Chapter Thirty-Two #2
Alexander’s eyes were wide and dazed and he simply nodded his head. “Hmmm,” he managed to get out as he reached up and pulled down the bodice of her dress, exposing both of her glorious breasts. She had to admit, now that she understood them better, they were one of her best features.
He leaned down, taking one nipple into his mouth, the other in his hand. He sucked lightly and then bit gently. Harriet let out a scream of pleasure.
He leaned back with a cocky smile. “You like that, then?”
She grabbed the back of his head and brought his mouth back to her.
“Keep going,” she panted, oddly not embarrassed by her desperation.
She simply was too aroused to entertain shame.
She rubbed along his breeches back and forth, rocking along his cockstand until she felt her entire body begin to clench; she kept going, rocking against him as he laved and licked her breasts, mad with desire.
Finally, she came against him with another shout and then collapsed atop him.
Against his ear, she breathed, “I am ever so sorry about those breeches. I may have ruined them.”
“I had actually been meaning to remove them.”
“Let me,” she said, unbuttoning his fall and taking his cock in hand. Frustrated with the lack of ease at stroking him, she reached up and licked her hand—a sight which Alexander loved for some reason, if his wide pupils and flared nostrils were to be trusted.
She returned her hand to his cock and stroked him, reveling in the feel of his hot skin, of the power she had over him, of the joy of being his. He loved her. He’d said he loved her. She was about to speak when he cut her off, covering her hand with his own, stopping her strokes.
“Harriet, I’m going to spend.”
“Didn’t you say men could only do that once?”
“Yes,” he gritted out, clearly on edge.
“Wouldn’t you rather do it inside of me?”
He groaned and then helped her rise up on her toes, before holding his cock at her entrance.
“This might hurt a bit,” he warned.
“It shouldn’t,” she answered gleefully, lowering herself slowly onto him. “Remember how you told me about godemiches? Well, I procured one.”
“Harriet! Christ!” he hissed out, and she wasn’t certain if that was in response to her admission or him entering her.
“Yes?” she asked, coquettishly. Such a shame she’d been forced to wait so long to flirt with men. It was some of the most fun one could have.
“You’re going to kill me, Harriet.”
“Not until you’ve made me come again, Alexander.”
He groaned and thrust up into her, making her whimper with pleasure. God, this was so much better than anything she could do or had done on her own. It was heaven. His hands on her hips guiding her, his lips on her neck, his taste in her mouth.
As she rode him, he reached down between them and brushed his hand over her most sensitive spot, the place she’d become intimately familiar with in his absence. She cried out in desperation, simultaneously needing more and not being able to bear what he was doing to her.
“Harriet, come for me, please. You must. You ha—” She cut him off with her cries of ecstasy, her spine tingling, toes curling, legs shaking with the surfeit of pleasure.
As she came down from her peak, her heart slowed and she leaned into him to whisper, “See? I can be a good listener” into his ear.
He barked out something that might have been a laugh under any circumstances where his cock was not inside of her.
Knowing he was close, she raked her nails across his back and then up into his hair, pulling his mouth back to hers with a moan they both shared.
Almost as soon as their tongues met, he thrust into her with one last groan and came apart, spending inside of her. Filling her up.
Harriet’s body felt weightless, and her breath was still coming in pants. “What is it about rooms full of books that makes you so amorous, my lord? It’s becoming quite a pattern.”
“That’s nearly always where you are,” he said, dipping his head to continue his kisses down the side of her neck and across her collarbone.
“Do you think there might be any books on your bedside table, by chance?” She inquired, as he passed his thumb over the stiff peaks of her breasts, “I find myself quite desperate to visit your room.”
His eyes snapped up to her face. Without another word, he stood, deposited her on the ground, let her skirts drop to the floor, buttoned his fall, replaced his jacket, led them out of the publishing house, extinguished the lamp and hurried Harriet into the carriage, with a gruff note to the driver to make all possible haste in returning home.
Of course, seven minutes is quite a long journey. Especially when one is prone to carriage sickness.
Luckily, Harriet knew precisely the cure for that affliction.
The next morning, Harriet awoke, serene and sated next to Alexander. Surrounded, actually. Surrounded by Alexander. One wants to be specific with words. She scooted back, farther into his embrace, hoping not to disturb him, but still marveling at the feel of his arms around her.
She hadn’t ever thought she’d have this.
Not with him, and truly, until recently not with anyone.
Sure, as a young girl she’d thought of marrying a prince, but even before her first disastrous season that fantasy had washed away.
Later, she’d thought perhaps she might have a comfortable life with a fictitious version of Mr. Dawkins.
But she hadn’t imagined this. Waking up with someone, the warmth of them, the weight of them.
She wouldn’t have known how to. The reality of it was so much better than anything she’d known to dream of.
“What is it, Harriet?” he whispered groggily against her ear. The sound of his voice in the morning did something wild to her.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Yes, love; and the effort of that was louder than cannon fire.” As he said it, he tightened his grip around her waist, stopping her from pulling away.
“I forgot to tell you something. Last night.”
To his credit, Alexander didn’t pull back, but when he replied with a simple “Yes?” she detected a hint of concern. She bit her lip to keep from smiling—not at his worry, but at the fact that she knew him so well she could hear the emotions in his voice.
“I love you.”
“Oh dear, how bad is this going to be if that’s the preface? Have you lost thousands of pounds in a gambling scheme? Are you carrying Dawkins’s child? Are you dying of the plague? I will still love you, but I hope it’s not the second.”
Harriet twisted out of his embrace and flipped over to face him. “Those are your top concerns? In that order?”
“I don’t know! You seemed rather dire about the whole thing!”
“Alexander!”
“Well! Are you going to tell me?”
“I did, you oaf! I forgot, yesterday, to tell you that I love you. I love you. I love you. There!”
“Is that all?” he said, drawing her back to him, his voice hitching with emotion. “I rather assumed.”
“You did, huh?” Harriet teased.
“I knew you’d come around,” he continued, taking her mouth in his again. After all, it had been hours since they’d kissed.
And they had only a lifetime left.