Chapter 17 The Mistress of Wicklowe #4
She thrilled at the sound of her name coming from his lips. She wanted to smile but she could not, as there was simply too much tension between them. She crossed the vast expanse separating them as he watched her, his gaze unblinking.
And she trembled with excitement. Somehow his regard had the ability to arouse her body effortlessly to a fever pitch. Lizzie paused before the desk. “A chocolate crème br?lée,” she whispered.
His eyes widened with more surprise. “You made that? When?”
“This afternoon. Your pantries are very well stocked. Your wish,” she whispered, aware of how raw her voice had become, “is my command.”
His hands lay flat on the desk. His knuckles had turned white.
“I must be a most fortunate man,” he murmured, coming out from behind the desk.
Lizzie put the tray on the desk. “But you haven’t tasted anything,” she said softly, slipping the spoon into the velvety cream.
He paused, his hip against the edge of the desk. “Oh, I do believe I have tasted enough to know the extent of my fortune,” he said, soft and low.
She could not mistake his meaning. She felt her cheeks heat and she paused, the spoon in midair.
He caught her wrist. Lizzie’s heart turned over hard as he guided her hand and the spoon to his mouth.
And as aroused as she was, at that moment she wanted to please him with her treat.
She tipped the spoon against his mouth and the small amount of chocolate cream disappeared.
She watched him swallow, and the urge to kiss his strong throat was overwhelming.
She clutched the spoon, waiting.
“Are there any other talents that you possess, madam, that I have yet to discover?”
She flushed in pleasure. “You do like it?”
“That is, without a doubt, the best chocolate dessert I have ever had,” he said gravely.
Lizzie reeled with more pleasure. “I am so glad.”
He leaned back on the desk, watching her for a moment, and then he turned and dipped his finger in the bowl. Then he looked directly at her again.
She had an inkling of what he intended, but it was as yet vague and unformed. “My lord?”
The words were not even out of her mouth when he inserted his finger there, rubbing the chocolate cream over her lips. Tyrell smiled at her, with so much promise, with so much intent, and she felt heat dripping between her thighs. She understood that bold look now, oh, yes.
He tilted up her chin. Lizzie swayed closer and he smiled again before slowly licking the chocolate from her mouth.
“My lord,” she gasped, gripping his waist.
And then Lizzie was crushed in his arms, his mouth on hers, the kiss so very hard, so very frantic, so deep.
Lizzie clung, spinning in delirious pleasure, shuddering with need, as his hands swept down her back, over her buttocks and back up again.
Lizzie could not stand another moment apart.
She found the buttons on his shirt and wrenched at them.
They gave—some popping off—and she slid her hands over the hard slabs of his bare chest. As she caressed him, amazed again at the power beneath her fingertips, he quickly unbuttoned her dress.
Before she could blink, she was standing before him in her underclothes.
He still sat on the edge of his desk and somehow she stood between his thighs. He held her immobilized and sent her a very wicked grin. “Do you object?” And his gaze slid over her breasts, clearly visible beneath her transparent chemise.
“My only objection is that you are far too slow to divest me of all my clothing,” she heard herself say.
His eyes widened. “I do love a challenge,” he rebutted, and with one pull her stays fell to the floor and then he ripped her chemise in two.
Lizzie blinked as he tossed the torn garment aside. He caught the waistband of her petticoat and drawers in his hands.
She trembled and he saw.
His expression was already strained and now it tightened. He tugged her remaining undergarments down.
Lizzie watched her navel appear, followed by a thatch of titian hair. She could no longer breathe. Tyrell pushed the garments to her feet, and straightening, he murmured, “Are there any other objections, Elizabeth?”
She couldn’t speak and with good cause. His hand was fluttering over her breast, just barely caressing the full side, the heavy bottom, then brushing the hard tip. Closing her eyes, she bit her lip to keep from crying out but failed.
“You are too lovely for words,” he whispered.
Her eyes flew open. He was gazing at her nude body, his expression filled with hunger and wonder. In that moment, she knew she was the most desirable woman in the world.
He smiled slightly at her. “I want to please you,” he murmured. “I want to please you so much.”
Lizzie arched herself toward him. As he bent to taste her breasts, she whispered, “You may please me, my lord, by removing your clothes.”
He slowly straightened, shrugging off his open shirt.
His every movement caused the muscles in his chest, torso and arms to ripple beneath his skin, and Lizzie did not move, for she was hypnotized.
His doeskin breeches left nothing to the imagination.
Just below the waistband that he held, she could clearly identify the tip of his arousal.
“Am I frightening you?” he asked roughly.
She somehow shook her head, and she reached out.
Her touch was brief. Lizzie thrilled at it, but then he crushed her to his chest with a groan.
The silk friction between their naked skins made her entirely senseless.
Lizzie moaned, turning up her open mouth for his kiss.
His tongue thrust deep. Lizzie felt his manhood throbbing restlessly against her belly and she began to weep.
She wanted to tell him everything—how much she loved him, how she had from the moment he had rescued her when she was ten years old. She wanted to give him far more than the gift of her body or her love. She wanted to tell him the truth about Ned and give him the greatest gift of all—his son.
But she was in his arms and he was carrying her to the sofa, raining kisses all over her face, throat and breasts. “You are still so innocent,” he suddenly whispered, “but you are the most sensual woman I have ever met. I am going to teach you how to make love, sweetheart, if you will but let me.”
She was on her back on the sofa and he stood over her, magnificently naked now. Lizzie knew she would soon faint. She held open her arms. “Teach me anything, but I think it best that you hurry.”
He straddled her with a rough laugh and she cried out in welcome, running her hands down his hard, rippling back. He shoved his face against her breasts, whispering, “The first thing I must teach you is patience, I think. It is a waste to rush our lovemaking.”
Lizzie managed to open her eyes. Her body was pulsing with urgency, but she had the coherence to wonder at his choice of words.
But Tyrell was now feathering his lips against the skin of her ribs, beneath her breasts, causing all thought to vanish.
He moved lower still, tasting her belly in such a manner that Lizzie could not bear it.
Lizzie had never felt such excitement before as his breath feathered the juncture of her thighs.
She could no longer breathe and then his daring tongue stroked over her.
A delicate dance began, tongue against turgid flesh, feathering, pressing, stroking, laving.
Lizzie exploded, shattering above him now, far into the universe.
Panting and quivering, she was still painfully aroused. Tyrell continued to administer to her with his tongue and she cried out, uncertain if she should beg him to stop or demand that he continue. He murmured, never ceasing his explorations, “The second time will be better, trust me, sweetheart.”
Lizzie tried to protest, his tongue pushed deep, she hovered on the brink of pain, and suddenly there was release.
She sobbed her pleasure now.
When she floated back to the sofa he was seated upon it, holding her gently in his arms. He was stroking her arm, her breast, and kissing her hair, her shoulder.
Lizzie inhaled harshly, barely able to believe the intense pleasure she had been given.
She remained dazed. His hand slid down her belly and his palm covered her sex.
“Shall I give you more of the same pleasure, Elizabeth?” he asked thickly.
Some of her sensibility was returning. She twisted to meet his gaze. “I am not sure I could stand it.”
He absorbed that, his expression ravaged with his as yet unrequited lust. “How much more do you think you can stand?”
She was so terribly inflamed, but now she became aware of his dilemma. Briefly Lizzie closed her eyes, reaching out to stroke her hand over his huge length. His body stiffened and she felt him bite back a rough sound.
Lizzie looked up. Utter comprehension came, and with it, so much seductive power. Her fingers closed around him slowly. As slowly, she smiled.
“You play a very dangerous game,” he said unsteadily.
“No,” she whispered as shakily, aware of a new, more rampant desire, “I play no game with you, not ever, my lord.”
He was breathing hard.
And barely aware of what she was doing, Lizzie bent over him, somehow certain that this would be torture for him, somehow aware of his rapid breathing escalating in intensity and sound.
She touched him with her tongue, trembling with excitement.
He shuddered beneath her. He seized her hand, and briefly she thought he would mistakenly break it in his own mindless frenzy. Her excitement increased.
“Do you know what you do?” he gasped in disbelief.
“No,” she replied, oddly certain now. And she put her tongue on him as he had on her.
He began to pant.
Lizzie explored his length.
He growled, and suddenly she was on her back. He touched her face with one hand. “You must tell me if I begin to hurt you,” he said. Sweat was pouring from his temples, and she felt it now trickling from his chest to hers. In that moment, Lizzie realized the control he was exercising over himself.
She smiled up at him, taking his beloved face in her two hands. “You could never hurt me, my lord. I love you too much,” she said.
His eyes widened in shock. Lizzie realized what she had said, but as dismay began, he cried out, never taking his gaze from hers, thrusting deeply and completely into her.
She forgot her terrible but honest declaration.
His length was huge, filling her completely, perfectly, hot, hard, wet, and Lizzie gasped in pleasure, throbbing around him, against him, until she could no longer stop the building pressure.
Tyrell knew. He grunted in satisfaction as she burst open, around him, over him, a part of him, and he moved, still watching her, harder now, harder and faster than ever before.
Lizzie loved him so. Somehow she held his face, weeping as she climaxed.
“I know,” she thought he said, and he seized her more tightly. “Elizabeth, I know!”