Page 22 of Prince of Scandal

Her skin tingled and Georgiana quivered at the calm dominance, the way he towered over her, the deliciously forceful words. How did he know exactly the way to loosen her tongue? “Argh! Damn it. Fine. No, I haven’t. Happy now?”

Mr. Latimer’s frown deepened, but his thumb caressed her cheek, almost fondly. “No, little one, I’m not. Forgive my bluntness, but your husband was a cretin. Why insist on interludes in coatrooms if you were already married and not exhibitionists craving to be caught? Worse, he didn’t make you come? Appalling.”

“Rupert was a cretin,” she blurted, once again ashamed at her own foolishness. “The worst cretin. Which is why I don’t mourn his departure at all.”

“Rupert?”

A reluctant laugh escaped at her nearly-lover’s recoil. “I said Rupert, not cold-blooded murderer, Mr. Latimer.”

“You may call me Ashton here. And it is my experience that men named Rupert are despicable bastard cowards, capable of anything.”

Georgiana froze. No. Surely he couldn’t know Major Lord Rupert Osbourne? Impossible. Rupert was a terrible snob who placed great importance on bloodlines and appropriate company. He wouldn’t mingle with anyone ranked lower than baronet, even considered knights beneath him because it wasn’t a hereditary title. There was no way they would have crossed paths. Except…Ashton had mentioned his long-ago appearances in London ballrooms before they’d demonstrated the waltz.

Thoroughly unnerved, and needing to distract herself as much as him, Georgiana lifted her hand to stroke his arm. “Enough about my past, Ashton. This is about us.”

“Correct,” he said slowly. “Shall we get you undressed? I’ve been pondering certain things for days now, such as the exact color of your nipples. My guess is a shade similar to your gown, but I must know for certain.”

“They’ve ached for days,” Georgiana whispered.

“Because your nipples require pinching. Don’t they?”

“Yes.”

“Beg pardon?” he asked brusquely, his fingers stroking the back of her neck, agonizingly close to her gown buttons but not freeing her from the fabric prison.

“Yes, sir,” she said, willing him to hurry.

But Ashton wasn’t a benevolent conqueror, instead tormenting her with the slowest disrobing in history. She only wore the twill gown, petticoat, stays, and linen chemise, how could it take an eternity? But finally, she was undressed, with a man’s gaze upon her naked body for the first time. Did Ashton like what he saw? Was she too plump? Men loved her bosom, some liked her bottom, but rarely were odes written to a fleshy belly or thick thighs.

Abruptly uncertain, Georgiana shivered in the cool dwelling. Until she dared to look at Ashton and saw the burning heat in his gaze.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “Raise your arms and turn, so I might see every magnificent inch. Ah, yes…I’m not sure any article of clothing could fully do you justice.”

When she faced him once more, Georgiana whimpered as Ashton glided his fingertips across her shoulders before moving to cup her heavy breasts. Then his thumbs circled her swollen nipples until she wanted to scream. “You were right. About the color.”

“An exquisite pale pink,” he agreed, continuing to tease her nipples relentlessly, before at last bestowing several deliciously firm pinches.

Georgiana cried out in delight, arching her back to offer better access. “Yes!”

“Tell me,” said Ashton as one hand trailed down her stomach to rest just above the thick blond bush between her legs, “exactly what you need.”

“Down there…hurry,” she replied incoherently.

His first leisurely foray between her thighs was like being struck by lightning; how could it be so sensitive? But the caresses remained slow and gentle, exploring the slick petals and her pulsing clitoris until she moaned in desperation, thrusting her hips forward to force more pressure, more friction…just more. Something was building inside of her. Something untamable.

“Greedy girl,” said Ashton, looking pleased. “Getting so wet for me. Do you need my fingers in that hot little cunt?”

Georgiana gasped at the shocking word. Yet somehow the bawdiness, the sheer wickedness of it, pushed her closer to the edge. “Please. Please let me come.”

“You beg so prettily,” he replied, possessively cupping her mound before sliding two fingers deep inside her. Moving. Scissoring. Driving her wild.

She sobbed, her fingernails nearly slashing his waistcoat as they sought an anchor in the maelstrom of pleasure. Then Ashton’s thumb pressed hard on her clitoris, her whole world splintered, and she threw back her head and screamed his name.

Minutes, or perhaps hours later, Georgiana shook her head in an attempt to regather her wits. “That was…that was…”

“Just the beginning,” Ashton smiled, shocking her further as he withdrew his fingers and licked her essence from them.

There’s more?