Chapter Twenty-Four
Edward struggled to behave like a gentleman with Franny looking at him from beneath heavy-lidded eyes. As if his self-control wasn’t fragile enough, she grabbed his hand and intertwined her warm fingers with his cold, practically numb digits.
“You will catch your death if we do not warm you right away,” she said as she tugged him toward the fireplace.
Not only did he require a thaw, but he was much too tired, and truth be told, entirely too curious to fight her pull. Therefore, he simply stood before the flames, waiting and hoping for things he shouldn’t want from this confounding woman.
Her fingers quivered as she guided his greatcoat off his shoulders.
Hips swaying, she glided across the room and hung the dripping coat on its hook.
When she faced him, he barely recognized her.
Frances Valentine studied him through eyes clouded over with dark, sensual lust, and her nostrils flared as if she were sniffing out prey.
Unless his faculties had stopped functioning due to exhaustion, he was being seduced, and Lord help him, there was no way in hell he was going to put up a fight.
Locking her gaze with his, she swished back to him. Once she was sinfully close, her shaking, albeit nimble, fingers unfastened his waistcoat. She circled behind him, sweeping the fabric heavy with rainwater from his body.
Coming back around to his front, she slowly untied his cravat, her breath tickling his chin the entire time.
Her gaze dropped to his torso as she unbuttoned his shirt.
Every time her fingers brushed over his skin, he hissed in a breath.
The moment he shrugged off the soggy linen, the warmth from the fire became a balm to his chilled skin.
Completely absorbed in her task, she worked his trousers to his ankles. Her gaze raked over his physique as if he were a honey cake and she was starving. She gasped and her eyes widened.
He peered down to see what had shocked her. The outline of his swollen cock was visible beneath his drenched small clothes.
Clenching her bottom lip between her teeth, she gnawed on it as she undid his falls. The last of his clothing dropped to his feet. His unencumbered cock thrummed joyfully, as it strained in Franny’s direction.
Moments ago, he’d been freezing. Now, sweat dripped down his forehead and beaded on his chest. Between the blazing fire and her heated gaze raking over his bare cock, he’d become a raging inferno.
She shivered.
“I’m sorry I got your dress wet,” he said, his voice raspy. “Did I tell you how lovely you look in it?”
“No.” She looked into his eyes and smiled. “And I believe someone recently recommended you tell me at least a dozen times a day.”
There was no way he could feel jealousy over a flirtatious viscount, or any man for that matter, not with her worshipping gaze making him feel like a god.
“That dress brings out the green in your eyes. However, I should probably get you out of it because you will catch your death if we do not warm you right away,” he said, repeating her taunt.
“We can’t have that.” She turned her back to him.
He took his time with the tiny buttons and watched with satisfaction as the fabric dropped to the floor. Her chemise and stays followed. As she slowly faced him, he stepped back to take in her perfection.
She was all creamy skin, bespeckled with freckles, feminine curves, and well-defined muscle.
Although bountiful, her breasts were high and firm, and her pert, pink nipples pebbled without even being touched.
Her waist tapered in and then flared out to luscious, full hips.
His gaze lingered at the apex between her thighs where the fire-red curls he’d only recently and briefly admired protected her quim.
He had to swallow a mouthful of saliva to speak his truth. “My God, Franny. You are a work of art.”
To lay her down in front of the flickering flames in the hearth or carry her to his bed?
His decision was taken from him because Franny grabbed his hand. Stepping over their clothing, she tugged him toward his bedroom. The perfect crescents of her arse cheeks taunted him all the way to the chamber.
*
By the time they reached his bedroom, Edward had used the last of his self-control. He spun Franny around and wrenched her backward, smashing her body tight against his. With their naked torsos pressed together, he slammed his lips over hers.
She tasted as delectable as he remembered, with a touch of apples and cinnamon mixing with her honeyed lips. At first, their tongues waltzed. As they fought for dominance, their graceful dance morphed into a sensual battle. Their lusty war ended with them panting as they clung to each other.
Starting at her cheek, Edward trailed kisses from one freckle to the next, down her neck, to her shoulders. Hell, he could play this game of Kiss a Million Freckles all night long.
“Oh, Edward,” she breathlessly murmured.
Her whispered words tickled his ear, raising the hair on the back of his neck. His ache unbearable, he hoisted her off her feet, carried her to the bed, and tossed her onto the middle of the mattress. There would be no counterpane or pillows between them tonight.
Although he was certain she was a virgin, she hardly looked innocent with her wild hair spread out like a crown of fire, just as he’d fantasized, and her body undulating as she reached for him.
He must not forget that behind his temptress’s sensual show, she was inexperienced.
Therefore, he absolutely, positively could not bind her hands, tie her to things, and ravage her, no matter how much he wanted to.
Lowering himself so that he lay beside her, he pulled her into his arms. “Franny, it might hurt your first time.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “I don’t mind pain. I am a pugilist, after all.”
Bloody hell. She had no idea how tempting her words were, because there was no way she could know that his fantasies involving her were beyond taboo. He needed to tamp his libido, then prepare her by making love to every inch of her perfect body, starting with her mouth.
He brushed his lips over hers. Gentle. Oh, so very gentle.
He was a feather, and she was stardust that he didn’t want to disturb.
He administered each kiss and every nibble strategically because her pleasure was all that mattered at the moment.
Her lips quirked upward, her subtle smile an arrow lodging in his heart.
He could make a habit of this slow, steady worshipping as long as she was the recipient of his efforts.
Nuzzling his nose into the crook of her neck, he inhaled her intoxicating feminine musk.
Then, taking his time, he traced her collarbone with his index finger.
As goose pimples rose, he warmed and soothed her aroused flesh with his lips.
The further down her body he explored, the more she writhed.
Contented little sighs accompanied her wriggling as he stroked along the sides of her breasts.
Once he was certain she was drunk with pleasure, his thumb and forefinger circled her nipples in turn, gently spiraling the way inward to her areolas.
Moaning, she arched her bosom toward his face.
“Do you like that, my beautiful Franny?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, her voice breathy.
“Do you want more, darling?” he asked, determined to please her.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Taking care not to use too much pressure, he pinched her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She cradled his head and pulled his hair. Taking that as a sign to continue, he plucked her other nipple with a bit more fervor.
She hissed at the same time that a streak of lightning lit up the room.
Hoping to ease any sting she may experience, he leaned forward and blew on one of her pink buds Lick.
Suck. Bite, her greedy nipples seemed to beg.
With a feral growl, he was on top of her, his weight pinning her to the mattress as he suckled one delicious bud.
His thumb and index finger drew lazy circles around the other.
“Oh, Edward, more,” she said as she pressed on his cheek, to guide his mouth to her other breast.
As the relentless storm beat on the roof and windows, he hungrily devoured her pillowy mounds.
Meanwhile, his hands traveled downward, exploring her firm obliques, then the curve of her hips.
Shuddering, she emitted sensual sounds that spurred him on.
Despite wanting to consume her cunny, he kept his pace leisurely, not moving on until he was certain she was ready.
Once her upper body was pliant, he settled his shoulders between her creamy inner thighs. Parting her wide, he exposed the flower petals of her throbbing womanhood. He blew into the coarse curls before easing a finger inside her.
Her muscles tensed, and she tried to sit up.
He pinned her hips to the mattress. “Franny, relax. Lie back. I am going to make you feel sublime.”
She dropped her head onto the pillow, and he started over, gently drawing figure eights on her inner thighs. He wrapped one of her cunny curls around his finger. Then another, salivating as he played in her decadence, the sinful shade of red taunting him mercilessly.
“So beautiful, darling.” He slid two fingers into her. This time, her velvety inner walls welcomed him. He circled, then gently pumped his fingers, until they were slick with her desire.
She peeked down at him. He met her gaze and held it as he took his first taste of her musky desire.
Her legs closed around his ears. Growling, he gripped her thighs and held them wide. “I will feast on this delicious cunny if it is the last thing I do, Frances Valentine.”
“Bloody hell,” she growled back. But his passionate Franny’s unseemly utterance held no fight, only surrender. She was finally his.
He lowered his face to bury his nose and tongue in his seductress.
“Oh, Edward. That feels so lovely,” she said between her gasps.
“And it tastes like heaven,” he managed to confess between his licks and nibbles.
He experimented with his tongue, taking note of what response each swirl and lick produced.
When he ran his nose along her slit, she arched her back.
When he traced tiny circles around her pearl, she melted.
When he nibbled on that nub, she whispered his name.
And, when he thrust his tongue deep, she pushed on the back of his head until his face was buried in her secret place, giving him no choice but to violently fuck her pulsing cunny with his tongue.
Thunder crashed, raindrops bombarded the roof, her fingernails dug into his scalp, and her animal-like keening became more frenzied.
He worked his fingers inside her so that he could peel his lips from her pulsing flesh to demand, “Let go. Come for me.”
Her hips lifted off the mattress. “Edward. Oh, Edward.”
And then she obeyed. Her insides spasmed around his tongue and fingers, and she screamed his name in the most reverent prayer he’d ever heard, a clap of thunder echoing her joyful cry.
*
The storm outside had abated, as had the embodiment of a tempest in his bed, who currently rested her head on his chest.
“Thank you,” the formerly feral Franny sweetly said.
Feeling much like Shakespeare’s Petruchio, Edward hid his grin in her hair. “No. Thank you.”
She playfully slapped his shoulder. “I meant thank you for discovering who hurt Harry and my father.”
“How disappointing. I thought you were referencing my skillful bed sport technique.” Although he chuckled, something niggled at the edges of his mind.
“Tell me what is bothering you,” she said, as if reading his mind.
He’d much rather slide his cock into her cunny, although having her sated and in his arms was delightful, too.
“We delivered Lance and his bootlickers to the gaol without incident. Then we returned the stolen jewelry to Bow Street where we logged it in. I compared what we found to the list with which Mr. Wagner provided us. His memory was quite accurate.” How could he articulate what was worrying him when he had no proof, only a hunch?
Franny yawned. “Why did Lancelot, or I should say Lance, target The Silk Knuckles Saloon?”
Lance’s confession replayed in Edward’s memory. “Yes, I set fire to that Silk Knuckles Gymnasium. Yes, I attacked the old boxing coach. Yes, I did it all, and Merlin and the other Knights helped me. Right, Merlin?”
Merlin, whose real name was Benjamin Kline, winced. “Yes, sir,” he said.
“Why?” Edward asked.
“ ’Tis fun to catch things on fire,” Lance said with a maniacal chuckle.
“Insanity doesn’t always need a reason,” the magistrate said.
Perhaps, but Lance behaved more like a spoiled, mischievous hellion who knew exactly what he was doing. Would the courts punish an earl’s son? Probably not, since most of the time, men of means got away with their crimes.
Edward needed to stop fretting. A good tup would cure his woes. And what better time than now since his cock was instantly hard? Preparing for seduction, he pushed onto his elbows and looked down at Franny.
Her eye lids were closed and her fire-colored crown looked like a sleeping angel’s halo.
Edward flopped onto his back and folded his arms behind his head. “Bloody hell,” he mumbled to the ceiling. After accepting his lot, he begrudgingly got out of bed and snuffed the candles.