Page 11 of Joy to the Earl

He snorted at the thought. Waiting was not exactly the operative word.

For God’s sake, he’d had Rosalind in his lap. She’d been kissing him back, looking and sounding like she wanted to be there, like she didn’t find him frightening or repulsive. But then as soon as she mentioned his eyes, all the fears, all the anger and shame and bitterness at being different had crashed over him like a rogue wave, and he’d pulled away. Then of course he’d flung his limp at her too, the one person who might not be nearly as horrified with it as others.

“Bloody hell,” he swore under his breath. Would there ever be a time he didn’t hate his own body? Or a time when he didn’t do everything wrong when it came to interacting with other people?

“Can I come in?”

Jack turned too fast at the husky voice in the doorway, wincing as his weaker left leg buckled and forced him to steady himself with one hand on the stone wall. “Your stables, Lady Nelson.”

“Don’t you dare Lady Nelson me. And two hours is more than long enough to brood. It is freezing out here. Do you want to catch a chill?”

“I, er—”

“Oh, I understand. You want to be freezing cold again so I remove all your clothing and all of mine and we lie naked beside the fire until you warm up, is that right?”

He gulped in a ragged breath at the thought. “No.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not,” he bit out. “I don’t just want to lie next to you. I want so much more…”

The words trailed off, the anger that had given voice to the need gone as fast as it had arrived, and he looked away. But Rosalind didn’t leave or swoon or shriek at his blunt announcement. In fact, she marched toward him, her gown hem swishing against the scattered straw and sawdust on the cool, damp floor.

“So. You want more, do you?” she said softly, right behind him. “Such as?”

Heat danced along his cheekbones. What the hell did he say now? What did an experienced man do in these situations? The lady would surely slap him if he said “I want to fuck you.” It might be better to say “I’ve never done this before, but I want to be inside you more than anything in the world,” yet that was the ultimate prize. He needed to work his way up to such an occasion, lest he hurt her with his big, foolish, clumsy body. Then perhaps it wouldn’t be so painfully obvious he had no experience whatsoever.

“To touch you.”

“Just touch me?” she said idly, and he shuddered with need as her hands came to rest on his hips and her cheek rested against his back. “Not…kiss me?”

“Of course I want to kiss you.”

“What about lick me? That tongue of yours is delicious. As are your lips. I’ve been wondering how they might feel on my breasts.”

Jack swallowed hard, shifting from one foot to the other as his cock surged. “Last time by the fire you were wearing your chemise and I couldn’t see your nipples very well. I’d like to know exactly what color they are. And what color they are after I suckle them. What they taste like in my mouth. How they feel when soft, and when swollen and rigid.”

“Then do it.”

“What?” he asked, stunned. “Here?”

“Yes, here,” she replied, walking into a small tack room opposite him and sitting on a pile of folded horse blankets. “You owe me an orgasm, Jack, and it is time to pay up.”

Heart pounding, he ambled into the room, every step measured to minimize his limp and disguise exactly how excited he was. Settling himself on the blankets, he gestured for Rosalind to straddle his thighs as she’d done inside. At least this way his leg wouldn’t misbehave.

When she was perched on his lap, he cupped her face in his hands. Then he brushed her lips with his, the mocking conversation of two gossiping lasses from the village forever in his head, about men who kissed as if they were trying to chew off lips or flopped out their tongue like an elderly wolfhound.

Slowly, he kissed her, touching the tip of his tongue to her lips as soon as he dared. Immediately Rosalind opened her mouth and sucked his tongue inside, tangling it with hers and squirming on his lap. As they became more frantic, he broke away from her lips, and trailed his mouth along her delicate jaw and down her slender neck. Her skin was so smooth under his lips and the citrusy scent of her hair surrounded him, even though it had been arranged in a loose chignon at the nape of her neck.

“Can I…” he said, taking an unsteady breath. “Can I unfasten your gown?”

“If you don’t, I may strangle you,” she replied in an uneven voice, and for the first time he thought perhaps he kissed satisfactorily for a beginner.

“One minute, ma’am,” he said, smiling, as he peered over her shoulder and concentrated fiercely on unfastening the small mother-of-pearl buttons. Fortunately there were only four of them, and none tore off into his hands. A first victory. Carefully pulling the cambric forward, he helped her ease her arms out of the sleeves, leaving her in just her stays and chemise. Again he leaned forward to untie her stays, thanking all the deities that the laces were made from a thicker silken cord and, once the initial knot was undone, slid free relatively easily. Finally, he lifted her whisper-thin lawn chemise over her head, leaving her full breasts entirely bared.

Perfection.

Reverently, he cupped one in each hand, stroking her soft skin, his mouth watering at the sight of her hard, rosy-pink nipples mere inches away. With his thumbs he circled the areola, then along the sides of her breasts, where he discovered faint silvery lines.