Unraveling the Earl (11 page)

“You’ve beautiful legs.”

Georgie twisted to look over her shoulder, found him
watching her with his trousers open, his cock jutting out.

“I’ve never seen such long legs.” With impatient movements
he pushed his trousers and smalls past his hips and down his thighs, twisting
and turning and tugging until he stood naked before the window, the last of the
twilight’s gloom glowing behind him.

Wishing she might light a few candles the better to see him
in all his glory, Georgie pivoted to sit on the edge of the bed, crossed her
left leg over the right and waited.

Henry prowled across the room and she thought he would
scramble onto the bed and pull her astride him, that he would show her all that
he thought she’d been missing in their encounters, reveal the rogue all of
London whispered about.

Instead he came to stand before her and lifted her leg,
cradling her foot in one hand while the other swept over her shin, curled
around to caress her calf. He lingered to trace the sensitive underside of her
knee before sweeping up her thigh.

Georgie leaned back on her elbows and opened her legs in
invitation.

“Lovely,” he murmured, releasing her foot and dropping to
his knees in the space she’d created. Gripping her thighs, pushing them farther
apart, exposing her fully, he leaned down.

She sighed as his breath blew over her curls.

Anticipating a soft kiss, Georgie was unable to hold back a
moan when he buried his face in her curls, his tongue finding her clitoris and
flicking over the sensitive bud.

Henry’s hands flexed on her thighs, his fingers digging into
her flesh, holding her still as he tormented her with his wicked tongue,
curling around and over before pulling the flesh between his lips. Sucking
hard, he grazed the bud with his teeth and Georgie bucked beneath him, lust
coiling tight.

“Yes,” she encouraged.

Humming, he released his prize, only to stroke her with his
tongue, over and around, delving into her folds before returning with increased
vigor, suckling her harder, setting up a pace that had her hips twisting and
rolling. He dragged her to the edge of release only to dip down and lap at her
quim, circling her, teasing her.

“Please,” she implored, desperate to reach the pinnacle that
loomed.

Lifting her legs, he pushed her thighs up to her chest,
holding them there with one hard arm braced beneath her knees, and drove his
tongue into her body.

“Oh, yes,” she gasped.

Thrusting, curling, he delved deep, over and over, while she
twisted and bucked against his mouth, her entire being focused on the agonizing
pleasure that built and built until each breath she drew in was a whimper, each
exhalation a sigh.

With a growl, he withdrew only to clamp his lips around her
clit once more, his tongue lashing her relentlessly.

“More,” she begged.

“This?” With no more warning than the single word, he thrust
one long finger into her cunny, withdrew only to thrust again. “Is this what
you want?”

“Yes,” she whispered as he foraged deeper.

Timing the thrust of his finger to the suckling of his lips
and the stroke of his tongue, Henry sent her soaring.

Swept into a wondrous vortex of ecstasy, convulsing around
his finger, laughter welling until it spilled from her lips, she barely heard
his whispered, “Christ, are you coming?”

Georgiana’s soft laughter, the tight clasp of her silken
flesh around his finger, the pulsing of her pearl between his lips, nearly
unmanned Henry.

With one final tug on her clit, one last swipe of his
tongue, one thrust of his finger, he released his hold on her bent legs and
rose to his feet. Curling her legs around his hips and pushing his painfully
hard cock through her curls, he prodded her quim, felt the fading tremors that
he’d foolishly thought were a witch’s trick designed to send a man into
madness.

Damn, she was beautiful spread out before him, pale and
long-limbed with perfect breasts topped with pretty pink nipples. His gaze
drifted down, over each of her ribs clearly visible as she drew in a trembling
breath, to her hipbones jutting out beneath skin that appeared blue in the
silvery moonlight.

Her taste lingered on his lips, sweet and salty.

“Henry.”

The soft roll of her tongue around his name jabbed at the
remnants of his control and he shook with the need to bury himself within her
body.

Raising his head, he found her watching him from beneath
heavy lids, the ghost of a smile drifting over her lips.

“I want you inside me, Henry.” Lifting her hands above her
head, she turned her palms up in a gesture that struck him as supplicating and
called to some dark place within him.

Sweeping his hands up her thighs, feeling her thighs tighten
around his hips, her ankles locking at his lower back, Henry gripped her bottom
and lifted her.

“Yes,” Georgiana whispered as the head of his cock sank into
her body.

Flexing his fingers, gripping her hard, he pulled her to him
while pushing forward, forcing his shaft slowly, relentlessly into her heat.

“Damn, you’re tight,” he grated out between clenched teeth.
“So fucking wet and tight.”

Georgiana sighed as he filled her, her fingers curling over
her palms.

“No, open your hands,” he ordered, wanting her submission,
receiving it immediately as she spread her fingers wide.

Withdrawing until only the tip of his cock remained within
her quim, Henry met her eyes, held them. “I won’t spend in your body.”

“No,” she breathed, her hips swiveling, the tight ring of
her cunny pulling at his shaft.

“But I am beyond control,” he said, forcing the words out,
waiting for her reaction.

“Yes.”

Just the one word. It was enough, more than enough to set
him free.

Thrusting hard, he seated himself in her body and rotated
his hips, plowing deep, drawing a moan from the woman sprawled out before him.
He withdrew only to drive into her once more. Again and again he pounded into
her, taking her in abandon, taking her almost violently, taking her in a way
he’d never before allowed himself to take a woman.

And Georgiana reveled in his unleashed lust, small sighs and
whimpers falling from her lips, urging him on, unleashing a wildness that had
him pitching over her to capture one nipple and pull it deep into his mouth,
teeth scraping over the pebbled flesh.

He bit down and she came apart, convulsing around his
plundering cock, her hands grasping his head, fingers twisting in his hair,
nails scouring his scalp.

She moaned, the sound broken and raw, her legs squeezing and
pulling him deeper into her body until he was rocking against her, barely
withdrawing between each savage thrust, teeth and lips tugging at her nipple to
the tempo of her warm flesh clasping him.

Lifting her higher and tighter against him, he rode her
release, unhinged by her soft moans drifting around them, mingling with his
rasping groans to create a dark, dangerous symphony that pushed him over the
edge.

“Your legs,” he gasped, clawing at her thighs.

Immediately, Georgiana released him, her legs falling away.

With a growl, Henry jerked his cock from her body just as he
started to come. His seed shot through her curls and across her thighs.
Dropping her to the bed he took his pulsing shaft in hand and pumped, sending
warm milky liquid jetting over her hips and belly.

Shaking, Henry fell to the bed beside her, blindly reaching
for her, turning her and pulling her close. Georgiana curled around him,
bringing his head to the crook of her neck, her fingers clutching his sweating,
heaving back. Draping one leg over his hips she pressed her curls against the
base of his still pulsating shaft.

“Shh,” she crooned as he fought to draw air into his
starving lungs.

“Christ…I’ve never…” he panted against the warm flesh of her
shoulder.

“I know,” she whispered, her hand sweeping down his spine.

Henry closed his eyes, drifting in a haze of satisfaction so
complete his limbs were heavy with it. “That was…I haven’t words.”

“Lovely, my lord,” she murmured against his temple. “Simply
lovely.”

Laughter, dark and gravelly, erupted from him and he thought
he understood her just a bit better in that moment. “You laugh.”

“Mmm.”

“When you reach your crisis you laugh.” Shaking his head in
wonder, he blew out a stuttering breath.

“Not always,” she cautioned. “Sometimes the joy is simply
too great to contain.”

“The joy,” he repeated. “You did not laugh this last time. I
didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Hush, my lord.” She shifted down on the bed until they were
face-to-face, their legs tangling, her nipples brushing his chest.

In the dark he saw only her eyes, enormous in her pale face
and surrounded by long lashes that cast shadows over her cheeks.

“I like it rough,” she whispered. “Hard and fast. Wild and
out of control. Messy. Forbidden.”

“Always?” He had yet to make slow love to her and wanted
very much to do just that as soon as he could move.

Laughing softly, she shook her head, her nose bumping
against his. “I invited Jacob to my bed when I was ten and seven. He was gentle
and careful and it was wonderful.”

“He would not marry you?” Henry asked, trailing one hand
over the curve of her waist, unsettled by the thought of another man enjoying
her uninhibited lovemaking.

“To be sure, there was never any question of our marrying,”
she explained, her voice dipping into the cadence of her native land. “Jacob
was the son of a physician of the Hebrew faith and I was…I am a Buchanan. Had
Killjoy or my grandmother gotten wind of our affair all hell would have rained
down on Jacob and his family.”

“Did you love him?”

“I was fond of him in the way all awkward, skinny girls are
fond of charming, handsome rogues who single them out for attention.”

“How many lovers have you had?” The question was out before
he thought better of it. “My apologies. That was beyond gauche.”

“I’ll tell if you will,” she answered with a grin, her teeth
flashing in the dark.

Henry hesitated, not at all certain he cared to travel down
this path with her.

“I’m teasing, dearest,” she said, her eyes searching his. “I
would hardly expect—”

“Twenty-seven,” he interrupted before he lost his nerve.

“My goodness,” she breathed. “You’ve kept count?”

“I…well, yes.”

“Do you make a notch on the bedpost for each one? Keep a
tally in your journal? Plant a tree?”

“Plant a tree?” he repeated on a laugh.

“You’d have a lovely forest one day,” she said, her voice
breaking as she fought to keep her amusement under wraps. “Especially if you
continue to plant your seed throughout Mayfair. Have you considered branching
out?”

“Saucy wench,” he replied, sweeping his hand over the curve
of her hip, his thumb finding the lovely bone that so mesmerized him.

“How is it there aren’t little Henrys sprouting up all over
London?” Giving up the battle, Georgiana laughed softly, her breath warm
against his lips, and he felt an odd fluttering in his belly, not quite arousal
but some new, foreign sensation, a close cousin.

Pressing his lips to hers, he caught her joy, pulled it deep
into his chest, and the fluttering intensified, multiplied until he felt
lightheaded with it.

“Truly,” she whispered against his lips.

“Truly,” he agreed.

Breaking the soft kiss, Georgiana put enough space between
them to meet his eyes. “How is it you do not have a dozen illegitimate children
running about? Or do you?”

“I don’t.”

“Are you certain?”

“As certain as I can be,” he replied. “Surely had I gotten
some lady with child she would have told me.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed. “But you do not make a practice of
negating the chances.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement. One oddly phrased for
the lady who customarily said precisely what she meant, often times in the
bawdiest manner imaginable.

“I realize it might appear that way given my behavior with
you,” he admitted.

“Your misbehavior,” she chided gently.

“Yes…well…I am not generally so…er…overcome that I cannot
remember to do my duty by the ladies,” he said, before deciding to simply tell
her the truth, consequences be damned. “I have a system.”

“A system? For making love to a woman?”

“Yes, actually. But I was referring to a method by which I
do not spend within a woman’s body.”

“Oh, Henry, no,” she said, her voice wobbly.

“Not to worry. It’s foolproof, my system, and works every
time,” he answered, heat rushing up his neck. He was tempted to change the
subject, to steer them onto smoother ground, but he was loathe to disrupt this
new intimacy. He tried to remember when last he’d lain face-to-face with a
woman, sharing laughter and affection and confidences, and decided he’d never
before known the simple pleasure.

“I suppose you’d best tell me,” she replied, her eyes
shining like two stars in the darkness.

“I wait until they are finished—”

“How do you know? Do they all scream and thrash about?

“To one degree or another, though some ladies are less vocal
than others. None so quiet as you, with your soft sighs and breathless
laughter.”

“You do not feel them coming apart?”

“Again, to one degree or another, but none possess
your…er…tight milking clasp.”

“How is it you did not know you brought me to climax?”

“Georgiana, I was out of my head, rendered mad and not at
all adhering to the proper order of things.”

“There’s a proper order?” she asked.

Henry chose to ignore her quiet question. “Add to that, and
correct me if I’m wrong, you were already climaxing before I was fully inside
you that first time.”

“And you thought it was a whore’s trick.”

“A witch’s trick,” he corrected.

“I see,” she replied doubtfully. “So when the ladies are
finished screaming and thrashing about to one degree or another?”

“Twice, sometimes thrice.”

“How do you know how many times a lady will climax? You
might think she’s finished when in fact she is working toward the next.”

“I hope I can tell when a woman is wrung dry,” he said.

“How?” his too curious lover asked.

“Generally by the manner in which she droops over me,” he
explained.

“But what if she is beneath you?”

“She isn’t.”

“Ever? I know you think that all the ladies prefer to mount
you, but surely some of them prefer to be ridden.”

“Oh, no. They all want to straddle me,” he replied, not at
all certain why he felt off-kilter by the admission.

“Henry, what nonsense,” she argued. “Not all women are the
same. Take me, for instance I don’t like to be on top. Not in the least.”

“You haven’t been atop me.” He could not keep the arrogance
from his voice. In fact he made no effort whatsoever.

Georgiana giggled. Two hours previously he would have taken
offense. Hell, an hour ago he would have raged at her as he had in the front
parlor. Now he only smiled at her amusement.

“I give over. All the ladies prefer to ride the beautiful
stallion,” she said. “And when you are near to spending you tell them and they
what? Scramble off your cock?”

“If you must know—”

“Oh, make no mistake, I must know.”

“When a lady is ready for the night’s revelries to come to
an end, I roll her to her back,” he explained, fighting the urge to look away
from her bright eyes. “At which time I finish my business, withdrawing to spend
on the sheets.”

“Finish your business,” she repeated softly. “You roll her
over and continue until you are at the point, and then withdraw.”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“More or less. Always you flip the ladies to their backs?”

“You sound as if you find that odd.”

“No, no of course not,” she hurried to assure him. “Truly,
coupling is a strange business on the whole. As far as I can tell, every man
and woman has their own little quirks and predilections. I would never judge
anyone’s proclivities as odd. To each his own.”

Tucking her head beneath his chin, Georgiana settled down
beside him, her warm breath puffing against his shoulder, her fingers drifting
lightly over his arm. Silence surrounded them but for the quiet sounds of
crickets chirping and wind blowing over the dry grass outside.

Henry went over their conversation, wondering if he’d been a
bit too forthcoming. Likely he should not have mentioned his system as she
seemed somewhat distressed by the notion. But hell, women were a tricky lot and
he had a reputation to uphold. All it would take was one lady screaming from
the rooftops that he’d left her wanting and he would be a laughingstock, fodder
for jokes and bawdy ballads.

As his father had been when he’d abandoned his new bride to
go harrying off to Idyllwild in pursuit of Mary Morgan.

His only solace would be found in the knowledge that he
hadn’t taken a wife down with him.

“Four.” Georgiana’s sleepy voice interrupted his rather
gloomy ponderings.

“Four?” he repeated, not understanding into what context the
single word belonged.