Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
P hoebe led him to the blanket that had been spread with a variety of breads and cuts of meat, fruits, and nuts. There was even a flask of tea for Phoebe and another one of coffee for himself.
She handed him a plate and piled it high with his favorite foods.
“Eat,” she commanded him cheerfully. “I will not have you ruining our picnic if you become grumpy from hunger.”
“I do not indulge in such displays as grumpiness,” he protested.
“No, you merely sulk and glare at anything that breathes!” she giggled, picking up a sugared almond from the bowl.
He did not deign to reply to that accusation, choosing instead to nip at the almond in her hand, while Phoebe looked at him in shock.
“Rogue!” she chided him, shaking her head.
And yet, he did not miss the way her nostrils flared gently or the way her eyes darkened with desire. A most becoming flush spread up from her chest to lend her cheeks a rosy glow.
Moments later, after they had eaten their fill—and Charles had stolen his share from her fingers—they laid together on the blanket, the food cleared and hastily packed away into the basket. Above them, the endlessly blue sky was dotted with puffy clouds that floated past the vast expanse of the heavens. Every once in a while, Phoebe would point at a cloud, claiming it looked like this or that animal or some other ridiculous thing.
“And that one looks like Lord Strathmore in yet another of his funny hats!” she giggled, pointing at a cloud that had been stretched out somewhat.
Charles had never before tried to relate clouds to other things, but he had to admit that this one did indeed look like the ridiculous count in another of his feathered hats—once he got past the sheer pleasure of Phoebe’s hand in his, her warm body pressed close to his side.
Unable to bear the torture any longer, he rolled over to his side and stared intently at her. Confused, she blinked her wide, innocent eyes up at him.
“Is something amiss?” she asked him.
“Nothing,” he murmured hoarsely. “Just something I had been wanting to do ever since I walked into your bedchamber this morning.”
“And what did you want to—”
He cut off her words with a fierce kiss, pressing his hardened body to her pliant one. In response, Phoebe let out a soft moan and threw her arms behind his neck, returning his kiss with as much passion as she was capable of.
Her untutored reply sent a bolt of pure desire straight down to his groin and he deepened their kiss, his tongue delving into the honeyed depths of her mouth with expert ease. He clutched a fistful of her skirts and slowly began to draw it up her legs, exposing her stocking-clad feet, her ankles, her shapely calves. Higher still to her thighs.
“Charles,” she protested. “Are you sure we can do it out here?”
So innocent.
His grin was purely male and feral. “Of course, my sweet one. Nobody will come out here at this time.”
Not unless they wanted to risk his wrath, of course. He had already warned the servants to steer clear of their picnic spot and once O’Malley and Huxley had secured the area, they knew better than to wander in uninvited themselves.
He kissed her again, and this time, she surrendered sweetly without hesitation. He plucked at the buttons at her back and pulled the front of her bodice, exposing the soft swells of her breasts to his hungry gaze. He ran his hand over her chest, feeling the puckering of her rosy nipples through the thin chemise she wore.
“Charles!” she cried out softly, arching into his touch. Her voice only served to make him harder for her.
He brushed his lips against hers, gently this time, taking his time with her as his hand squeezed her lush breasts, running his thumb lazily over its turgid peak. Phoebe writhed beneath him, her hands digging into his shoulders as he teased the soft mounds. He pulled the chemise over her breasts, exposing her bare skin as he trailed his lips down her jaw to the side of her neck.
“Oh my…” she breathed. “Oh…”
He smiled at her reaction as he went further down to her breasts. When his lips clamped on a rosy nipple, she shrieked in pleasure, her fingers spearing into his hair as she instinctively clutched him close to her chest.
“Charles—oh my, Charles!”
He lavished her breast with his utmost attention, licking the nipple and drawing it into his mouth as her shallow breaths turned into gasps and melted into moans. She was so responsive to him that it was driving him mad with desire.
As she rocked into him, his hand wandered past her abdomen, tracing the flare of her hips, before heaving her skirts to bunch up at her waist. When his deft hands found her wet core unerringly, he nearly lost all control.
“How can you be so wet for me already?” he rasped upon her breast in wonder. He slipped his finger inside her slippery folds and Phoebe let out a moan of pure lust. Never had he met a woman who was so responsive to his touch. It was almost as if she was crafted perfectly for him.
He turned his mouth to her other breast, lavishing it with the same attention he gave its twin, while his finger continued to caress her wet center. He drew circles on her slick flesh as he sucked at her breast, feeling himself growing harder than what he had thought possible.
There was nothing Charles wanted more at that moment than to sink himself into her. To know the pleasure of her warmth clutching him, squeezing every last drop of him. He wanted to plunge into her uncharted depths and take her, make her truly his.
But before that, there was something else he wanted to do.
He glanced up and found his dear wife writhing in the throes of passion. He had never before seen such a sensual sight—her head thrown back, her lips slightly agape as his name spilled from them like a prayer.
Smiling against her skin, he dove down her body, trailing hot kisses in his wake.
“Charles?” Phoebe looked at him in confusion as he hovered between her legs. “What…are you…?”
Ever since that night at the trapdoor, he had lain awake wondering how she would taste on his tongue. Charles decided that he had had enough of wondering today.
“I told you I was starving, Phoebe,” he told her somberly. “Let me show you what I truly mean…”
Phoebe had very little knowledge in the realm of carnal pleasure. What little she knew, she had learned from her encounters with Charles, and when she looked at him, she knew he was about to teach her something wonderful again.
Something more wonderful than his touch?
She doubted it, really.
She gritted her teeth, her eyes fluttering closed as she felt his fingertip pressing upon something between her legs that caused her to shudder in sheer pleasure.
“Trust me, sweet Phoebe. I will take care of you.”
Oh, she had no doubt of that. However, a little warning would have been helpful. She felt that it was rather difficult trying to understand the things he was doing to her body.
Or perhaps she was not meant to understand it? Perhaps, she was simply meant to enjoy…
But she had never heard of the ladies ever referring to their marital duties as something remotely enjoyable—only that it was a means to have their husbands buy them a new hat, or dress, or extravagant necklace if they allowed it.
She felt him gently nudge her legs open as he positioned himself in between them. She was roiling in a stormy sea, cast this way and that by his touch, distinctly unaware of anything else but the pleasure he wrought upon her.
When she felt the first rasp of his tongue upon her innermost flesh, Phoebe sat up with a cry of alarm.
“Charles!” she squealed, only for his other hand to press her hips back down.
“Easy, my sweet wife. Trust me.”
She nodded, although she did not know exactly what she was trusting him with. She only knew that everything he had done thus far had felt extremely wonderful. She just had not expected him to actually want to taste her down there .
Those thoughts were lost upon her, however, as his tongue began to gently stroke her intimately. The resistance she once felt melted away as she felt the familiar pleasure building within her center.
She knew this feeling, had experienced it that night beneath the trapdoor. But it had never been as intense as it was now, with his fingers and tongue exacting an almost torturous rapture on her.
Her hips bucked upward of their own volition as she felt his tongue dart from her entrance to that little nub where the sensation was most intense. Still, Charles did not pause or even slow down to catch his breath. It was almost as if he truly was as he had told her—a man starved and she was the feast he wished to devour.
"Charles…!” she sobbed. “Charles, please…”
She felt his wolfish chuckle vibrating upon her wet flesh and thought she would go mad as the sensation only built up even more within her. Her hips thrust into his waiting mouth and still, he did not cease in his onslaught. Instead, it only seemed to drive him further, his tongue lashing even more ferociously upon her.
When he finally drew the pearl between her legs into his mouth, she felt herself burst with a scream. A cry of triumph.
It felt as if her body had exploded into a million stars, each fragment lighting up the sky and chasing away the night. Waves of pleasure crashed upon her, one after another, until she no longer had the strength to resist it.
She felt his arms gather her limp body to his chest. Felt him press a tender kiss to her sweaty forehead. Her eyes fluttered open, her gaze slightly hazy until she focused on him.
“You were wonderful,” he murmured, kissing her lips lightly.
Phoebe could only nod weakly. It seemed as if all her strength had left her body.
“Rest now,” he told her as he held her close. “I am right here with you.”
“But what about you?” she murmured.
He let out a sound that was part laughter and part groan. “I am well enough, sweet Phoebe. Do not worry about me.”
She pouted a little. “I always…worry about you…”
“That is my job,” he replied, kissing her forehead again. “Now, go to sleep.”
She did not have the strength to resist him or the strangely gentle lull of his voice. Her eyes fluttered close as she nestled deeper into his arms, feeling wonderfully spent. But even as she slipped into slumber, she could not help but wonder how Charles managed to remain far more composed than she was.
Was he holding back from her, perhaps?