“I am a man of many talents, my lady.”
I start laughing then, but it comes out shaky, unable to fully maintain the act when I want him this badly.
The bodice loosens, and I shrug out of it. The elaborate skirts follow, pooling on the floor in a mountain of fabric. My unhistorical lacy panties are soaking wet.
“Well,” Liam says. “This is most irregular.”
“What is?”
“I do not recall ladies of the Victorian era wearing such undergarments.”
“Perhaps you've been reading the wrong history books.”
“Perhaps I have.” He's still behind me, his hands settling on my waist. “Tell me, my lady, what other historical inaccuracies might I discover?”
I turn in his arms, and the desire in his eyes steals my breath. I reach up to remove his hat and eye patch, letting my fingers linger against his jaw. “Why don't we find out?”
The kiss starts slow, both of us still half-laughing from our ridiculous Victorian role play. But it deepens quickly, his hands sliding up my back, my fingers threading through his hair.
“Your intentions,” I murmur against his mouth. “Are they still honorable?”
“Completely dishonorable,” he says, walking me backward toward the bed. “Scandalously so.”
“Good.”
He walks me backward until my legs hit the mattress, and I fall onto the bed, pulling him down with me. The last remnants of laughter die in my throat, replaced by a raw, aching need. Our kiss turns frantic, all playful pretense gone, replaced by burning desire.
“I need you,” I gasp, my hands scrambling at the buttons of his shirt. “Now, Liam.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. He shrugs out of his pirate shirt, his chest a beautiful, solid warmth against me. His mouth finds my neck, sucking a mark that makes me cry out, my back arching off the bed.
He moves down, his tongue tracing the lace edge of my bra before he pulls the fabric down and takes my nipple into his mouth. The sensation is so sharp, so perfect, that I fist my hands in his hair, holding him to me.
“Off,” I beg, tugging at my panties. “Everything, off.”
He quickly pulls down his boxers and he’s completely naked. Liam’s body is a glorious, lean muscle above me, his erection pressing against my thigh. The sight of him, wanting me this much, steals my breath.
But then he shifts, his hands on my hips, turning me over. “On your knees, love,” he says in a low commanding voice.
I go on all fours, resting my upper body on the mattress, presenting myself to him.
“God, Avery,” Liam groans, his hands smoothing over the curves of my ass. “This ass is fucking perfection. I dream about it.”
He positions himself behind me, the head of his cock nudging against my entrance. I’m so wet, so ready for him, that the first push is a shock of pure pleasure.
“So tight,” he grits out, his hands gripping my hips as he sinks into me, filling me completely in one slow, deep stroke. “Jesus, you’re so wet for me.”
A broken moan tears from my throat as I adjust to the feel of him. He sets a rhythm that is relentless from the start, each thrust hitting a spot that makes me see stars.
The sound of our bodies meeting is loud in the quiet room, mingling with my desperate cries and his guttural groans.
“That’s it, baby,” he says, one hand sliding from my hip to the junction of my thighs, his fingers finding my clit.
The dual sensation is too much. The deep, filling thrusts and the clever circles of his fingers push me higher and higher, my orgasm coiling tight and then shattering without warning.
I scream his name, my body convulsing around his as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me.
He follows me over the edge a minute later, driving into me one last, deep time, his own cry muffled against my shoulder as he spills himself inside me, his body shuddering with the force of his release.
