Sex and the Single Earl (13 page)

God, she felt good.

Simon clenched his teeth, struggling to maintain his self-control as he savored the feel of Sophie’s velvet-soft body underneath him. If he didn’t get hold of himself right now he would climax like an untried Etonian tumbling a dairy maid in a barn.

She had surprised him, his little sprite, but not in the way he would have expected. Of course Sophie adored him, and of course she willingly relinquished her virginity as soon as he claimed it. But what had shaken him was the discovery of her sensual nature, now grown ripe and his for the taking. Her eager response to his lovemaking had surprised him, setting her well apart from the jaded pleasure-seekers he had once taken to his bed. No woman had pushed him closer to the limits of his control—or made him feel so…well, he couldn’t seem to put a name to it.

She wriggled beneath him, silently demanding his attention. He flexed, and pushed his cock even farther into her supple flesh as his tongue explored the depths of her mouth. She moaned, sinking deeper into the ridiculously overstuffed cushions of the settee as he pressed into her.

Pulling his mouth from hers, he slowed the pulsing stroke of his hips. He sucked in a shuddering breath and looked down at the fey creature reclining on the pillows beneath him. Her skin glowed with a damp flush, and her hair curled in unruly locks of silk and russet around her pretty face.

Sophie’s eyes snapped open. He could see the pupils dilate as she struggled to focus her vision. She stared back at him, her emerald-flecked gaze filled with so much raw emotion that Simon had to repress the urge to flinch.

“Simon?”

Her voice, catching on an unfamiliar sultry note, slid across his senses like a heavy velvet scarf. His cock pulsed inside her sheath. But even though they were locked in the most intimate of embraces, closer than they had ever been, Simon could still hear hesitation in her voice. His heart contracted with a tug of unexpected tenderness as a shadow of anxiety rippled across her features.

He slipped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her up to his chest. Her soft breasts pressed against him, teasing him with their ripeness. He wanted to go slowly, wanted her body to have time to adapt to him, but he couldn’t help giving her a hard nudge. That drew another moan from her lips as her eyelids drooped shut again.

An amazing impulse to laugh rustled through him as he watched Sophie’s lips curve up in a dreamy smile. Her slender legs wrapped themselves around his hips and she tilted her bottom up, unconsciously opening herself more fully to his body’s invasion.

He stroked again into the syrupy heat. God, he wanted to taste her—to consume her tender flesh until she cried out for him to stop.

But it was too soon to partake in those headier games of love. He would awaken Sophie, slowly and carefully, to the sensual delights that were opening before them.

Denied the taste of her body, he indulged himself with the champagne-tinged flavor of her mouth, sucking in her sweet essence. She responded eagerly, stroking her tongue between his lips as her slender fingers danced over his back and shoulders. He had to fight the urge to push into her with a punishing rhythm.

Good God, she made him feel like a savage.

“You have no idea how much you tempt me.” He licked the corner of her mouth. “You’re just like a little pastry, fresh out of the baker’s oven.”

Her eyes widened in shock. She pinched him hard on the bicep.

“Don’t tease me, Simon. I’m not a child anymore.”

That remark did make him laugh.

“No, you’re not, Puck, although I’m still getting used to that fact.”

“Don’t call me Puck, especially not now,” she said. Her scowl was adorable.

Simon nipped her lower lip. “I’ll call you whatever I want. After all, I should have some compensation for always pulling you out of trouble.”

She gave him another hard pinch on the arm.

“Ah, you’ll be sorry for that, Sophie. I have you right where I want you.” He slid his hands down to her bottom, pulling her up and crushing her against his groin. She moaned as he began to stroke into her—steady, powerful, relentless.

He reached a hand up into her hair, thrusting his fingers through the thick mass, gently pulling her head back to give himself access to the sleekness of her white throat. Strands of crystal beads slipped from her curls to fall with a glittering sparkle to the carpet. Auburn hair cascaded over yellow pillows like a river of flame.

She glistened in the firelight, a rare pearl polished to a high gleam.

“Simon!” She whimpered again as he maintained the driving pulse within her.

The sound of her voice, the writhing of her soft, scented limbs, drove him wild. All the demons from the deepest pits of hell wouldn’t have been able to hold him back any longer. He plunged into her—high and hard—and she arched up to meet him, matching his stroke with perfect accord.

An insatiable hunger gripped him, compelling him to go even deeper, to claim every part of her.

He hooked her left leg over his arm, opening her completely to his fierce thrust. Sophie threw her head back and gave a strangled cry—a low, keening sound of ecstasy. Her slick body throbbed around him as he surrendered to his climax, smothering his face in the soft cushions of the settee to muffle his own shout. He poured himself into her, and for one disorienting moment it seemed as if his flesh, his very spirit, had fused with hers.

The moment passed, overridden by an intensely physical rush of satisfaction that he had so thoroughly taken the woman lying beneath him.

Eventually, his breathing slowed from an uneven shudder to a more normal rhythm. Simon eased Sophie onto the cushions but remained between her legs, reluctant to pull himself from the clasp of her warm body. In fact, he had no intention of ending their interlude any time soon—despite the late hour and their scandalous use of his aunts’ drawing room. After she’d rested a bit, he might try introducing her to some variations on the theme, after all.

He blew out a contented breath and nuzzled the soft skin beneath her ear. Sophie had yet to say a word—unusual for her. She was likely stunned by her first sexual release.

That, or the effects of the champagne were catching up to her.

She stirred beneath him, her bottom wriggling in an altogether delightful way. His cock twitched with a renewed sense of interest. He grinned, planting a wet kiss on her neck. Sophie had a great deal of potential in the bedchamber, and he intended to take every opportunity to develop her burgeoning talent. It was certainly the most enjoyable way he could think of to keep her occupied and out of trouble.

He lifted his head to study the girl he had known for almost a lifetime. A rosy blush stained her clear cheeks, and her eyelids fluttered madly, as if she were struggling to awaken from a dream. She looked sweet, vulnerable, and very young. Simon felt the familiar urge to protect her swell within him, along with a rush of emotion so powerful it made every muscle in his body tighten around her. With a jolt, he realized that what he felt was an overwhelming need to possess her.

To claim her as his woman.

He let that wash through him. Sophie belonged to him now. He wasn’t capable of loving her as she wanted to be loved, but she had given herself to him, and he would allow nothing to come between them. Not his former lover’s jealous machinations, nor even Sophie’s foolish notions about saving the world. From now on, her life would revolve around him and the family they would create together. He would see to that.

Sophie’s quivering eyelids lifted. Simon leaned down to kiss her swollen mouth, but she jerked her head back, staring at him with a look of…well, of horror.

He stared back. No, not horror. Outrage. Sheer, unadulterated outrage. She glared at him as if he had just tossed a litter of kittens into a lake, after kicking an elderly vicar in the seat of his pants.

Christ.

He had seen that look before, and it meant a thundercloud was roiling just over his head. Before he could say anything, Sophie’s pretty pink lips curled up into a snarl. She laid a hand flat on his chest and shoved.

“Simon, move.”

Her voice held a chill brittle enough to shatter every pier glass in the house.

“Please get off me now,” she continued from between clenched teeth, “or else I’ll have to push you to the floor.”

He repressed a groan as he felt a dull ache begin to throb along the back of his neck. What the hell was wrong with her now? And what would it take, exactly, to bring the frustrating little minx under control once and for all?

If Sophie hadn’t been trying to will away the worst headache in the kingdom, she would have burst into laughter at the expression of stupefied amazement on Simon’s face. But her temples were gripped in a band of throbbing pain, and she thought her head might blow apart if she moved any more than necessary. Either that or she would cast up her accounts all over Lady Eleanor’s yellow silk settee.

Even worse, she might get sick on Simon, who still lay with her in a sweaty tangle of naked arms and legs. She had to get him off before her stomach embarrassed them both.

Sophie shoved him again, but she might as well have been trying to topple one of the monoliths of Stonehenge. Swallowing hard against another wave of nausea, she tried to ignore the fact that her mouth tasted foul as the bottom of a dust bin.

“Please,” she managed to croak. “I must sit up.”

He stared at her, not with the possessive sensuality that had made her insides turn to soft custard, but with a scowl that suggested he’d rather argue than make love to her.

Not that she could blame him. She couldn’t believe it herself that such a magical episode had gone so tragically awry. Until a few minutes ago, everything had been perfect. Simon’s lovemaking had been thrilling. His mouth, his hands, his body moving in hers, had swept her into a place of so many astonishing sensations that she thought she might lose her grasp on reality. But just seconds after that raging tide of pleasure had washed through her limbs, she felt as if someone had smacked her on the head with a large book—the collected works of Shakespeare at the very least.

“What the devil is wrong with you?” Simon’s voice lanced through her brain.

She closed her eyes against a gripping pain that squeezed her eyeballs. “I think I might be sick.”

He muttered under his breath as he shifted against her. His big body lifted away, and the cool air of the drawing room enveloped her, obliterating the heat of his masculine essence. She shivered.

“This is what happens when you drink four goblets of champagne.” His voice was now as dry as anything she had quaffed at Lady Penfield’s. “Come, Sophie, up with you now.”

Gentle hands slid under her back as Simon easily lifted her into a sitting position. Sophie cautiously opened her eyes. The room spun like a dervish, forcing her to gulp to keep her stomach where it belonged.

“My glasses.” Even to her own ears her voice sounded annoyingly weak. If she hadn’t felt so wretched she would have kicked herself for succumbing to an episode of what must be the vapors.

“Not yet, Puck. Put your head down for a spell. I’d ring for smelling salts, but I think we’ve shocked Yates enough for one evening.” His low voice purred with amusement.

“Very funny,” Sophie mumbled as he pressed her head down onto her knees.

He rubbed her back with a soothing hand, then carefully brushed tangled hair away from her damp brow. Sophie took several deep breaths. That combined with his gentle touch seemed to bring her rebellious insides under some semblance of control.

“Does this help, sweetheart?” His fingers delved beneath her hair to massage the back of her neck.

She sighed gratefully. “Yes, thank you.”

“Good, because we need to talk.”

“What about?” she murmured, relaxing into the mesmerizing stroke of his powerful hands.

“I’m going to post the notice of our engagement in the papers, and set a date for our wedding. After tonight, I see no other choice.”

“Hell’s bells.” Sophie tried to sit up, but Simon kept a restraining hand planted at the base of her spine, forcing her to direct her words to the floor. ``I don’t know why you’re in such a rush. And I can’t believe you want to talk about this while I’m feeling so…so…”

“Top-heavy? Jug-bitten? Disguised?”

“Unwell,” she ground out. It was difficult to register an offended dignity with one’s head between one’s knees.

Simon began to snicker. Clearly the blasted man didn’t have a romantic—or sympathetic—bone in his body.

“Let me up,” she insisted, pushing against his hand.

He choked back another laugh and helped her sit up, resting her against the back of the settee. Simon retrieved her glasses from the nearby ebony table and propped them onto her nose.

“Better?” His face was grave, but his voice held a hint of laughter.

Although the edges of the room still revolved in an alarming fashion, Sophie’s vision came into focus on the man lounging next to her. With the dying fire cutting shadows across his rippling muscles, Simon could have passed for a statue of a Greek warrior come to life. She considered climbing into his lap and pressing kisses onto his tempting mouth, but regretfully decided that her stomach and head wouldn’t cooperate with another bout of strenuous activity.

“Yes, thank you. Much better,” she sighed.

He reached over and threaded a hand through the wreck of her coiffure. Strong fingers rubbed the aching surface of her scalp. Her eyelids closed as the needlelike pain in her temples began to fade.

“Sophie, we do need to talk about setting a date.”

Her eyelids snapped open. She twisted in her seat to look at him, wincing at the stabbing jolt to the back of her neck. Simon’s dark gaze was devoid of any expression except, perhaps, one of wariness.

“Why are you so insistent we set a date? I’ve agreed to our engagement. This”—she waved her hand in a vague circle, as if to encompass the monumental event that had just occurred between them—“this doesn’t change that. I still need time to get used to the idea of our marriage.” And to the idea that she would soon be legally and morally subject to her husband’s wishes, even if that husband was Simon. “And you promised,” she added.