What the hell was she talking about?
****
Shame burned Annabelle’s body. Had she wanted someone to desire her so desperately that she’d read more into Gareth’s actions than he’d intended? After all, he’d appeared last night just after she’d formulated her plan of making a man prove he wanted her body. Had he only meant to comfort her over the harsh words of the gossiping ladies last night? He was just a man, and wouldn’t any man have taken advantage of the shameless invitation she’d offered by tilting her head for a kiss and molding her body to his? Maybe this morning, Gareth had merely meant to protect her from her own ill-thought actions, conversing with a known rake and no chaperone in sight, as he would any innocent.
Disgust soured her empty stomach. But, of course. He was a duke, a gentleman of the highest order. He could have any woman he chose. Why settle on her?
She choked back a sob. What a horrible predicament she’d put them both in now. She gulped a deep breath and met his gaze. “Please, just let us forget this all happened. I’m sure Markham was right and Lady Evans and Sir Digby will hold their tongues. No damage done.”
She tried for a small smile, but a sob broke through. Ever the gentleman, Gareth tugged her onto his lap—to comfort her, she was sure. She landed sideways across his thighs, thick and firm beneath her bottom. Awareness flickered across her skin and tightened her nipples. She really was a wanton, and he was just too nice. The dam broke and tears streamed down her face.
Gareth attempted to brush away the tears, but they came too fast, and his concern just made her sob all the harder. He cradled the back of her head then nestled her against his shoulder.
After a while, her tears slowed and she sniffed. He smelled of wet grass and citrus, clean and fresh, while she undoubtedly resembled said wet grass. Really, she was being quite ridiculous. She’d set her expectations too high. Gareth was too handsome by far. Whenever she stared into his eyes, her pulse raced and her thighs quivered. Surely he had the same effect on more beautiful women than she. While she might long for him to explore the relationship between pleasure and pain with her, to fill the emptiness inside her, she should just accept he didn’t want either of those things.
She hiccupped. Yes, she would put aside these secret longings, for whatever they were, they caused only unhappiness. She sniffed again and straightened. A nice, boring marriage was exactly what she needed.
Gareth produced a handkerchief and dabbed at her face.
“You’re too kind to me, Your Grace.”
He stiffened and frowned. “What happened to Gareth?”
She sniffed then cursed her body’s traitorous reaction to his scent. Her nipples tightened further and heat washed from her belly to her thighs. “I’m sure it was my familiarity that brought this whole situation down on our heads. Indeed, you are but a man, and any man would take what was offered.” His thighs flexed under hers, reminding her what kind of offer many men would consider a woman sitting on their lap meant. But as she went to stand, he halted her with a hand on her wrist.
“And what are you offering, Annabelle?”
Her breath caught as she sought his gaze. The green had darkened to the color of the deepest sea.
“No more misunderstandings. Tell me what you want, Annabelle. What did you mean by poor timing?”
She shifted her seat and met his hard length, which pulsed against the side of her leg. Her mouth went dry. Did that mean he desired her, or was that just a normal reaction to proximity to a female? Dare she confess that she’d wanted a man to desire her? Wouldn’t that be like begging him to finish what they’d started last night? Would he take her here and now as she rode sidesaddle? Was that even possible?
She swallowed to moisten her parched mouth and throat. Isn’t that what she’d wanted? Isn’t it what she’d pictured, except her astride instead?
She shook her head. She was so weak. Her resolve to behave never lasted long. The empty, aching feeling inside her was a constant reminder there had to be more between a man and woman. Was she wrong?
His grip in her hair tightened. He dropped his other hand to her lap. The white handkerchief it clasped draped across her thigh to contrast with the deep green of her riding habit. If she shifted forward a hair, his thumb would tease her woman’s mound. “What do you want, Annabelle?”
She squirmed. Broken shards of pleasure shot from where his thumb now pressed. Her nipples tightened. Her knees weakened. Whatever sense she had left flew. She ran her tongue along her lips. “I want someone to want me.”
“Someone?” His nostrils flared, and he dug his fingers into her thigh, the strong grip almost painful.
She gasped as pinpricks of pleasure-pain shuddered through her.
“Look at me. Tell me. Who?”
She trembled at the gruff order and resisted the urge to close her eyes. “You.”
A mewl of protest escaped as the pressure released. She shifted, but he’d already moved his hand from her thigh to grip her hip.
With a light tug of her hair, he urged her head back. “No more foolishness, Annabelle. You’re mine, and you’ll behave yourself.”
Instead of the normal prickly urge to rebel stiffening her spine in reaction to being told to behave, molten heat melted her backbone. If not for Gareth’s hand tight in her hair, she’d have sunk into a boneless heap. Instead, she arched her back, an impatient noise rumbling in her throat. His claim had unleashed something primitive.
A delicious tingle ran along her skin when his lips claimed hers. She might not understand her desire to submit to his will when she’d never submitted to anyone else’s command, but she did know the pleasure his kisses would bring. She parted her lips, and he answered the invitation, sweeping his tongue inward to play with hers. She grasped his shoulders and pressed closer, but his hand at her hip prevented her from twisting enough to get flush against him. She groaned and sucked on his tongue, trying to draw him in more.
He growled, melting her insides, slid the hand at her hip under her, and lifted her bottom. He broke the kiss. “Straddle me, Annabelle.”
Like a horse? Hadn’t she imagined herself riding him? Fighting the weakness in her legs, she climbed to her knees. The tight confines of her riding skirt tangled between her legs.
He dropped his hands to the side. “Lift your skirts.”
She raised a knee and, with a shaky hand, then tugged the material free. She repeated the action with the other knee.
“Raise them to your waist.”
Heat flushed her body, as if she had on too many clothes, but still she hesitated. He wanted her to bare herself to his gaze. The last person to see her woman’s mound was probably her nurse, and the look in Gareth’s eyes didn’t look nurturing in the least.
“I’m waiting.”
Drawing a shaky breath, she inched her skirts, petticoat, and the hem of her chemise upward. Cool air greeted the exposed top of her thighs unclothed by stockings and garters. She suppressed a shudder. The air did nothing to bank the tendrils of heat teasing her wherever Gareth’s gaze skimmed because his fingers weren’t far behind. Her calf. Her knee. She gasped as his fingers found the bare skin above her garter, then slid up to tease the downy hair of her sex.
She should have burned with embarrassment. No one had ever touched her there. She’d even shied away from the unusual sensations bathing herself there had caused.
But now, a relentless kind of restlessness had her spreading her thighs wider, chasing the illicit feelings, trusting Gareth to ease the ache.
He combed his fingers through the hair, tugging slightly and sending tendrils of that very pleasurable pain to weaken her limbs.
He removed his hand. She followed, but he chuckled. “Be patient, my Belle.”
Patient? Who knew how long their privacy would last. She forced her eyes open. When had she shut them? In the depths of his green gaze, a fire burned, like in the heart of the deepest emerald, and seared her body and soul. His Belle. Never again would she hate that nickname. She wanted to be his.
“Kiss me,” he said.
She dropped her head and sealed her lips against his as his fingers once more found her sex. She let her eyes drift closed. She thrust her tongue into his mouth when he teased her nether lips apart. He slipped one finger between to scrape across a tender spot, a hidden nub of flesh that shot fire through her veins. She held her skirts tighter, wishing it were his strong shoulders beneath her fingers.
He explored further, sliding through the wetness with ease until—she gasped—he was inside her!
He’d breached her body, and she only wanted more. She sank onto the digit, which teased her opening, stretching her, but not enough. He swallowed her muffled protest over the withdrawal of his finger, and then swallowed her gasp when it returned.
He seized control of the kiss, penetrating her mouth with his tongue, mimicking the thrust of his finger. She shifted her hips, seeking more. He stilled his hand but swept his tongue deeper. She fell into the kiss, her tongue warring with his.
With his thumb, he found that hidden place that had sent fire through her veins before, and kept steady pressure on it now as he spread her nether lips wider. A shudder wrung more moisture from her sex, no doubt easing the penetration of a second finger. He stretched her untried channel, but instead of discomfort, excitement weakened her limbs. She needed more.
She spread her knees farther and was rewarded as he quickened his movements, rubbing his thumb back and forth against her nub with each stroke of his fingers. Tingles radiated like shards of light from that spot to the tips of her toes. In sharp contrast, the bruising pressure of the knuckles of his other fingers pressed into the sensitive flesh of her legs at each deep thrust. She crushed her skirts, twisting the fabric beyond repair, but she was beyond caring.
Tension tightened her body even as her thighs quivered with the effort of remaining on her knees. When she shifted her hips, hoping to ease the building pressure, the next thrust of his fingers went deeper. Pleasure tightened her skin from her scalp to her toes. Surely she’d die from such ecstasy, but yet she chased his fingers for more.
He broke the kiss. “Lift your skirts higher. I want to watch.”
Heat flamed her cheeks. Watch what?
“Do you want me to stop?” His intimate caress ceased.
“No!” She forced her eyes open. His green eyes smoldered. Her chest tightened. “No. Please don’t stop.” She hung on the precipice of something and wanted him to push her over the edge.
She raised her skirts higher until her hands rested on her breasts. She gasped when she brushed her nipples, which were hard buds. A wave of pleasure rippled down her belly.
“Now, ride my fingers again.” The look in his eyes commanded her to obey, and a quiver shook her core.
She melted, her eyes drifting shut even while she spread her knees wider, taking his fingers deep inside her. She captured her lower lip between her teeth and shifted her hips again, chasing ecstasy. It was more exhilarating than riding to the hounds. He slid his thumb along that nub, electrifying the bundle of nerves to send lightning arcing throughout her body. His fingers moved in and out of her with the rocking of her hips. The elusive sensation built again, and she rode faster.
“That’s it, Belle. Take what you need.”
Take what she needed? But she didn’t know what that was. She only knew if she didn’t keep moving, she’d die, just as surely as she’d fly to pieces if she kept going. She clenched her jaw and quickened her pace. It was close, that flash of pleasure growing nearer, like the shore to a giant wave. She bit harder on her lip, the pain fueling her movements. Sweat slicked her thighs, or was it something more?
“So wet.” He shifted his hand and then a third finger slid inside her.
Stretched. She felt stretched impossibly wide, but the pressure fed her excitement.
“Yes,” she hissed. Her head fell back as ecstasy slammed through her as if the wave had hammered into the shore, releasing tremor after tremor to strike her core. Just when she was sure the end of the storm was near, he rubbed her nub and wrung fresh shudders from her body.
A small cry tore from her mouth. She gulped in air, but couldn’t catch her breath. Twice more he worked her flesh, drawing her pleasure out until her legs finally gave and she collapsed against him.
Long moments after the last shudder wracked her body, their harsh breathing echoed in the silence. He dropped a kiss on her forehead as he withdrew his hand, though her body was reluctant to yield him. Her internal muscles clasped him tight and she chased his fingers with her hips.
“Greedy wench.”
His deep laugh rumbled through her where she leaned against him. Desire thundered in her veins. The skin between her thighs pulsed, felt swollen and sore, but she wanted more, needed to die that little death at least once more…
She settled her hips against the throbbing length in his pants and rocked along it. The material of his breeches against her tender flesh ripped a gasp from her throat, but when his manhood stroked along her nub and sparked a minor set of tremors in her core, she ground herself harder against him.
He grabbed her hips. “Don’t.”
The harsh command sent fingers of flames licking along her skin and through her blood. A sense of power rushed to her head, leaving her breathless. What would he do if she disobeyed?
She fought his hold, each small movement she made unbearably painful and pleasurable at the same time, inspiring her to struggle more. He dug his fingers into her hips and held firm. It wasn’t enough. She ran her tongue along the seam of his lips and murmured, “Just once more.”
****
Twin desires warred within Gareth. Wasn’t he supposed to be protecting Annabelle’s reputation, not ruining it? Surely the butler would return soon, and there could be no mistaking what they were doing, not with her straddling his lap with her skirts raised.
Her soft lips whispered against his as she molded her body to him. Her juices still coated his fingers and the scent of her arousal teased his nostrils. One of them had to be responsible though. “Belle—”