Georgie sucked in a breath as he advanced until only a few inches separated them.
“To start with, I should remind you that I am not like other men in the ton,” he said.
She raised her eyebrows at that understatement. He was like no man she’d ever met.
He reached up to her hair, found one of the pins that was keeping it coiled up on top of her head, and tugged it out. “What happened this afternoon was ample demonstration. I’m not one of your courtly lovers, all talk and no action.”
He tugged another pin, and the weight of her hair uncoiled lopsidedly then fell down her neck. He was so close, she could feel the heat rising from his body, smell the addictive scent of his skin. Two more pins, and the whole lot untwisted. He drew the shining mass over her shoulder, and she shivered as his fingers smoothed its length, tracing to the very end where it finished just above the peak of her breast.
“Allow me to demonstrate the difference between courtly love and real life.”
“There’s no need,” she croaked.
“Oh, I insist.” He ran his fingers down her arm, caught her hand, and raised it to his lips. “A courtly lover might kiss your hand, for example. Like this. Suitably reverent and correct.” He trailed one finger over her collarbone and down the center of her chest. Her ribcage expanded as she took a deep breath, and he paused teasingly at the edge of her bodice, just above the shadowed valley of her breasts. “A courtly lover would say your skin is like petals, or silk, or cream.”
He traced a maddening pattern back and forth, light as a feather. “A true and proper knight would probably faint if he imagined doing this.” His finger dipped beneath the lace edge of her dress. “He’d liken your nipples to berries, or cherries, or some other such nonsense.”
Her breasts felt full, aching for his touch. “You wouldn’t say that?” she croaked.
“No.” He withdrew his finger and stroked his hand down the side of her breast, over her ribs and back up. She gasped as he cupped her in one large, capable hand. The warmth of him spread through her dress and saturated her skin. Her nipple hardened under his palm. His eyes bored into hers.
“I’d just say that you have skin I want to lick. To bite. I’d just admit that I’m hungry for you. I want to eat you up.”
Georgie could barely draw a breath. “You do?”
“Oh yes.” He dropped his hand, and she let out a long exhale and tried to find her equilibrium. Every one of her senses was afire, anticipating his next touch.
“A courtly lover would offer a chaste peck on the cheek.” He leaned forward and matched action to words. “But that’s rather insipid, don’t you think? Rather uninspiring.” He took her face between his hands, and his thumbs stroked her chin. “I’d rather kiss you here.” The pad of his thumb dragged over her lips. “I dream about your mouth,” he whispered. “It’s perfect.”
He exerted the slightest pressure to tug her forward, and when his lips met hers, she couldn’t prevent the little moan that escaped her. So sweet. So lush. So right. He angled his mouth and pushed deep, his tongue stroking hers, and she closed her eyes and let herself dissolve. Heat rose, and urgency, and she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, anchoring herself to him, a port in a storm.
She was hungry for him too. For taste, for sensation.
He caught her lower lip in his teeth—an erotic tug that sent a corresponding tug straight to her belly—then released it and kissed her again, full and commanding.
When he pulled back, his eyes were glittering, and Georgie sucked in a breath.
“Do you want a courtly lover, Mrs. Wylde? Or do you want me?”
“You,” she gasped. “I want you.”
“Turn around.”
She did as he ordered, and he made quick work of the row of tiny buttons down her back. Her dress pooled at her feet, and he caught her shoulders and turned her back around. Georgie watched, mesmerized, as he untied the front lacing of her short stays and drew them off her. She was left in her stockings, shoes, and shift.
He took her hand and led her through into his bedroom, but she barely had time to register a huge four-poster bed and tones of deep burgundy before he took her mouth again. Her head spun, her blood pounded in her ears, and the next thing she knew, the back of her knees hit the edge of the bed and she was falling backward onto the mattress. Wylde followed her down. She gave a little squeak of surprise, and he pulled away, supporting himself on his hands, his hair tousled and his lips glistening.
The lower half of her legs were still off the bed. He pushed himself upright and stood looking down at her with a hungry expression.
“I want to see all of you, Georgie. Take off your shift.”
Shaking with anticipation, Georgie gathered her courage and caught the hem in her hands. She lifted it, shifting her hips, and felt a cool rush of air as she exposed her stomach and breasts to the night air. He sucked in a breath as she tugged the cotton garment over her head. The movement snagged the chain around her neck, and with a sinking feeling, she remembered her wedding band. The metal dropped back against her chest as she tossed the chemise aside and faced him in just her shoes, stockings, and garters. A hint of uncertainty plagued her. Benedict had had numerous lovers, women far more beautiful than herself. Would he find her lacking? Would he be disappointed?
“Georgie,” he breathed softly, and the reverence in his voice, the look of sheer yearning on his face, put paid to her fears.
He reached out and snagged the wedding band and raised his brows. “Nice to see you wearing this.” He smiled. “Couldn’t bear to take it off?”
She squirmed a little at how tellingly close to the truth that was. He lifted the chain over her head, careful not to let it tangle in her hair. She thought he’d put it aside, but instead, he rolled the ring between thumb and forefinger, then trailed the warm metal down the slope of her breast. She sucked in a gasp as he placed it over her nipple, encircling the tight peak within the golden hoop.
His lips quirked in amusement. “A courtly lover would never do this.” He bent and placed his lips over the ring; cool metal, hot mouth, and her body went up in flames. His tongue pushed through the central hole, and desire speared through her like a scalding tide.
“Benedict!”
Her skin flashed hot, then cold. She threaded her fingers through his thick hair, pulling him closer as he let the band drop away and took even more of her into his mouth. He licked and sucked and bit. Her eyes widened. Oh, God.
“You taste so good.”
The vibration of his low groan rippled through her body. She closed her eyes, drowning in sensation. He shifted, pressing his nose and forehead to the soft skin of her stomach, breathing her in, and she fell back against the covers. She twisted, trying to urge him lower, to put his hands between her legs where he’d been before. Now that she knew what he could give her, she wanted it with a shocking, blinding intensity. She wanted that glittering peak again.
But Benedict seemed in no hurry to oblige. In fact, he drew back again, and she bit back a moan of frustration. He lifted first one foot, then the other, and rid her of her shoes; they hit the rug in a succession of quiet thuds. Then he slid his hand up her shin until he reached the ribbon tie of her garter. With the slightest pressure, he urged her to bend her knee and open her body to him.
Georgie shivered, even as her skin flushed with embarrassment. A small lamp had been left burning in the room, and when she complied, she knew she was completely open to his gaze. He hadn’t been able to see her in the submarine; she’d been shielded by her skirts and the darkness. Now, he could see everything, demand everything. No modesty. Complete surrender.
He was still completely clothed. Suddenly shy, she slid her hand down and tried to cover herself, but he kissed the sensitive skin on the inside of her knee.
“Don’t hide from me, Georgie. Let me see you.”
He slid his hands higher, up to her thighs, and pressed a kiss there too. Her stomach tensed in anticipation, but he simply looked at her, and the heat in his gaze somehow transferred itself to her skin. She burned. He licked his lips, his gaze between her legs. “Now this? This is worthy of a stanza or two.” His fingers crept higher, and she fought the urge to beg. “I can see how a man might be inspired to write a sonnet about this.” His expression turned wicked. “Of course, anticipation is sometimes the best part. Will you be hot? Wet?”
His fingers found her, a slow caress that circled with agonizing leisure.
Oh, yes.
“What will you taste like, I wonder?” he murmured dreamily, and she frowned as her slow brain struggled to made sense of the words. Taste?
His breath warmed her skin a moment before his mouth joined his fingers.
Oh, God.
Pleasure hit her like a lightning strike, and she almost bowed off the bed. It was agony. It was sublime. He licked her deeply, penetrating her, drinking her in. Georgie writhed and bucked, but he steadied her with a hand on her hip, urging her to accept his glorious ministrations. He lifted his head, and his cheeks were flushed. “Sugar and spice and all things nice,” he murmured. “That’s what Mrs. Wylde tastes of.”
He bent again, and she tightened her knees around his shoulders as he used his tongue in a wicked counterpoint to his nimble fingers. Heat built, and tension, and she clutched his hair, trying to hold him closer.
Yes. So close. More.
Just when she thought she could take no more, a rush of cool air hit her. She almost screamed in protest. Benedict knelt between her legs, his chest heaving, his jaw taut with strain. “Not without me,” he panted, stripping off his shirt in a blur of frantic movement. “Not this time.”
He kicked off his breeches, and she had the briefest glimpse of his body, a vast expanse of smooth, muscled skin, and then he was over her, full length, and all she could feel was heat, the incredible sensation of skin on skin.
“I need to be inside you.”
His chest pressed against her, abrading the points of her nipples. His thighs bracketed hers, all solid muscle and tickly hair. The hard length of him nudged her slick folds, and she bucked against him, desperate for the more he’d promised.
More and more and more.
“Show me,” she panted, curling up for a kiss. She tasted herself on his tongue, a musky, earthy scent that enflamed her further, and he dropped to his forearms, bracketed her face with his hands, and kissed her as if it was the last time he’d ever have the chance. As if his whole soul belonged to her.
She writhed against him in unbearable anticipation. He rocked his hips and entered her just a fraction, a burning, stretching ache that made her tense at the unfamiliar intrusion. He was larger than his fingers. He pressed again, inching deeper, and Georgie tilted her hips to ease the ache. He stilled, his chest heaving, and rested his forehead against hers. “Slow,” he panted raggedly. “Don’t want to hurt you. God.”
Georgie caught his face and kissed his jaw, her heart swelling with the care he was taking with her. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “Do it.”
He gave a deep groan and pushed his full length into her, one deep thrust, and Georgie cried out. The momentary discomfort quickly gave way to an astonishing feeling of fullness, of completion. With a harsh breath, he withdrew almost completely and seated himself again, and this time the slipperiness of her body eased the way, and he slid in with a delicious friction that made her entire body jerk in response. Her vision blurred.
“Touch me,” he rasped, and she realized her arms had fallen to the bedcovers. Suddenly greedy, she ran her fingers over his shoulders, glorying in the muscles in his arms, the smooth contours of his back. He was tall and elegantly formed, all long, fluid lines, and she could feel the tremors in him, the taut control as he struggled to restrain himself.
She didn’t want restraint. She wanted abandon. She arched her back, urging him on, and he groaned deep in his throat, an animal sound of pure pleasure. And then he began to move within her. He slid his hand under her bottom and lifted her hips, and the change of angle sparked a familiar curl of pleasure. She dug her heels into the mattress and reached for it, jerking in awkward counterpoint to his thrusts until she found the rhythm, and suddenly they were moving together in perfect synchronicity. He caught her thigh and urged her leg around his hip, and she was climbing higher, higher toward that glorious point of light.
“Come for me, Georgie,” he breathed in her ear, and her body convulsed, fracturing in endless joyous beats. Flashes of light exploded behind her eyelids as she dissolved in mindless bliss.
He cursed as her body clenched around him. He gave one last thrust, withdrew from her body, and pressed himself hard against her stomach, holding her tightly in his arms with an incoherent groan. Jets of warm wetness coated her skin as every muscle in his body went rigid. He collapsed in shuddering exhaustion, his body heavy on hers, and Georgie closed her eyes as a wonderful, drugging lethargy claimed her limbs.
So that was the “more.”
She smiled sleepily. It was certainly worth the wait.