conquest.
Tête-à-Tête, 12 October 1788
Ivo swallowed convulsively as the room swam before his eyes. When it righted itself, he stared down at George, watching her mouth move over him, every nuance of lip, tongue, and teeth exquisite. Torturous. Divine.
He shut his eyes and tried to relax back into the pillows, wanting her never to stop, desperately wanting to feel her under him at the same time. This he’d certainly never forget. And she owed him five more nights…
When he could take no more, he reached down, locked one quivering hand in her hair, and dragged her up. Her face was alight with mischief and Ivo knew he himself was grinning like an idiot. Sex had never been fun. Not in this way. It had never been an entertaining romp.
He rolled her under him and crushed her mouth beneath his, skimming one hand down her side to her knee and then up between her legs.
She gave up a small sigh and eased her legs apart, opening fully to him as his fingers roamed about her curls. He parted her carefully, running his fingers down into the warm valley until he found the sensitive peak hidden at its crest.
He circled a finger, teasing until she was shuddering, unable to hold still any longer. Used his chest and shoulder to hold her down. She didn’t really want to get away. She was just startlingly responsive. Unbelievably willing. When she began to gasp for breath he removed his hand and slid quickly into the cradle created by her parted thighs.
He eased into her, watching her face, thrilling as she took a shuddering breath and tilted herself to accommodate him more fully. Slick heat enveloped him. Made him want to lose himself in her, to simply, selfishly fuck. Instead he moved slowly, grinding into her, riding until George wrapped her legs around him, sank her teeth into his shoulder, her nails into his back.
With a growl, he increased the pace of his thrusts, driving himself into her. She threw back her head. Pressed the heel of one hand into her mouth. He was so close to finishing it was all he could think of. A litany. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet.
George gave a strangled sob, shaking violently as she came, clenching around him again and again, the sensation dragging him towards his own release. She arched one last time and buried her face in the hollow of his neck.
Ivo thrust in as deeply as possible. Harder. Faster. Until his own climax took him. Pulled him down into near unconsciousness. He slumped heavily atop her, lost in the throbbing damp heat where they were joined.
Feeling her legs tremble against him, Ivo smiled into her shoulder. God, he loved that tremble, the unmistakable sign of a well-satisfied woman. He nuzzled the delicate skin where her ear met her neck and she made a contented little noise.
He rolled off her and pulled her roughly into his arms. ‘I’ve been picturing this for what seems like forever.’
‘Me, too,’ George confided, curling up against him. She pillowed her head on his chest, one finger lazily circling his nipple. ‘So I guess I am far too wicked a woman to be a sister of yours.’ She sat up slightly and kissed him again, lingeringly, then settled into his arms, shut her eyes, and seemed to immediately fall asleep.
Ivo couldn’t imagine how she could drop off so quickly, but she did. He lay there for what seemed like hours, watching her, his head swimming with plans. Five more nights was simply not going to be enough.
Dauntry’s head lifted from the pillow as George shut the
