His nose traced a path up her neck to her ear, and he gave a quick, hard tug as he knotted his cravat. “I think you lie, wife. I think you love nothing more than a thick cock down your throat.” His tongue replaced his nose, trailing over the column of her neck. “Filling you.” He ground his stone-hard erection against her, sending streaks of heat between her thighs. “Flooding you with cum.” He growled viciously. “Mine, and mine alone.”
Yes, please.
A sharp tug at her wrists had her stumbling backwards, her husband’s hand curling around the back of her neck to guide her—control her. He squeezed, and the ability to stand nearly deserted her. Her gaze jumped to various pieces of furniture in the darkened chamber, finally landing on the large piece her husband was leading her to. Her eyes widened.
“Fitz,” she hissed. “This is Lord Chesterfield’sstudy.” They couldn’t do this in the man’s study. It was one thing in a drawing room or broom cupboard—everyone did that. But in a man’s private domain? If they were discovered…the ramifications could be horrendous.
His chuckle was dark and evil and hair-raising. He pushed her up against the lord’s desk.
“That it is, love.” He bent her over the desk, pressing her stomach flat against the hard surface. Rustling of skirts melded with his low rasp, “And I’m not going to just fuck you in his study, I’m going to fuck you on his desk.”
She groaned, and her traitorous hips pushed back against him, seeking the press of his cock. Her heart rate kicked up, beating hard against the wood surface below her. Another discovery they had made was her husband loved the thrill of having sex in public. The risk of getting caught had always held a thrill for Georgiana, but Fitz?
Let’s just say their visit to the theater had proven just how wild for it he was. He’d made her sit in the front row of his family’s private box, and promptly disappeared beneath her skirts while she was left clinging to the balcony rail, desperately trying not to let her face show all the wicked things her husband’s tongue had been doing to her.Hehad been hidden behind the solid balcony wall—her face not so much. Later, he informed her it had been punishment for her doing the same thing to him in his study when Felix had interrupted them.
The blunt head of his swollen cock slid between her thighs. Her muscles went instantly tight. If he wasn’t in her in the next five seconds, she was going to die.
He bent over her, leaning his heavy weight on her. “I knew you were a whore,” he whispered in her ear, his cock slipping easily back and forth over her, his head rubbing perfectly against where she was most sensitive. “Look at how wet you are for me. Do you ache for me, love?”
She whimpered in assent. Her fingers flexed where they were trapped between their bodies. She wanted to touch him desperately, and the denial sent lust spiraling through her. He lifted off her, his hands going to her hips. And then, like the torturous bastard he was, he sank inside her slowly. Inch by slow bloody inch. He retreated just as lazily, his thick length teasing her, her intimate muscles clenching on him, greedily trying to pull him back to her. But the devilish man continued with his slow, sensual strokes, overwhelming her with a slow, sensual stretch.
“God, you’re lovely,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Non credo che mi abituerò mai a quanto sia delizioso vedere il mio cazzo affondare nella tua bella fica.”
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how delicious it is to see my cock sinking inside your pretty cunt.
Georgiana’s eyes rolled back in her head. She loved how he sometimes reverted to Italian. Filthy words were so much more potent with an accent. But the love and reverence in his voice had the need for closeness, for touch, for embrace barreling through her.
“Fitz,” she whined. “I can’t—I need—”
Her wrists were freed before she even finished saying the words. He pulled out of her, and she was spun and lifted onto the desk in a breath. Her legs wrapped around his hips, and he drove back inside her, his arms pulling her close, his nose sliding against hers. He knew. He always knew exactly what she needed. The compatibility they had in the bedroom almost seemed surreal. But perhaps that was what happened when you were in love.
His hips slammed into hers, his hands gripping her arse so hard it was sure to leave a bruise. He practically lifted her off the desk. Her hands fell to his biceps, straining under the effort, and her belly went molten, the pleasure in her core weaving tight.
Fitz’s lips crashed into hers in a feverish kiss. His tongue delved inside, mimicking his thrusts, and her hands shot to his head, disappearing into his soft amber curls. She held him to her, matching him thrust for thrust, a battle of tongues, a battle that was building to a tumultuous pitch.
The pressure in her core surged, and her thighs scrambled around him, practically climbing him like a tree as she sought that perfect angle. She wasso close. The pleasure was hovering just out of reach, simmering, but not boiling over. All it would take would be his cock hitting her in that spot, his hips grinding against her pulsing core. She lodged her heel in his lower back, using his arse for leverage and—she moaned—there was the angle.
He groaned into her mouth, and his hips took on a frantic pace, drilling into her. She was lost. Lost to an unfathomable void, pleasure filling her limbs from fingertips to the tips of her toes, her entire body vibrating. Her skin lit on blissful fire, and she cried out against his lips. His arms wrapped tight around her, his hips delving into her, delivering stroke after stroke of ecstasy. An ecstasy that convulsed through her like the pull of an unstoppable tide, ripping pleasure from her. His mouth fell to her neck, and he bit down, his hoarse yell buried in her skin. And God, did she love him being buried in her, his pleasure, his body, his love.
Her forehead dropped limply against his shoulder, and he sagged against her, the desk the only thing holding them up at this point.
“Well, that was all right,” he murmured into her neck, gooseflesh popping up over her skin.
She huffed out a laugh, and he pulled back to look at her, his lop-sided smile in place. She tapped her lip thoughtfully. “Would most definitely shag again.”
His smile turned wicked. He grabbed her wrist and dragged her hand to his already hardening cock. “That can be arranged.”
Georgiana giggled. She’d created a monster.
She stroked him slowly and whispered over his lips, “I love you, Fitzwilliam Jennings.”
He groaned. “I love you too, Georgiana Jennings,” he managed, his voice strangled.
And then she proceeded to show him just how much. A second time.
53
Epilogue - Felicity
