Magnate (20 page)

He spun her around and found her wide eyes burning with a myriad of emotions. Desire, excitement, curiosity, embarrassment . . . She held nothing back from him, and he wanted to pay her back in kind. “You are the most magnificent woman I've ever seen.”

The smile she gave him tightened his chest with something entirely unfamiliar. Something unexpected.

Something he must ignore.

This was not forever; she still planned to leave him. Freedom could be attained with one creative lie to the judge regarding consummation. And why wouldn't she, this high-bred girl from wealth and privilege, one who could have her choice of worthy men?

Nevertheless, Emmett had her now. And he meant to have his fill of her.

His hands popped open the fastenings of her corset, exposing her bit by bit. The heavy piece fell to the ground with a thump. Unable to resist, he stroked her small breast over her chemise. Soft and round. He plucked at the hard nipple, then pinched, and her head fell back with a moan. With deft hands, he undid the bow and buttons, lifted the garment over her head. Her skin gleamed in the firelight, her breasts high and perfect, with dusky areolas that surrounded pink nipples just begging for his mouth.

Bending, he drew a nipple between his lips, onto his tongue, and sucked. She exhaled sharply, her fingers weaving through his hair to grasp his head. He repeated the motion, then bathed her nipple with his tongue, circling, alternating with suction, until her knees gave out.

He caught her easily and lowered her to the carpet. She gazed up at him from under long lashes. “I had no idea,” she breathed.

“You still don't,” he said, before giving the same attention to the other breast. She was writhing beneath him by the time he removed her stockings. He took a moment to appreciate the view. Long, smooth legs. Downy blond curls. Tapered waist and gorgeous breasts. “My God, but you are a vision.”

“Emmett.” She reached for him.

“Wait. There's something I must do first.” Shifting lower, he positioned himself between her legs. His fingers parted the folds until he reached the plush, slick center of her. Moisture pooled there, so much that his mouth watered. He wanted to devour her, to bury his face in her cleft for days and never come out. The tip of his finger traced her entrance. She would be sore from their earlier encounter, so he would need to restrain his own lust this time. But he could pleasure her.

“Lie back, Elizabeth. Let me taste you on my tongue.”

Chapter Fourteen

Panic stole through her. Did he mean to kiss her
there?

Before Lizzie had a chance to contemplate all the reasons she found that embarrassing, he dragged his tongue along the seam between her legs, lapping at her, and fire sizzled in every nerve ending. He repeated the action once more, and she nearly crawled out of her skin at the exquisite, sharp pleasure. Then his attention turned to the hard bud at the top of her sex, and she thought she'd lose her mind.

He was relentless, the intensity like nothing she'd imagined. His lips and tongue kept up the steady friction until she couldn't hold back any longer. The world reduced to that one spot and how he was mastering it so thoroughly. When he sealed his mouth around the nub and sucked—she went over the edge, the crest fierce and undeniable, her legs shaking against his shoulders, her cries echoing in the big room. She shouted freely in this private world, safe from the storm, safe from the rest of the city. Safe from the reality that was their marriage. Here, nothing mattered but the pleasure, and the bliss continued on and on as he worked her. Finally, she grew sensitive and jerked away from his wicked mouth.

His lips met her inner thigh and he kissed her sweetly, almost as if expressing gratitude. Silly, when she was the one who should be grateful.

He moved to her side, propped up on an elbow, and stretched out. A large, rough hand traveled over her hip, swept across her stomach and ribs, glided between her breasts. Surprisingly, he was as out of breath as she.

“Did you enjoy that?” His eyes tracked the path of his hand.

“There are no words,” she answered honestly. “Why did I not know?”

“Because you haven't been naked with me before.” The arrogance in his voice made her smile.

“Is that so? Allow me to guess: you are the only man in the world with such superlative bedroom skills?”

“Yes, of course. Do not ever consider otherwise.”

She laughed. “You can be quite charming when you want. But I do wonder why I am the only person without clothing in this room.”

He traced a path around her nipple with a fingertip. “You will be sore.”

“But I'm not sore now,” she said, and dragged the flat of her foot over the soft wool covering his calf. He was back to his tightly controlled, enigmatic self, and she much preferred the man who lost his mind with need for her. The one who couldn't hold back.

She should be nervous, she supposed, since she lay naked on a rug with a man she hardly knew, but she couldn't manage it. His dark eyes remained focused on her body, as if he had a hard time believing she were real. As if he had to keep a hand on her to prove they were both truly here. And a muscle jumped in his jaw, a sign of struggle that she relished.

He'd lost his vest and necktie at some point and was now in his shirtsleeves, collar, and trousers. Unbelievably, he still had on shoes. Rising up, she reached to unlace his square-toed low boots that were the height of fashion. She slipped each one off his foot, tossing it to the carpet. “Elizabeth,” he said, part warning, part something else that caused her to tingle in newly discovered places.

“Yes, Emmett?” she asked innocently as she shoved his black silk socks down. First one, then the other.

He swallowed hard, his stare fixed on her backside, which she'd unwittingly positioned toward him. Good. She scooted a bit, not turning, so she could unbutton his trousers. The fastenings came undone easily, the striped wool parting in her hands.

“You are playing with fire.” His voice, low and rough, sent a thrill through her.

“Not yet, but I soon will be, I hope.” Shifting, she lowered his suspenders. He rolled onto his back, lifted his hips off the floor, and pushed his trousers down, continuing until he kicked them off. “Now the shirt,” she told him.

In a flash, he dispensed with his shirt collar and shirt, leaving him in a thin, white combination. The tight, one-piece undergarment left little to the imagination. The fabric clung to him, showing off every ripple, every ridge, every bulge. Indeed,
every
bulge. Her heart skipped in her chest at the sheer masculine beauty of him. The seams struggled to contain his massive shoulders, and dark hair peeked out from the top edge under his collarbone. Her fingers itched to touch and explore, to learn the man underneath.

“Well?”

Her gaze snapped to his face. “Well, what?”

“You seemed to enjoy giving the orders. I was merely awaiting more direction.”

A surge of feminine power coursed through her. “And would you do anything I ask?”

He slipped his hand under his head, causing his bicep muscle to pop. “Unless it involves going outside, yes. Unequivocally.”

“Then kiss me.”

Where had
that
come from? She had no idea where this brazen self-assurance originated, but he must have approved because he lunged up and found her mouth, kissing her deeply. Confidently. As if he knew how much she craved him.

“Not on the floor,” he said against her mouth. In one fluid motion, he lifted her and stood, then carried her to the immense sofa, a piece of furniture definitely designed for a man his size. Wide and long, the sofa, covered in soft brown velvet, tickled her bare skin as he laid her down. He followed, giving her his weight in the most intimate and delicious of ways, with his cotton-covered erection hot and urgent against her thigh.

She wrapped her arms around him, and he slid a large thigh between her legs and took her mouth once more. He didn't touch her, merely kissed her until she writhed and clawed beneath him, a mindless mass of blinding desire. Just as she started to beg, his hand drifted between her legs where he expertly stroked the heart of her. Her nails plunged into his shoulders when he pushed a finger inside her warm, wet channel, stretching her, and that digit soon turned into two. He pumped his hand a few times, readying her, and she rocked into the heel of his palm, needing more. Needing everything he could give her.

Needing
him.

Her fingers flew to the buttons of his combination, tearing at it in her haste. Buttons popped in her desperation to feel his skin against hers, and finally she was able to get the garment open and over his shoulders. He slipped one arm out and then the other, and together they shoved the cloth down his torso, over his hips. Rough, blazing skin touched hers, the soft hair along his belly, chest, and legs dragging on her flesh to make her shiver. His fingers returned to her sex, pleasuring until her eyes nearly rolled up in her head.

She drew back to breathe. “Please, Emmett.”

“Touch me,” he ordered, gently biting along the column of her throat. “I need to feel your hands on me.”

Her fingers found his chest, where she trailed over the taut muscles and stark ridges of his ribs. Learned the contours of his abdomen, the angles of his hip bones. Then she wrapped her hand around the velvety length, lightly grasping the heavy weight of his erection. He gave a sharp intake of breath as she tested the smooth skin, ran her thumb around the plump head.

“Harder,” he murmured into her neck. “You won't hurt me.” As if to encourage her, he curled his fingers deep inside her and hit a spot that caused her to cry out. She retaliated by tightening her grip on him, stroking roughly. He groaned against her skin.

His hand withdrew, leaving her empty, until he mounted her, fit their hips together, and slowly began entering her. “Tell me if it hurts,” he rasped. “I swear, I'll stop.”

“I'm fine. Hurry, Emmett.”

But he did not hurry. Instead he took his time, as if savoring the experience. He sank inside carefully, demanding surrender, overtaking her, until he'd fully seated himself. She wrapped around his frame, gathering him close as he started to move, pelvis driving, both giving and receiving pleasure. He would not be rushed, long, unfaltering strokes driving her higher, sweat running down his temple, his skin turning damp. Just when she was sure another minute of the exquisite torture would drive her mad, he reached between their bodies and touched her, the pad of his finger causing the pleasure to explode. Her release went on and on, her hands holding him, his name a chant on her lips.

He rose to grip her hips as he sped up, sweaty skin slapping together in the otherwise silent room. Muscles clenching, he threw his head back and shouted, movements stuttering as he poured himself inside her. She marveled at the sheer power and strength of him, the unrestrained masculinity.

He collapsed on top of her. His head dropped into the curve of her throat, while Lizzie's arms came around his neck. They caught their breath, his body still joined with hers. A warm feeling of contentment washed over her, a sense of
rightness.
This was the man, the one she'd imagined would cherish her, protect her, yet allow her to chase her own dreams. True, he hadn't wanted to marry her—but that was in the past. They were married now, and perhaps they were far better suited than she could have hoped. As Emmett had said, many couples began with much less. Not everyone had this attraction, this all-consuming desire the two of them shared.

Who said that could not evolve into something more over the years?

The point was, she wanted to try with this man. No one else. No one else had risen so far with so little. Provided for his brother and taken in his half sisters, raised them. And certainly no other man had ever affected her this deeply. Every time she considered the annulment, her chest ached. Leaving would be difficult; lying in a court of law would be impossible.

The only thing left was to give him the truth. “I have changed my mind about the annulment.”

* * *

Emmett froze, certain he had misunderstood. Before he could question her, however, he had to deal with practicalities. Withdrawing from the warm grip of her passage, he came to his feet and went to fetch another cloth. He heard Elizabeth gasp as he walked away and immediately cursed his forgetfulness.
Shit.

“Emmett, your back. Dear God.” Revulsion? Horror? Pity? He couldn't quite pinpoint what he heard in her voice, but continued on to the washroom.

While waiting for the water to warm up, he cleaned himself off as best he could with the freezing stream from the tap. When he had a cloth ready for Elizabeth, he strode back to the sofa. She had curled up on her side, like a kitten, her gray eyes missing nothing as he traveled the floor. Sitting at her hip, he rolled her until he could gently clean between her legs. The flesh of her sex was red and swollen, and guilt shot through him. He should not have taken her a second time, no matter how much they'd both wanted it.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked.

The pins holding her hair had come loose, her blond locks now falling around her shoulders. He swept a long strand off her smooth forehead. She was so beautiful, so perfect. He'd done nothing in life to deserve having this woman by his side every day, but he'd be damned if he'd give her up now. “I was thinking that you'll be sore tomorrow, and I was regretting that we will have to wait.”

Her mouth kicked up at the edges. “I've always been a quick healer.”

“Is that so? I guess we'll have to see then, won't we?” He bent to place a quick kiss on her lips. “Let me build up the stove so you stay warm. I don't plan on letting you put clothes on yet.”

He returned the cloth to the sink and came out to add more coal to the stove. Elizabeth used the water closet, and he took a moment to appreciate her lithe, naked form as she traversed his office. Unashamed, she winked at him on her way back to the sofa.

Once the fire had been properly stoked, he grabbed the blankets he'd purchased from the tavern and carried them over. He slid in behind her so she'd be closer to the coal stove and covered them both with the heavy wool. She turned toward him on her side, and her head found its way onto his arm, using him as a pillow, while her hand caressed his chest.

“Your back,” she said quietly. “Was that the accident you told me about?”

“Yes.” Nothing more to say on that subject. The tissue had healed in long, jagged white scars. An ugly reminder of his struggle out of the gutter, not one he cared to think on if he could avoid it.

Elizabeth seemed to understand, nodding. The fact that she was still here, even after learning a tiny portion of his sordid past, seemed an incredible gift. One he intended not to squander.

“So the annulment,” he asked. “You've changed your mind?”

“Yes, I have. Unless you think we should still go through with a separation.”

“I was against the damned thing in the first place, Elizabeth.” He slid his palm over her hip and around to cup her buttock. Squeezed. “I am curious as to what changed your mind, though.”

“It wasn't that, in case you were wondering.”

“That, meaning my bedding you?”

“Yes. I wanted the annulment because my brother blackmailed you into marrying me. Besides being humiliated, I was convinced we would make each other miserable.”

“The humiliation is mine, Elizabeth. I should've known better than to engage in any impropriety with you that night. But I've always struggled with keeping my hands to myself around you.”

She tilted her head to kiss his jaw. “And I am glad of it. As you said, many married couples begin with less. I've always wanted a marriage like the one my parents supposedly had, with love and laughter.”

Emmett blinked. He knew when faced with insurmountable odds, and this was damn close. Love? Laughter? Jesus, his parents had fought like sailors and hit each other—and that had been on the good days. What did he know of a happy marriage? “Well, I am not sure that's—”