Georgianna: The Last Real Duchess (The Real Duchesses of London) (15 page)

Just to lie there, as the last slender threads of pleasure wafted though her core, was all she could do.

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He'd never seen his wife look so satisfied, so replete. Richard felt his own levels of satisfaction rise as he stared across her damp skin. And also his levels of frustration. Was there any sight so designed to excite a man as that of a satisfied woman.

"You're still dressed?" Her voice sounded sleepy as she peered through her lowered lashes. "We should do something about that."

"It's really not necessary." He wished he sounded more sincere.

"Nonsense." Her eyes opened wider and she pushed herself upright.

"It's not nonsense.” Her eyes focused on that part of his anatomy that completely agreed with her. His cock was straining against his trousers and there was no mistaking the state of his body even in his kneeling position.

"Really. It is not necessary. Tonight was about you."

"I want it to be about us.” She slid forward on the chair. "Should we switch places or is that too forward a suggestion from a married lady you've only just met?” Her smile was back, full and easy, with an air of complete relaxation.

Did she even know what she suggested? She'd never done that for him. He would have guessed that she didn't even understand the possibilities. "Is that what you want? His body
cried, "Yes, yes, yes."

A slight hesitation entered her eyes. "I am really not quite sure. You'd have to explain things. I am a trifle innocent in such things. My husband has never seen fit to instruct me."

"Very remiss of the man."

Slowly Annie rose to her feet. Her skirts fell about her, covering her legs from his view. Her breast jutted, rose-tipped cream.

He swallowed as she gestured for him to take her place in the chair. "You really don't . . ."

"If tonight is about what I want then this is what I want."

"Yes, your grace." Obediently he took his seat.

She stood before him, appraised. "Take off your jacket and shirt."

His mouth felt like he'd swallowed cotton. His fingers wrestled with his loose cravat and the buttons of his shirt. She did not offer to help as he struggled out of the jacket. Her heated gaze swept over him, but her expression remained cool.

"Now the rest," she said.

"You'll have to help with the boots. Unless you want me to call my valet?"

"I think I can manage. Sit."

He did, and raised a leg, offering her his foot. She wrapped her hands around the soft leather, placing the sole against her bare flesh.

The sight almost did him in. He had to close his eyes to hold back, but still the image of white flesh and dark leather stayed. It should not have been erotic, but . . . He felt her strong pull and the boot slid loose. Her warm fingers glided over his calves, easing his stocking down. He was going to burn up, to embarrass himself right here and now.

"Undo your trousers, ease them off.” She was enjoying her power, her voice rang with it. "I want to see all of you."

"Only if I get to see all of you, too."

Her lips pursed. "You already have. And besides it is my turn to be in charge, to do what I want."

"And don't you want to make me happy?” He loved her when she played with command – but then he just loved her, had for years. He'd simply been slow to realize how great the power of that love was.

"Hmm. Is that what you think I want? To make you happy?” Her gaze flicked over him. "Take them off."

"You've already made me very happy and you've indicated a desire to make me even happier. He focused on her lips. As if sensing his glance, she licked them slowly, leaving the lower one shining.

In a simple movement he unfastened his buttons, lifted his hips and slid his trousers below his knees, and then kicked out of them.

"Very good, your grace.” She let his title fall from her lips with deliberate care. "Perhaps you do deserve a reward. Her hands went to the remaining ties of her dress, letting it fall to the floor.

Chapter Eleven

Annie didn't know where she was finding the courage – or was it foolishness? Would she ever reach a stage in life where her nerves weren't always questioning? Sucking in her belly, she allowed a slow smile to spread across her face. This was her moment and she wasn't going to let any doubts mar it.

And why should she worry when one look at her husband's face spoke a story of desire and . . . was that caring? Was it truly possible that his words were true? That he was ready for a real marriage? A true family?

Stop thinking. This was a moment for actions not thoughts.

She let her eyes wander over him. The broad, high brow. Eyes she could get lost in. The straight nose. Those lips, so firm and yet so inviting. Her gaze lingered there for a moment, remembering just what he had done with those lips. Then, lower – wide, well muscled shoulders. Chest, so broad and strong – small brown nipples that had always been so sensitive to her touch.

Her fingers rose to her own breasts, caressing and squeezing. His eyes followed her movements, his desire clear. He liked watching her, enjoyed her pleasure.

And it was not only his eyes that liked. Her glance meandered down, following the narrow trail of hair. Yes, that part of him, very definitely liked. So magnificent. So very male. So beautiful. He'd blush if she ever said that to him, but it truly was beautiful, so dark and strong, so glorious – and so large.

She swallowed. Was she really going to do this? Going to try?

She took a half step forward until she stood between his knees, the small stool immediately behind her. Her eyes lowered. Did he really respond to her every move? Lowering a hand from her breasts, she moved it towards him – he quivered and jerked even before her touch.

When she laid one finger on the velvet tip, his whole body tensed, his breath caught. She looked up and met his glance. Had his pupils ever been that dark, that needy?

She ran the single finger down his length, every muscle in his legs drew tight. His skin truly was like velvet or satin, the world's finest satin. But underneath, underneath was stone - or steel. She had touched him before, but never like this, never letting her whole world be the feel of one finger upon him.

Filling her lungs with air, she wrapped her whole hand about him, not squeezing, but simply letting the warmth of him fill her palm. She swallowed, but did not look up. He was so alive. She could feel movement beneath her fingers, the surge of blood, the jerk of muscle, the . . .

A single drop of fluid formed at the end and taking a single finger of her other hand, she brushed it and brought it to her lips, tasting him for the first time.

It was not what she had expected, but not bad, not . . .

She didn't know how to begin to describe all that this made her feel.

Trying not to think too hard, Annie sank to her knees, letting her behind rest against the stool. She was eye level with him now. She swallowed again. Could she really do this?

She ran her hand over his length again. And again. She looked up. He was lost in passion, his eyes glazed and powerful – and yet, his look was all about her. She was making him feel this way.

Powerful. It was how he looked. How he felt beneath her fingers.

But, it was she who held the power.

She who held the control.

Strength filled her, strength, and want, and need.

She needed to do this. Needed to feel him. To taste him.

Another drop of moisture had formed, glistening at the tip. Leaning forward she laid a light kiss upon him, drawing the fluid into her mouth. Another kiss.

"Put your lips all the way around." His voice cracked as he spoke.

With great care she slipped her mouth about the top, sliding slowly over the head. It was easier than she had expected – and much more pleasurable. His skin was so soft within her mouth.

And then she looked up at him and her heart stopped. The look she saw upon his face was like nothing she'd ever seen. His eyes were half-closed, his lips parted, his breathing deep. He looked as if he saw heaven, as if she was bringing him there. It was a look that filled her with joy and wonder.

She moved her mouth lower, felt his whole body respond, his eyes widen and then close.

And then she took control. She didn't know where the knowledge came from, but she began to move, to find a rhythm – to start and stop, to pull and relax, all according to the response of his body. Her every action was based on him. In some strange way she'd never felt closer, more attuned to his every want and need.

And when his body grew taunt, his legs straining as if close to breaking, she increased her speed, increased the pressure until . . . the cry shook his whole body, the shudder running along his every limb.

Was there any sight more magnificent than a man at the peak of his pleasure? She felt shock as his seed filled her mouth – and then elation that she had given this to him, that together they had reached this point.

As his body softened beneath her, she kissed her way up his torso, until her lips met his in gentle, languorous kisses. He pulled her onto his lap, settling her above his now peaceful manhood.

She let her cheek rest against his chest, listened to the slowing beat of his heart as his arms came about her.

And they spoke no words. They simply reclined in the chair, the fire drying the sweat from their bodies and let the moment be.

#

Had he slept? It felt like he had, but he wasn't aware of drifting off. The room had cooled some, but he was still warm with his wife settled in his lap. It was perhaps the most delicious feeling he could remember, the absolute peace and contentment of such a perfect moment.

His mind still spun with what she had done. He'd never even imagined the sweet girl of his youth being capable of such a thing. And yet she'd been so innocent about it. Even at the climax of his pleasure, he'd felt her wonder, her surprise and joy at the whole experience. Her joy. Had he ever felt a woman's joy in the midst of his own? He'd always thought women did that to make a man happy, never that they could find their own pleasure in it.

But, Annie had found pleasure, there'd been no mistaking the look of absolute delight on her face or the way she melted against him to sleep, one wonderful armful of womanhood.

He turned his face and buried his nose in her hair. Lemons and Annie. What a comforting scent. What a stimulating scent. Both were true.

She shifted restless in her sleep – her buttocks brushing over him and bringing a whole new meaning to stimulation. It was his turn to shift, trying to find a position with greater freedom. It didn't work. Whatever way he shifted, she moved to follow. Even in sleep her body honed to his.

And then he felt the first soft kiss upon his breast, just above his heart. His heart that she now owned – completely.

"You're awake," he asked softly.

"I think so, although this feels like heaven."

"It does at that."

"What now?" She kissed him again, nuzzling her cheek against the sprinkling of hair upon his chest.

There was temptation to shift beneath her, to let her feel exactly what he'd like to do now, but that was cowardly. He knew the question entailed far more than the next few minutes. "I would like to say that I don't know, but perhaps that is too easy. What would you like to happen now?"

She sighed against him. "I'd like to go to sleep and wake up again in just this way. I'd like to know that I can go to sleep this way every night and wake up in such manner each morning. That is what I'd like."

"I do believe I wouldn't mind having such an evening each night. I might find that quite agreeable."

Could you feel someone blush? Richard would have sworn he could feel the heat rise upon her chest and face. "Every night? You really . . . " Her voice trailed off.

"Yes, I assure you that I would be quite happy with every night – any man would."

"Is that what you want?" She kept her face hidden against his skin.

"I cannot deny what I want, but that is different than what I need.” He filled his words with emotion.

"I am not sure that I understand."

"What I need is you, Annie. I will take you however you will have me. I made a mistake all those years ago and have paid for it ever since – even when I was too foolish to realize it. I need you. I cannot live with out you. I do not want to live without you."

"You exaggerate. You have survived well without me these past years – you even sent me away."

"So I must admit to more than one mistake. Annie, I mean it with all my heart. I need you. You are my life. You and Robert."

"With all your heart? Do you mean  . . ." He could actually hear the quiver of fear in her voice as her words trailed off, fear – and hope.

"I love you, Annie. I don't know if I have ever said it before. I know that I said what needed to be said when we were younger, but even then I meant the words I said. I merely did not know it."