Read Sylvia Day - [Georgian 01] Online
Authors: Ask For It
Sylvia Day - [Georgian 01] (19 page)
And she
had
won. He was ensnared, gripped tight by her lithe thighs and creamy depths, her fingers kneading and drifting across his back.
had
won. He was ensnared, gripped tight by her lithe thighs and creamy depths, her fingers kneading and drifting across his back.
Lost in her embrace, he arched his spine upward and kissed a fiery trail down her throat to her breasts. He licked and savored the pale skin, stroking the sides with his hands, cupping their weight as they become heavy and taut. Her nipples peaked tight, an irresistible lure, and he bit one crest, worrying it with his teeth before laving the hardened flesh with leisurely laps of his tongue. Marking her. As he would mark her everywhere.
Only when she begged did his mouth open and engulf her completely. He suckled her with slow, deep, rhythmic pulls of his tongue and lips, shuddering as the sensation traveled through her body to milk his cock. He could come like this, just from the measured clench and release of her silky tissues. Enflamed by the thought, he hollowed his cheeks, increasing the suction. His eyes drifted closed, his body shuddered as his sac drew up. He swiveled his hips, rubbing her clitoris, and then groaned with her orgasm, releasing his need in burning hot streams of semen.
Gasping and only partially sated, he released her breast and rested his head upon it, wondering if he would ever have enough of her.
Her fingers drifted into his hair. “Marcus . . .”
He rose above her, his arms on either side of her shoulders, and Elizabeth stared up at her husband, attempting to gauge his odd mood. His handsome face was so austere, his eyes searching hers. And she quivered, almost afraid. He looked angry, with his narrowed emerald gaze and harshly drawn mouth. Then he pulled away, the warmth of his body leaving hers, and she was bereft. How could he be equally absorbed and distant?
Marcus stood above his wife, taking in the sight of her sprawled and flushed pink, her thighs spread wantonly, revealing all that he coveted. His erection, covered in her cream, grew cold, but didn’t diminish. He watched, arrested, as his seed dribbled from between her legs. His hand reached forward, collected it on his fingertips, and spread it around the lips of her cunt, massaging the clitoris that peeped from its hood.
Mine, mine, mine . . . all mine . . .
Half mad with relief and pleasure and desire, he spread his semen around her sex, watching her arch and writhe, listening to her beg and plead with a detachment that was not detached at all.
Every inch of satin skin belonged to him, every raven hair on her head, every breath she took. For the rest of their lives he could touch her like this, own her like this.
All mine
. . .
. . .
The thought made him hard as stone, swollen and heavy as if he hadn’t just spent himself in her. He stepped forward again, took his cock in hand, and massaged her with the tip. “Take me inside you.”
Half expecting her reticence, he groaned when she lifted her hips immediately, engulfing the sensitive head of his cock in liquid, burning heat. He arched his hips and filled her, falling onto his outstretched arms as he sank into the heart of her. It was heaven, the blazing clasp of her cunt around his cooled shaft. If only he could remain like this forever. But he couldn’t. Despite how right it felt, it was all wrong.
Gripping her shoulders to pin her in place, Marcus pressed his face against the side of her neck and began to fuck her, his strokes fierce with his hunger, skin slapping against skin. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she rose to meet his every thrust, returning his ardor, holding nothing in reserve, shamelessly crying out on every downward plunge. He battered her with his lust, and she took it, accepted it as she’d promised she would.
“Yes,” she cried, her nails in his back. “Marcus . . . Yes!”
It was like drowning, being sucked into a whirlpool, and he grit his teeth and fought against it. Yanking out of her encircling arms, he stood, feet flat on the rugged floor. One hand gripping the bed post, he withdrew from her body until only the tip remained encased, every nerve ending in his body screaming its protest.
Elizabeth burned. Everything burned—her skin, her sex, the roots of her hair. Frustrated tears wept from her eyes. “Don’t deny me!”
“I should,” he bit out. “For years I was denied.”
Rising to brace on her elbows, she stared at the place where they joined, where she ached. She had no power in this, none. And she would acknowledge that if she must. “You feel so good,” she choked out. “I will do anything—”
“Anything?” He rewarded her with a scant inch.
“Yes. For God’s sake, Marcus.”
He thrust deep and withdrew. Swiveled his hips and plunged. A shallow dip and then gone. Teasing her. And she watched the erotic display, the rippling of his abdomen as he fucked with such skill, the tensing of his thighs as he used his thick, beautiful cock to drive her mad.
She wanted to scream. Her skin was damp with sweat, her limbs trembling, her sex weeping. “What do you want from me?”
Continuing to vary the pace and depth of his fucking, his eyes never left her face. “Everything.”
“You have it! I have nothing left.”
He took her then, like a ravening beast, gripping the bedpost with white-knuckled force for leverage, the thrusts powerful enough to move her up the bed. He followed, pumping hard and deep with little care for her comfort.
Unable and unwilling to deny him, Elizabeth gave herself up to the turbulence of her husband’s passion, her orgasm breaking with a cry of relief.
Marcus held himself above her, watching her abandon, absorbing her trembling, feeling her body tighten exquisitely around him even as he continued to take her.
He could not remember any time when he had been more caught up in the sexual act. His entire body was covered in a slick sheen of sweat, his hips working tirelessly to prolong her pleasure and hurtle himself toward his own. He growled with the sheer animal enjoyment of making love to his wife, a fiercely passionate woman who goaded his desire and then met it with her own.
Feeling, emotion, need—they both worked together to take him to a level of sensation he had never experienced before. His heart aching, he gasped her name as he poured himself into her, wishing desperately for it to be enough, but knowing it would never be. The bottomless well of his need was terrifying. Even now, spewing into her, clutching her desperately, gritting his teeth until his jaw ached, he still wanted more.
Would always want more, even when there was no more to be had.
He rolled from her as if she burned him. His chest heaving, he stared at the canopy, waiting for his eyes to focus, waiting for the room to cease its spinning. The moment it did, he left his wife’s bed.
Her scent on his skin, her soft protest behind him, Marcus belted his robe and left her room.
He didn’t look back.
Chapter 17
E
lizabeth woke to a bright ray of sunshine that snuck between the tiny gap in the curtains and slanted across her face. Stretching, she became aware of the soreness between her legs, a pressing reminder of her husband’s rough lovemaking and even rougher departure.
lizabeth woke to a bright ray of sunshine that snuck between the tiny gap in the curtains and slanted across her face. Stretching, she became aware of the soreness between her legs, a pressing reminder of her husband’s rough lovemaking and even rougher departure.
She slid out of bed slowly and stood for a moment contemplating what she now knew to be true. Marcus had married her for his vengeance and he’d gotten it from her tenfold, because some time between the horrendous evening in the Chesterfield garden and yesterday, she’d grown to care for him. A foolish, painful error.
Resigned to the fate she’d walked into with eyes wide open, she called for Meg and the footmen to bring up hot water for her bath, determined to scrub her husband’s scent from her skin.
She’d cried the first and last time over Marcus Ashford. Why she’d thought their marriage would be a deeper union was something she couldn’t recollect in the bright light of day. She imagined it was the sex. Too many orgasms had rattled her brain. In all fairness, his boredom had been obvious for weeks. Marcus had made no effort to hide it. Still, he’d been solicitous and courteous up until the night previous, and she had no expectation that he would change now that he’d exacted his revenge. She would afford him the same courtesy in return. So her second marriage would be much like her first, distant personages sharing a name and roof. It was not unusual.
Despite these mental reassurances, she felt ill and weepy, and her chest ached badly. The thought of facing Marcus nauseated her. When she finished with her toilette, she looked in the mirror, further distraught to see the faint shadows under her eyes that betrayed her lack of sleep and hours spent crying. It was best she leave the house for a while. This was not home yet, it was very much Marcus’s bastion, and the memories she’d made in her history with the house were not pleasant. She took a deep breath and headed down to the foyer.
Passing through the hall, she looked at the clock and saw it was still early morning. Because of the hour, she was surprised to find Marcus’s family at breakfast. She felt dwarfed as her tall brothers-in-law rose at her entry. They were a pleasant lot, the Ashfords, but at the moment she wished only to be alone to lick her wounds.
“Good morning, Elizabeth,” greeted the lovely Dowager Countess of Westfield.
“Good morning,” she returned with the best smile she could manage.
Elaine Ashford was a beautiful and gracious woman with golden hair the color of fresh butter and eyes of emerald green that became translucent when she smiled. “You are up early this morning.”
Paul grinned. “Is Marcus still abed?” When Elizabeth nodded, he tossed his head back and laughed aloud. “He’s upstairs sleeping off his wedding night, and you are down here dressed flawlessly and ready to go out, unless I miss my guess.”
Elizabeth blushed and smoothed her skirts.
Smiling affectionately, Paul said, “Now we see how our beautiful new sister has led our bachelor brother to the altar. Twice.”
Robert choked on his eggs.
“Paul,” Elaine admonished, her eyes lit with reluctant amusement. “You are embarrassing Elizabeth.”
Shaking her head, Elizabeth was unable to hide her smile. Due to her injury, and the need to hide the knowledge of it, she’d had precious little time to become reacquainted with Marcus’s family. But she knew from her earlier association that they were a light-hearted, mirthful group with a wicked sense of humor, due considerably to Paul’s penchant for good-natured teasing. That he chose to tease her so informally made her feel accepted into their tight circle, and relieved some of the tension that made her shoulders ache.
Although physically of the same height and breadth of shoulder as Marcus, Paul had black hair and warm, chocolate brown eyes. Three years younger than Marcus and equally handsome, Paul could take Society, and its eager debutantes, by storm if he wished, which he didn’t. Instead, he preferred to remain in Westfield. Elizabeth had yet to discern why he chose to isolate himself in the country, but it was a mystery she intended to unravel at some point.
Robert, the youngest, was nearly the spitting image of Marcus with the same rich sable hair and emerald green eyes, which were charmingly enhanced by spectacles. He was an extremely quiet and studious fellow, physically just as tall as his brothers, but much leaner and less muscular due to his bookish nature. Robert was interested in all things scientific and mechanical. He could wax poetic about any number of dull and boring topics, but all of the Ashfords indulged him when he took his nose out of his books and deigned to speak with them. At the present moment, that nose was buried in the newspaper.
Paul stood. “If you will excuse me, ladies. I have an appointment with the tailor this morn. Since I rarely come to Town, I must exploit the opportunity to keep abreast of the latest fashions.” He glanced at Robert, still engrossed in the paper. “Robert. Come along. You require new clothes more than I.”
Robert glanced up, eyes blinking. “For what purpose would I dress in the latest fashions?”
Shaking his head, Paul muttered, “Never met a more handsome chap who could care less about his appearance.” He walked over to Robert’s chair and slid it back easily. “You are coming with me, brother, whether you like it or not.”
With a long suffering sigh and a covetous glance at the newspaper, Robert followed Paul out of the house.
Elizabeth watched the exchange with affectionate amusement, liking both of her new brothers immensely.
Elaine arched her brows as she lifted her teacup. “Don’t let his surliness disturb you overmuch.”
“Paul’s?”
“No, Marcus’s. Marriage is an adjustment, that’s all. I still wish you would consider going away. Allow yourselves to settle in without the pressures you’ll find here in Town.”
“We intend to, once the Parliamentary session is over.” It was the excuse Marcus had suggested they supply. With the journal a hanging weight over her head, they couldn’t afford to leave London. Waiting until the end of the Season seemed the reply least likely to raise suspicion.
“But you are unhappy with this decision, are you not?”
“Why would you say that?”
Offering a sad smile, Elaine said, “You’ve been crying.”
Aghast to have her torment known, Elizabeth took a step back. “A bit tired, but I’m certain a drive in the crisp morning air will cure that.”
“A lovely idea. I’ll join you.” Elaine pushed back from the table.
Stuck in a position where refusal would be rude, Elizabeth released a deep breath and nodded. With a strict warning to the staff to leave the lord of the house undisturbed, Elizabeth and Elaine departed.
As the town coach lurched into motion, Elaine noted, “You have a fair number of outriders to accompany you. I believe you are more heavily guarded than the king.”
“Westfield is a bit overprotective.”
“How like him to be so concerned.”
Elizabeth seized the opportunity to learn more about her husband. “I’ve wondered, is Marcus much like his father?”
“No. Paul is most like the late earl, in appearance and disposition. Robert is a bit of an anomaly, God love him. And Marcus is by far the most charming, but the more reserved of the lot. Always has been difficult to collect his aim until after he’s achieved it. He hides his thoughts well behind that polished façade. I’ve yet to witness him losing his temper, but he has one I’m certain. He is, after all, his father’s son and Westfield was a man of high passion.”
Sighing inwardly, Elizabeth acknowledged the truth in the words spoken to her. Despite hours of physical intimacy, she knew little about the man she’d wed, an exquisite creature who drawled when he spoke and shared few of his thoughts. Only when they were alone did she see the passion in him, both his fury and desire. In her own way, she felt blessed to know those sides of him, when his beloved family did not.
Elaine leaned across the carriage and captured one of Elizabeth’s hands with her own. “I knew the moment I saw you together how perfect you would be for him. Marcus has never appeared so engaged.”
Elizabeth flushed. “I would not have thought you would endorse me after what transpired four years ago.”
“I subscribe to the ‘reason for everything’ school of thought, my dear. Life has always come too easily for Marcus. I’d prefer to think your . . .
delay
contributed to his grounding these last few years.”
delay
contributed to his grounding these last few years.”
“You are too kind.”
“You wouldn’t think so if you knew the things I said about you four years ago. When Marcus left the country I was devastated.”
Riddled with guilt, Elizabeth squeezed Elaine’s hand and was touched when her hand was squeezed in return.
“Yet you married him anyway and he has grown much from the man who first offered for you. I hold no ill will toward you, Elizabeth, none at all.”
I wish Marcus felt the same
, Elizabeth thought silently, and not a little sadly.
, Elizabeth thought silently, and not a little sadly.
The coach slowed to a halt. Before they had the opportunity to alight from the carriage, the employees of the shops lined the curb to greet them. Having spied the crest emblazoned on the door, they were anxious to assist the new Countess of Westfield and reap the rewards of her husband’s largesse.
The morning passed swiftly, and Elizabeth found a respite from her melancholy with Elaine, appreciating the older woman’s suggestions and advice while relishing the maternal companionship she’d lacked all her life.
Elaine paused in front of a milliner’s window and sighed at a lovely creation displayed in the window.
“You should try it on,” Elizabeth urged.
Elaine blushed and confessed, “I have a fondness for millinery.”
Waving her mother-in-law inside, Elizabeth strolled to the neighboring perfumery, leaving the two outriders who followed her at the door.
Once inside, she stopped before a display of bath oils and removed the stopper from a bottle to sample the fragrance. Disliking the scent, she put it down and picked up another.
“I hear congratulations are in order, Lady Westfield,” rasped a masculine voice behind her.
Startled, she almost dropped the fragile bottle, her stomach tightening in recognition of the unique voice. She spun to face Christopher St. John, her heart racing and eyes wide.
In the light of day, without a mask or wig to hide his features, he was a splendid looking specimen, angelic in appearance with his dark blond hair and vivid blue eyes.
Arrested at first by his exceptional handsomeness, she quickly came to her senses and changed her mind. Fallen angel was a more apt description. The signs of hard living were etched on his countenance. Shadows marred the skin beneath those amazing eyes, betraying a life that had no place for restful slumber.
His lips curved derisively. “Has no one told you it’s not polite to stare?”
“Do you intend to stab me again?” she asked curtly, taking a step back and bumping against the display. “If so, get on with it.”
St. John threw his head back and laughed, drawing the attention of the clerk behind the counter who gazed at him with blatant admiration. “Feisty, aren’t you? I can see why Nigel liked you so well.”
Her eyes widened as the familiar address. “And how would you know how my husband felt?”
“I know a great many things,” he replied arrogantly.
“Ah yes, I forgot.” She was frustrated by his confidence in the face of her fear. “You somehow learned of Hawthorne’s journal and have been threatening me for it ever since.” Elizabeth gripped the bottle of bath oil so tightly her hands ached.
St. John glanced down. “Put the bottle aside before you hurt yourself.”
“Don’t worry about me. It’s
you
who most stands to be hurt by it.” She hefted the bottle in warning before dropping it carelessly onto the shelf, ignoring the roiling in her stomach. “What do you want?”
you
who most stands to be hurt by it.” She hefted the bottle in warning before dropping it carelessly onto the shelf, ignoring the roiling in her stomach. “What do you want?”
St. John stared at her, his face reflecting an odd mixture of emotions. “It took me all morning to lose those lackeys Westfield has hounding me.”
Through the glass front of the store she saw the backs of the two outriders who stood guard. “How did you get in here?”
“Through the rear entrance. It has been extremely difficult to approach you with those damned outriders and Westfield guarding you at all times.”
“That is the point.”
He scowled. “The first time we met, I had only a few moments to speak with you. I couldn’t explain.”
“Explain now.”
“First, you must know I would never hurt you.” His jaw tightened. “I’m attempting to assist you.”
“Why would you wish to do that?” she scoffed. “I am married to a man who would see you hanged if he could.”
“You are my brother’s widow,” he said quietly. “That is all that matters to me.”
“
What
?” Physically thrown off balance by his statement, Elizabeth reached behind her in an effort to steady herself and instead knocked over several bottles, which crashed to the floor and shattered, filling the room with the cloying scent of flowers and musk.
What
?” Physically thrown off balance by his statement, Elizabeth reached behind her in an effort to steady herself and instead knocked over several bottles, which crashed to the floor and shattered, filling the room with the cloying scent of flowers and musk.
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