Georgianna: The Last Real Duchess (The Real Duchesses of London) by Lavinia Kent Page B
Authors: Lavinia Kent
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fought his mind, telling him that nothing mattered besides the sensuous woman pressed against him.
His hands slipped down from her waist to cup her behind, he lifted her again, raising her up until her legs could slip about his hips, her warm core cradling him. He strained forward, his growing erection pushing against her through the thin fabric of her skirts.
God, he wanted this. How could he have stayed away so long? This was where he belonged.
He could have kissed her forever – but there was so much more of her to taste. He trailed his lips down her chin, her neck, stopping to nuzzle all the tempting bits. He lingered at the hollow of her neck, running his tongue about it, tasting the sweet, salty musk of her. He nipped at the edge of her gown. It's low neck circled across the full swells of her breasts, keeping them from his touch. He worried at the edging, burying his face in the furrow between the full globes. With some reluctance, he settled her back on the ground so that his hands could lift to the laces, could begin freeing her to his view.
Her soft moan came to him as she buried her face against his chest, her eager tongue licking at the flesh of his neck – and then her hands followed. Cravat gone. The buttons of his shirt following fast. Her fingers had always been nibble.
"Slow down there, woman. Give me a chance," he growled, convinced he was adding as many knots as he was loosening.
"You always were the slow one.” Her fingers may actually have sped up. Her hand slipped beneath his shirt to settle upon his chest. She'd always seemed fascinated with the beat of his heart.
"You never mind it when I am slow.”
"Mmmm . . ." Her answer was muffled by his skin as her lips replaced her fingers, laying soft kisses upon his breast, just over his heart. Her face rubbed back and forth, tattooing a light pattern across him – an invisible mark of ownership. Her nose tickled him, and he shuddered.
And then the knots were free. He pushed down her bodice, taking her chemise with it. He had never seen such beautiful breasts. "You should always appear by twilight," he whispered.
"Are you saying I look best in the dark?"
"Far from it, but there is something magical about half-seeing. I wish I could explain the way your skin glows in the moonlight, each sweet shade and texture enhanced and mysterious."
Annie drew slightly back, her brow wrinkled. "What has gotten into you tonight? You've never spoken to me like this before."
"Perhaps I should have. I have been very negligent in adoring my wife.” He lay a kiss upon her brow soft as a butterfly's wing. He lay a second upon her lips – and then a third upon the upward swell of her breasts, gazing down at the peaks grown hard in the night chill.
A moment ago he'd felt rush and passion. The passion was still there, but with it a certain calmness, a knowledge that time was his, that she was his to savor.
He kissed the rosy nipple, lightly, teasingly – wanting more, but wanting her to want with even greater fire.
#
She didn't know how to react. The man whose lips were upon her was her dream husband, the man she fallen in love with all those years ago – but even that younger man's words had not been as magical as these, his glances as full of desire. When this Richard looked at her she felt like the greatest seductress the world had ever known. When his eyes caressed her she felt all her insecurities vanish, felt power fill her.
In this moment she could have set him the tasks of Hercules and he would have complied, would have done anything for just one secret glance at her.
But was this real?
Richards’s lips circled her right nipple, his tongue darting and playing, and then he drew her deep in to his mouth – and it was real, as real as anything had ever been.
Her head fell back. His arms wrapped about her supporting her as she stared up at the night sky. Each pinpoint of light spinning before her as his lips helped her soar toward the
His hands slipped down from her waist to cup her behind, he lifted her again, raising her up until her legs could slip about his hips, her warm core cradling him. He strained forward, his growing erection pushing against her through the thin fabric of her skirts.
God, he wanted this. How could he have stayed away so long? This was where he belonged.
He could have kissed her forever – but there was so much more of her to taste. He trailed his lips down her chin, her neck, stopping to nuzzle all the tempting bits. He lingered at the hollow of her neck, running his tongue about it, tasting the sweet, salty musk of her. He nipped at the edge of her gown. It's low neck circled across the full swells of her breasts, keeping them from his touch. He worried at the edging, burying his face in the furrow between the full globes. With some reluctance, he settled her back on the ground so that his hands could lift to the laces, could begin freeing her to his view.
Her soft moan came to him as she buried her face against his chest, her eager tongue licking at the flesh of his neck – and then her hands followed. Cravat gone. The buttons of his shirt following fast. Her fingers had always been nibble.
"Slow down there, woman. Give me a chance," he growled, convinced he was adding as many knots as he was loosening.
"You always were the slow one.” Her fingers may actually have sped up. Her hand slipped beneath his shirt to settle upon his chest. She'd always seemed fascinated with the beat of his heart.
"You never mind it when I am slow.”
"Mmmm . . ." Her answer was muffled by his skin as her lips replaced her fingers, laying soft kisses upon his breast, just over his heart. Her face rubbed back and forth, tattooing a light pattern across him – an invisible mark of ownership. Her nose tickled him, and he shuddered.
And then the knots were free. He pushed down her bodice, taking her chemise with it. He had never seen such beautiful breasts. "You should always appear by twilight," he whispered.
"Are you saying I look best in the dark?"
"Far from it, but there is something magical about half-seeing. I wish I could explain the way your skin glows in the moonlight, each sweet shade and texture enhanced and mysterious."
Annie drew slightly back, her brow wrinkled. "What has gotten into you tonight? You've never spoken to me like this before."
"Perhaps I should have. I have been very negligent in adoring my wife.” He lay a kiss upon her brow soft as a butterfly's wing. He lay a second upon her lips – and then a third upon the upward swell of her breasts, gazing down at the peaks grown hard in the night chill.
A moment ago he'd felt rush and passion. The passion was still there, but with it a certain calmness, a knowledge that time was his, that she was his to savor.
He kissed the rosy nipple, lightly, teasingly – wanting more, but wanting her to want with even greater fire.
#
She didn't know how to react. The man whose lips were upon her was her dream husband, the man she fallen in love with all those years ago – but even that younger man's words had not been as magical as these, his glances as full of desire. When this Richard looked at her she felt like the greatest seductress the world had ever known. When his eyes caressed her she felt all her insecurities vanish, felt power fill her.
In this moment she could have set him the tasks of Hercules and he would have complied, would have done anything for just one secret glance at her.
But was this real?
Richards’s lips circled her right nipple, his tongue darting and playing, and then he drew her deep in to his mouth – and it was real, as real as anything had ever been.
Her head fell back. His arms wrapped about her supporting her as she stared up at the night sky. Each pinpoint of light spinning before her as his lips helped her soar toward the
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