Chapter Thirty-One #2
Her body stretched taut, and she arched convulsively toward his mouth. “Yes, yes, Richard…there—oh God—”
He lifted his head, stifling a groan. “Forgive me, love, but we’re going to my bedroom. I don’t trust either one of us to keep our voices low.” He took her up in his arms and strode to the door.
Fiona pummeled his chest. “You beast! Why did you stop?”
Richard turned at the threshold. “Damnation.” He went back to snatch up their discarded clothing, then strode down the hallway.
He shouldered open the door to his study but didn’t stop there. He continued to the spacious chamber beyond and placed her on the soft feather mattress of a colossal brocade-covered bed.
She scrambled up to her knees, breasts heaving. “You are a devil to tease me like that, Richard. And to think I said I loved you when I have yet to hear the words back even once—”
“I love you.” He reached down to unfasten his breeches.
“Deuce take it, Fiona, is it not enough that I’m about to jump on you like some randy farmer, half undressed, and out of my mind with lust?
Believe me, this isn’t the scene I usually set for seduction.
” The pants slipped to the floor and his fine shirt followed until he stood in nothing but his small clothes.
It was as if she had the wind knocked out of her.
Richard in clothing made an impressive figure, but naked, he was thrilling.
Well-defined, broad shoulders narrowed to slim hips and powerful thighs, and his sculpted chest and taut stomach were a work of art in the style of Greek statues in the Dublin Museum—and just as provocative.
And then, there was his rigid member, the length and breadth of which she could see quite clearly through the thin underclothes, and that created some serious doubts about the mechanics of it all.
She gulped and immediately wanted to rebutton her nightdress. He must have noticed because he extended his hand in invitation.
“Come, sweetheart, it’s not like you to balk at a fence…but then, my skill in wooing a woman seems to have vanished completely.”
Fiona took his hand, and he lifted her fingers to his lips. “There’s not a waking moment that I don’t want you by my side. I am no saint, Fiona, but I have never offered my heart to another woman, only the smallest part of who I am.”
She couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat.
He cupped her chin and his eyes, dark as graphite, searched hers. “Will you have me? I can’t promise there won’t be moments that we wish to send one another to the devil.” He reached up and brushed away the moisture from her eyes. “Tears, my love? I must truly be losing my touch.”
“Ah, no, a chuisle mo chró, you are wonderful.” She closed her eyes, sighing. “My life is yours, and ever will be, though it took me far too long to understand that.”
“I suppose I should learn Irish. I want to know what you’re saying to me, every word. God, you are so perfect…come to me, love.”
Instead, she slid the delicate gown off her shoulders. “I said you are the beat of my heart. And you are, Richard, always and forever.” Watching his face, she reacted to his sharp intake of breath by letting the garment fall to her waist with a soft swish of fabric.
His gaze slid from the swell of her bosom to the ebony triangle at the apex of her legs. She was gratified to see the pulse at the base of his throat beating fiercely. “You are utterly delectable, Acushla, from head to toe. I do hope that is an endearment and not a fatherly salutation of love.”
She giggled. “It means ‘my beloved.’ And you’re quite handsome, too, although the last thing you need is the compliment of one more woman, Richard.”
“As long as you are that woman, I will humbly accept it.”
She snorted in a very unfeminine way. “As if you could ever be humble, á ghrá!”
Choking with laughter, he pulled her to him. “You brat, I don’t know whether to kiss you or spank you.”
“Hmmm…can we not do both?”
Growling low in his throat, he tipped her back across his arm. Richard cupped her breasts with one free hand and skillfully teased her nipples with the other, alternately rolling them between deft fingers.
There seemed to be a molten path from the tip of her breasts to the bud of her womanhood as he took one rosy peak into his mouth, lapping and sucking until she shuddered with pleasure.
She squirmed, twisting until her aching center found the damp linen covering his masculinity. She moaned at the contact. With a primal grunt, he spanned her waist and settled her against the cradle of his hips, his rigid erection pressed tightly to her mound. A jolt of heat sizzled along her spine.
He dropped his head into the crook of her neck. “Fiona, I could stop now—God knows, we should—but I’m very near the point of no return.”
“It’s not the responsible Earl of Seldon I want—I desire the man underneath all that, mo shíorghra.”
With a fractured groan, Richard scooped her up and walked to the bed, pulling aside the coverlet and setting her down on the pale sheets. He bent and stripped off his smalls. His rampant erection jutted from a nest of dark curls, bobbing between his thighs as he moved toward her.
Nervously, she closed her eyes and opened her legs.
“Open your eyes, my love…we are not starting quite yet.” Amusement threaded his voice.
She peeped up at him through her lashes. “We’re not?” she asked, somewhat disappointed.
His shoulders shook with silent laughter, and she blushed.
“You’re not ready, Acushla.”
“But I am,” she disagreed.
“Remember how you felt earlier when I kissed your delicious—ah—womanhood?”
“What were you going to call it?” Fiona asked suspiciously.
“Pussy, my love.”
“That’s strange. And what do I call this?” She stroked the satiny length of his arousal.
When he answered, his voice was strained. “Cock.”
“Ah. Your cock,” she said softly, running her fingers over the tip. A drop of thick pearly liquid appeared. His breath spasmed, and she closed her fingers around the rigid heat of his phallus, murmuring with pleasure at the velvet head and the way it swelled under her touch.
He made a strangled noise deep in his throat and lifted away her hand. “Fiona, I am quite ready. We are speaking of you, and to take my length, you need to be prepared as you were earlier.”
She certainly wanted more of his lovemaking, but at this moment her focus was on his engorged staff. “I’m drenched now,” she announced, wetting her lips. “Isn’t that ready?”
“You are killing me,” he moaned. But he kneeled on the bed and positioned himself above her, straddling her hips. His heart galloped against her chest, in rhythm with her rapidly pounding pulse.
Richard slowly ran his arousal along her core, and she ceased breathing for a moment at the exquisite sensation.
The blunt tip skimmed the portal of her sex, then entered just a fraction, slowly withdrawing, then doing the same again.
She exhaled jerkily and slid and squirmed to reach something deeper. His body clenched reflexively.
“Fiona—” His voice was unrecognizable. “Christ—I can’t—are you—”
“Acushla, if you don’t cease talking and do this thing,” she begged, “I will scream in frustration and wake the household.” She was on the verge of something momentous. If only he would…she didn’t know what…but she knew he could give it to her.
His erection grazed her again, rubbing against the swollen bud hidden beneath her outer petals, and she cried out, arching upward.
“Don’t. Stop.” Twisting her hips, she bucked against him.
With a strangled moan, he slid fully into her slick passage.
Fiona cried out at the sudden sharp pain.
The muscled biceps pillared on both sides of her body flexed with his effort to remain still. Beads of perspiration gathered on his upper lip.
“Easy, love,” he panted. “I promise…it will pass.”
He reached between them, supporting himself with one hand, and stroked the silky triangle between her thighs. He sought her mouth and his tongue tangled with hers, stroking and teasing with the movement of his fingers.
The surprising discomfort was gone—she knew only the friction of his pulsing length and the play of his fingers until she wanted to beat her hands on Richard’s broad back so that he might move faster and end her agony.
When her release finally came, it was in a rush of stars and dizziness and gasps for air. She clenched around him, quivering, and cried out, turning her face into the pillow.
Instantly, he shuddered over her. “Christ, Fiona—”
He threw his head back with a guttural moan, and his body grew rigid. Jerking convulsively, he buried his face in the crook of her neck as the molten heat of his release flooded her.
With a ragged groan of pleasure, Richard fell over on his back beside her, one arm across his forehead, the other reaching blindly to clasp her hand. His chest rose and fell as if he had run the race at Newmarket.
She turned on her side, facing him, still breathless herself. “That was quite splendid, Richard. I wonder why people make the effort to do anything else when they could just make love over and over again.”
He raised to one elbow, looking down at her in amusement, his cropped dark hair ruffled and falling across his brow. She loved to see him in excellently tailored clothes and perfectly tied cravats, but she far preferred this version. It was hers alone.
“Sweetheart, if that is how you wish to spend our days, you will not hear a word of protest from me.”