Unraveling the Earl (5 page)

Henry came to his feet, his hands clawing at his dressing
robe until it fell to the floor, and stalked her. His vision blurred around the
edges until she was all he saw. A glowing fire goddess. His for the taking, to
pillage and plunder at will.

Georgiana did not shrink away from the hunger that must be
evident on his face, in the rise and fall of his chest, in the fists clenched
at his sides. She lifted her chin, her eyes gleaming in the candlelight as she
met his gaze.

He snaked out his arms, circling her hips, his hands landing
hard on her ass. The slap of flesh on flesh and the soft moan that fell from
her lips resonated around them, overlapping, fusing, drawing them together.

He hauled her against him, lifting her off her feet, his
head descending, searching for her lips, finding them open in invitation. In
the next moment her legs wound around his hips and her arms curled over his
shoulders, her hands on his head, her fingers tugging at his hair.

Two steps had her pinned to the wall, his cock riding her
cunny, his tongue sweeping into her mouth.

She arched into him, her breasts rubbing sinuously against
his chest, her nipples hard little points, a soft sigh vibrating against his
lips, pushing him closer to the edge. Tightening her thighs around him and
digging her slipper heels into his buttocks, she clasped him to her, her hips
slowly undulating, pressing her folds against his throbbing shaft only to twist
away before returning to torment him yet again. She set up a rolling rhythm
that had him in an agony of anticipation for the next swivel of her hips.

Henry gripped her round bottom, his hands molding the soft
flesh, as he plunged his tongue deep into her mouth, aroused beyond thought,
beyond control, beyond anything but the need to possess her.

Shifting between her thighs, he pushed his cock through her
curls until he found her quim. She was hot and wet, wonderfully wet. He prodded
the soft portal, vaguely registered the fine tremors pulsing within the tight
confines as he nudged the head of his throbbing shaft into her body.

Soft laughter interwoven with low breathy moans hummed from
her mouth into his, driving him mad, driving him beyond reason.

Tearing his mouth from hers, he watched her lashes flutter
as her eyes drifted closed, and with one fierce thrust plunged his cock deep
into her body.

“God above,” he groaned. She was tight, blessedly,
wondrously tight around him.

And she was doing something with her inner walls, clasping
and releasing his hard length in time to the racing beat of his heart.

Lust clawed at him, pummeling him, blinding him to
everything but the need to move, to thrust hard and heavy into her rippling
cunny.

He withdrew, her wet flesh pulling at him, and thrust deep
once more.

“Holy shit,” he growled, his balls tightening and his climax
racing over him, taking him completely by surprise, unraveling the last threads
of his control. He thrust savagely into her tight, clenching channel.

He roared out his pleasure, his shock, his wonder, his cock
twitching and pulsing as he spent himself inside her body.

“No,” she cried, writhing against him, long legs unwinding
to dangle along his thighs, fingers scrabbling at his shoulders, nails raking
his flesh.

“Sorry, dove,” he panted, his face buried in her neck.

“You cad,” she hissed.

“Give me a moment,” he begged between sawing breaths.

“Get off me, you great lummox.”

Henry pried his hands from her soft ass and lowered her to
the floor, moaning in exquisite agony as his shaft pulled free of the clasp of
her snug quim. He stepped back on legs that shook, thinking to sweep her into
his arms and onto the bed for a bit of cuddling while he regained his wits
before finishing what he’d so ungallantly interrupted with his precipitous
completion.

But Georgiana pushed past him. She spared him not so much as
a glance as she marched across the room in her pink slippers, one stocking
drooping around her ankle.

Henry watched the sway of her pink ass until she disappeared
into the bathing room, slamming the door behind her.

The great lummox was lounging at the table with a napkin
tucked into the lapels of his brocade dressing gown when Georgie emerged from
the bathing room after twenty minutes spent attempting to rid her body of his
seed.

With a pheasant leg in one hand and a brandy snifter in the
other, Hastings looked up from the table with a lopsided smile that did queer
things to her insides. Which infuriated her to no end.

She breezed by him in search of her gown only to come up
short when she did not find it lying on the floor where she’d left it. She spun
about to face him, battling to hold on to her temper. “Where are my clothes?”

“I sent them to be pressed,” he answered, ducking his head
over his plate. “The servants will return them in the morning.”

She opened her mouth to demand that he fetch them back
immediately. She could hardly sneak about his house naked. And she had no
intention of remaining under his roof until morning.

But he was tucking into his dinner as if he hadn’t eaten in
three days and drinking brandy like it was water.

Surely he would be snoring in his bed before long.

With that thought uppermost in her mind, Georgie marched to
his dresser and rifled through the drawers until she found rows of pressed
white shirts. Removing one she pulled it over her head and rolled up the
sleeves before turning to wander about the perimeter of the room. She
extinguished every candle in the sconces that dotted the walls until the room
was a patchwork of dark shadows and golden light from a handful of tapered
candles spaced about the room.

Two orgasms, a little food, a quantity of brandy and a
darkened room ought to put the lord to sleep.

Georgie joined Hastings at the table, dropping into the
empty chair with a sigh.

“Sure and that was poorly done, my lord,” she admonished,
lifting the lid of a silver platter to find an entire roast pheasant, less the
leg his lordship was currently devouring, swimming in a congealing sauce of
some sort.

“Why did you run off?” he asked. “I had every intention of
seeing to your pleasure just as soon as I’d regained my wits.”

Seeing to her pleasure? Was it possible the man did not
realize she’d climaxed the moment he’d breached her body?

If the cocky lord couldn’t recognize a woman in the throes
of a rollicking good release nor pull out before reaching his own, he most
assuredly did not deserve the reputation he’d somehow earned. Nor did he
deserve to be enlightened. In fact he deserved to be tormented a bit.

“No need,” she assured him, dropping the lid with a clatter.
“I saw to it myself.”

Hastings made a choking sound and she darted a quick glance
his way as she lifted another lid. He was staring at her from comically round
eyes, a flush spreading over his cheeks.

“You saw to your own pleasure?” he croaked out. “Just now?
In my bathing room?”

“I’m sorry,” she replied, her temper falling away at the
look of astonishment on his face. She peered into the second platter. Shaved
beef on toast swimming in gravy. “Did you want to watch?”

“Sweet mercy,” he murmured.

“Does one of these dishes contain vegetables?”

“Would you allow me to watch you…” He waved his hand about,
dripping sauce on the tablecloth.

“Bring myself to climax?” she finished for him, finally
finding a porcelain dish filled with potatoes and white beans in butter.

“That is a sight I would truly love to see.”

“I imagine one woman diddles herself much like the next.”
Georgie heaped potatoes and beans onto her plate before slathering butter on
two thick slices of bread.

Lord Hastings watched her, both elbows propped on the table,
his fowl forgotten in his hand.

“Or perhaps not,” she considered, delighted by his wonder
despite her intention to remain untouched by his boyish charm. “Perhaps some
women use the right hand while others use the left.”

“Which do you use?”

“The right. The left is for tweaking my titties.”

Hastings dropped the pheasant leg onto his plate and fell
back against his chair with a groan.

Georgie let him stew on that while she dug into her meal,
discovering with the first bite that she was quite ravenous.

And why not? She’d been pacing the warped boards of her
rented rooms for the better part of three days with her stomach in knots,
undone by the news that the Countess of Hastings had passed away.

“You’ve beautiful breasts,” the earl said some minutes
later.

Looking up from her plate she eyed him suspiciously, not at
all certain he wasn’t toying with her.

“Truly,” he assured her with a grin. “Quite the loveliest
titties I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you,” she replied on a huff of laughter.

“Your nipples are like ripe berries,” he continued, his eyes
dropping to her chest.

Georgie looked down, not the least bit surprised to see the
sensitive buds clearly visible beneath the fine cotton of his shirt. Under
their combined regard, the tight buds hardened and lengthened, pressing against
the fabric. Heat pooled between her legs and it was all she could do not to
squirm in her seat.

She might have erred when she’d decided to torture the man
for his transgressions, most specifically spending his seed in her body and
failing to recognize the gift of her climax. The diddling of her quim and
fondling of her nipples likely weren’t subjects destined to put the earl to
sleep.

“Eat your dinner, my lord,” she murmured, plucking up
another piece of bread and heaping butter on it.

“Henry,” he corrected, apparently not inclined to adhere to
her gentle command. “I’d much rather eat your berries.

“Does that sort of nonsense customarily work for you?” she
asked, genuinely curious.

“Nonsense?”

“Eat your berries,” she mimicked. “Play my pipe. Has that
ever worked for you?”

“I seem to recall you on your knees before me not too long
ago,” he pointed out with a soft chuckle.

“It wasn’t because you’d compared your prick to a pipe, of
that you can be certain,” she replied, amused by his arrogance.

“I don’t give a fig as to the why of it,” he said.

“No, I don’t suppose you do,” she agreed knowing full well
he’d be less than pleased if he knew the true reason she’d fallen to her knees
before him.

Deciding it was time, beyond time, the handsome gent took to
his bed, Georgie feigned a yawn, daintily lifting her hand to cover her mouth,
watching him to see if he reciprocated.

“Are you tired, Georgiana?” he asked, his voice a smooth,
silky caress. “Perhaps we ought to retire.”

“But you have not finished your dinner,” she argued,
disconcerted to realize the man wasn’t tired at all. No he had another reason
entirely for wanting her in his great sultan’s bed.

“I’ve had all I want,” he countered, his gaze dipping to her
breasts once more. “Of food that is.”

Good lord, the man was as randy as a boy. Twice she’d
brought him to release and still he was intent upon bedding her. When the
ladies whispered of his amazing stamina, she’d mistakenly believed they’d meant
he could stay hard above them for hours at a time. Clearly the ladies of the
ton
believed a man need only have the ability to get hard repeatedly throughout the
night to be considered an exceptional lover.

So be it. She had a trick or two up her sleeve for the
handsome devil who apparently had never watched a woman pleasure herself. She’d
tease him with a few well-placed caresses until he took himself in hand. Then
she would tuck him to sleep beneath his luxurious counterpane.

Georgie scooted her chair back from the table, angling the
seat so that the lord would have an unimpeded view, before whipping her
borrowed shirt over her head and shaking out her hair.

“Christ, you’re lovely,” he murmured as she lounged back,
her stocking-clad legs stretched out before her and crossed at the ankle,
affording him only a glimpse of the curly hairs that hid her treasures.

“I’m pleased you think so,” she purred, bringing her hands
up to cup her breasts.

His eyes riveted on her fingers, on her nipples poking
between them, Hastings shifted about in an obvious attempt to hide the bulge
beneath his dressing gown, succeeding only in pulling the garment open to the
waist. His chest beneath was bronzed and lightly sprinkled with golden curls
tapering to a fine line over his flat abdomen.

“Mmm,” she hummed. “My nipples are so hard.”

“Yes,” he whispered. “Lovely berries.”

“Would you like to nibble my berries?” she asked, fighting a
giggle.

“Christ, yes.”

“Soon, my lord,” she crooned, pinching the stiff peaks and
setting tingles running down her limbs. “We’ve all night.”

“There’ll be no rushing this time,” he promised, raising his
gaze to skim over her features, lingering for a heartbeat on her lips.

Georgie smiled, fully intending to bring him to spend on the
plush velvet chair. Of course she might need to pleasure herself in his bathing
room afterward.

Already she was trembling with desire from his heated gaze,
from his husky voice, from simply looking upon his too handsome face and broad
chest.

Lightly pinching her nipples, she sighed softly as her
desire spiked. Increasing the pressure nearly to the point of pain, Georgie
plucked at her nipples, elongating them before releasing them altogether,
forgetting for a moment that she meant to drive the man before her to
distraction, not herself.

“Do you want me?” she whispered.

“Yes, I want you.”

“Show me,” she purred, her gaze dropping to the evidence
tenting his dressing gown.

Hastings clawed at the belt of the robe, shifting this way
and that until he pushed the garment from his wide shoulders, leaving it pooled
around his hips. His cock rose from a nest of dark curls, long and thick, the
head bobbing as he fell back against the chair with a groan.

With one final swipe across her aching nipples, Georgie
slowly trailed her hands downward, over her ribs to the smooth expanse of her
belly.

Lowering her lashes she watched the handsome lord follow the
movement, his face flushed, his mouth open, his tongue coasting over his lower
lip, back and forth. His eyes were dark pools beneath heavy lids, his hands
fisted on the armrests, and his shaft twitching.

Georgie swirled her fingers through the curls covering her
mound.

“Damn me,” Hastings rasped out.

Forgoing the soft flesh between her legs, she coasted her
hands over her hips and down her outer thighs until her fingers met the ribbons
anchoring her stockings in place. She paused there, contemplated lifting one
leg then the other and slowly rolling the silk down.

Instead she unlocked her ankles and allowed her legs to fall
open before trailing her fingers up along the sensitive flesh of her inner
thighs. When she reached the curls hiding her womanhood she paused to take in
his reaction.

Hastings was captivated by the show, his legs falling open,
his hips jerking and twitching, setting his cock bouncing. His chest rose and
fell as he dragged a raspy breath deep into his lungs.

And still he did not take himself in hand. Rather his hands
came down to rest beside his hips, his fingers clawing at the silk of his
discarded dressing gown.

“You’re killing me,” he groaned, his gaze lifting to her
face.

Meeting the earl’s eyes, she draped one leg over the
armrest, opening herself to him. Trailing one hand up and over her hip, her
waist, she cupped her breast, squeezing the nipple between finger and thumb.
The other hand continued along her inner thigh, coming to rest over her curls,
her fingers dipping down to cover the throbbing bud within.

“Holy shit,” he growled.

And still his fingers grasped the fabric bunched around him.

Georgie circled the tight bud of her clit, over and around,
setting up a tempo that had her hips swiveling in counterpoint. She plucked at
her nipple, pinching and releasing the peak until desire had her strung tight,
her breath leaving her in soft whimpers and sighs.

“Are you wet?” he asked around a low groan.

Georgie pushed two fingers through her folds, forward and
back, dragging over her clit, teasing them both, before easing one finger into
her quim. Slowly she withdrew it, only to thrust in once more, deeper, harder.

Hastings watched through slitted eyes, a muscle ticking
along his jaw.

Withdrawing her finger, she held it up to the light, showing
him the glistening moisture before bringing it to her lips. She drew the salty
flesh into her mouth, suckling daintily.

“I want to taste you.” Hastings’ voice was a rough whisper
and filled with command.

And his cock was in his hand.

Georgie watched him stroke the turgid length from base to
tip and back as she leaned forward to offer him her finger.

He sucked greedily, his eyes open and hungry on her and she
felt the pull deep within her core, as if he’d touched her there with his
avaricious mouth.

In the next moment, he was on his feet, one arm slashing
out, sending dishes and silverware, pheasant and potatoes flying about.
Porcelain and crystal shattered, forks and spoons shot across the room, one
silver platter spun crazily across the floor before slamming into the wall.

“My lord,” Georgie breathed in mingled surprise and
anticipation.

Hastings scooped her up, turning to deposit her on the
table, the cloth smooth and cool on her bare bottom. With his thighs wedged
between hers legs, his cock heavy at the opening to her body, he clasped her
head between his hands and tilted her face back, forcing her to meet his gaze.

Eyes glowing as blue as the hottest flame, jaw clamped tight,
face flushed, he might have been a Viking warrior, intent upon laying claim to
the bounty of war.