Page 85 of One Night with an Earl

“Christ, Ana.”

Heat coiled deep inside of her at the primal expression on his stark face.

He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. She rose on her elbows and watched as he pulled off his boots, then removed his trousers. He stood naked and proud before her, and her gaze traveled the length of his masculine form. “You are beautiful, too.” She opened her arms to him.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” He placed a knee on the side of the bed, then joined her. He kissed each breast, his tongue caressing her sensitive, swollen nipples as his hand seared a path down her abdomen and onto her thigh. His lips worshipped a trail down her body. She didn’t have to open her eyes to know where he would kiss her next, but nonetheless she felt a shock.

She gasped as he placed a kiss to the center of her heat, then flicked his tongue over the delicate bud. She grasped a fistful of his hair.

“Oliver, I—”

“I love your nakedness here. Is it more sensitive?” His hot breath teased her most intimate flesh.

She could barely catch her breath. “Very. I can feel so—”

“Let me pleasure you, Ana. Trust me.”

She had no idea a man could pleasure a woman this way, but she did trust him, and when he gently eased her back on the bed, she allowed it. His skilled tongue worked her into a frenzy of need. It was wondrous and wicked, and he seemed to know every secret spot that would drive her wild. Her moans urged him on as he laved and tasted and teased.

“You are all naked and lovely and glistening. For me. I could spend hours pleasuring you.” His tongue stabbed and took until she was quivering with need.

Hours? She wouldn’t last another minute. The pleasure pulsed through her muscles, and she dug her heels into the mattress and arched into his mouth.

She was his, hot and helpless beneath his erotic onslaught, her body vibrating beneath his wicked tongue. He coaxed her to the crest of pleasure and she shattered beneath his skillful touch and cried out his name.

Oliver rose above her, his dark eyes shining with triumph and fierce lust. Her gaze lowered to his arousal, thick and pulsing with need. She licked her lips. “Please.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“You. All of you.”

Her heart squeezed in her chest as she spoke the words. Did he know how he made her feel, how he made her ache? Need unfurled inside her—a deep ache entwined with a deeper longing. Longing was dangerous. She wanted to focus on the physical pleasure, but she feared there was so much more.

Unlike the first time, there was no pain, only exquisite fullness as he eased inside her slickness. Her body clenched him, milked him, meeting each thrust with her own reckless abandon.

“I can feel you coming.” He grit his teeth. “You are making me lose control just like last time.”

Control? She had none with him. She’d thrown caution to the wind as soon as she’d stepped into his carriage. Through heavy-lidded eyes, she watched his fierce and handsome face above her. Anticipation shivered through her, turning her heartbeat wild.

Throwing back her head on the pillows, she reached for the stars, her body spiraling to that exquisite place until she peaked. She fell and fell, and his strong arms were there to hold her.

…

Oliver held Ana in his arms. Dark ebony curls curved over her shoulders and across his chest. Her eyes were closed as she caught her breath from their lovemaking. Long, dark lashes lay like delicate fans against her cheeks. Entranced, he raised a curl to his face and inhaled deeply of her scent.

She looked up at him and smiled, the smile of a satisfied woman. She rested her hand on his chest above his heart and slipped a leg between his.

Lust, commingled with the sense of possession he’d experienced earlier, ripped through him. In the very beginning, he’d been convinced that after he’d finally bedded her once more, the tightly coiled need inside him would ease. What a foolish thought. He’d known that was far from the truth for a while now. The need was keener than before. He wanted her again. Tonight.

Tomorrow night.

Bloody hell. Why did he feel this way?

He told himself it was because she was a fantasy—a woman dressed in scarlet who’d enticed him at a notorious brothel. What man wouldn’t want to experience her again?

Or maybe it was because he’d come to admire her, enjoyed spending time with her. She was unlike any of the society ladies or debutantes who’d cross his path, women who hunted him for his new title and wealth without a care as to who he really was. But if he were honest with himself, truly honest, he knew there was more to this need. She’d known hardship but remained giving and loyal, and he missed her when they were apart.

Her fingers traced a circle on his chest. “Tell me something about yourself.”