Page 19 of Joy to the Earl

Deeper and deeper inside her he pressed, until Rosalind groaned. He paused, hating the thought he might be hurting her with his size, but she slapped his shoulder. “Don’t you…dare stop…just been a while…fuck me. Hard.”

Curling her leg around his waist, Jack braced himself on his forearms, then thrust forward in one brutal movement, leaving him balls-deep inside her for a few seconds before withdrawing, setting up the kind of friction and tempo guaranteed to make him lose his mind. All the while Rosalind moved against him and begged for more, her heels digging into his flanks, her fingernails clawing his shoulders, her broken cries of pleasure echoing in the chamber, and he couldn’t help nuzzling her taut nipples as he whispered words of thanks and praise and affection against her skin.

All too soon he felt his balls tighten, that warning sign that he would shortly lose control. Quickly he slid one hand between him and Rosalind to stroke her clitoris, wanting her to orgasm again before he did, needing to feel her pleasure before he took his. She bucked, her hips circling and grinding against him, and with a sobbing gasp she climaxed, her inner walls gripping his cock, milking him, tempting him beyond measure to mark her as his by filling her to overflowing with his seed.

Jack swore, barely able to drag his cock from her body before he was coming with such violence his essence spurted all over Rosalind’s belly, even as far up as her breasts. Heart pounding, unable to catch his breath, he collapsed next to her on the bed. “I’ll get a cloth. In just…a minute.”

“Why?” she said, her own ragged breathing music to his ears as she stretched and flexed her legs. “When I can do this.”

Speechless, he watched her idly massage the pearly mess into the soft skin of her abdomen before trailing her fingers upwards and doing the same to the drops on her breasts. Christ. It should be impossible after two brutal, wracking orgasms, but he felt his cock stir. This surely wasn’t just the effect of the powder. When he’d been sitting at the table, his cock hardening, his skin tingling as the herb first began to weave its spell, it had only been Rosalind he’d wanted to ease himself with. The other lady, Claire Vale, although pretty and charming, did nothing for him at all.

And now, all he could think about was having Rosalind in his bed and life forever. Putting his ring on her finger, hearing her laugh, seeing her across the dining table, perhaps cradling her belly as it swelled with a brother or sister for Felicity. The little captain would no doubt enjoy an underling as well as a kitten to share adventures with. They could be a family.

Jack shuddered in sheer longing. Family.

“Did you say something?” said Rosalind sleepily.

“No,” he replied, wanting to kick himself for daydreaming like a fool. Men like him didn’t end up with ladies like her, no matter what the poets said. Besides, she might want nothing more than a brief affair. As a widow of means, she could do what she pleased. What did he have to offer her apart from a damaged body and some carpentry and woodworking skill?

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

* * *

Jack was a virgin no longer. And oh, how she’d educated him.

Smiling to herself, Rosalind peered at the dark blue canopy over the bed. He could deny it all he wanted, but actions spoke far louder than words, and everything he’d done had been to learn. His initially hesitant actions. The constant glances to see if she liked something. The way he’d instantly obeyed every pleaded instruction. The awed ecstasy on his face when he’d slid inside her for the first time.

What an apt pupil Jack Reynolds had turned out to be.

Even though everywhere hurt right now—aching limbs, raw nipples and lips, a soreness between her legs that would probably take more than a day to ease, even with a hot bath—she’d never been happier in her life. For that reason alone, Aunt May would indeed survive unscathed to see the New Year.

“You’re smiling, fair Rosalind.”

She turned her head on the down pillow. “So are you, my dear Orlando.”

“Orlando? You’re lifting me up into the aristocracy, then?”

“Ugh, no,” she replied, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “I prefer you just as you are. Jack Reynolds, hero, woodworker and lover extraordinaire.”

Jack blushed, his cheekbones prominent even in the fading firelight. “I’m glad. Although I’m not sure if I’ll be able to move from this bed. You fair wore me out with your insatiable demands. I think my cock may be broken.”

“That’s strange,” said Rosalind, as she lightly curled her fingers around his growing erection. “It doesn’t feel broken. More…friendly. Dedicated to the cause.”

“I cannot come again. You’ve taken every drop of seed possible.”

That was true. After she’d loved him with her mouth and he’d taken her so gloriously, they’d rested a bit, but the powder hadn’t dissipated and their craving for one another had been never-ending. On countless occasions she’d come with his tongue and fingers inside her. Another time she straddled him with her hands braced on his chest and rode him, her back arching while he kissed her nipples and stroked her clitoris.

But her favorite position had been when she rolled over onto her hands and knees and he took her hard from behind. From that angle he’d felt even thicker and longer, and for the first time she truly understood the heady, sizzling line between pleasure and pain. Jack had been shocked when she coated one of his fingers in her juices and guided it to her back entrance. But when she explained how a little bath time self-exploration had led to discovery of the spot as an exquisite pleasure point and he saw how the double penetration drove her wild, he again demonstrated his ability to learn very fast, and she’d come harder than ever before.

“I think perhaps you might be able to come again,” she murmured, pushing back the quilt and leaning down to run her tongue over his cock.

As it turned out, he did still possess a little seed inside him. And remarkably, she could come just from having her clitoris licked. Afterward they fell into an exhausted slumber, only waking the following morning when a sharp knock on the door announced a maid with hot water.

“Don’t get up,” said Jack, resting a big hand on her hip.

She laughed, leaning over to kiss him before getting out of bed, putting on her dressing gown, and fetching the water. Setting the steaming porcelain bowl on the washstand, Rosalind took a clean cloth and lathered it with citrus soap. “I must. I have a session with Phillip and Claire today.”