Page 59 of This Marquess of Mine

Her gaze flew to his, wide with surprise.

“I imagine it’s your hand around my cock instead of my own.”

“You do?” Her voice was faint, incredulous, and her cheeks had flushed a gorgeous shade of pink.

“And sometimes,” he said, “I imagine it’s your mouth instead of your hand.”

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and Griff couldn’t tell if she was scandalized or aroused by his admission. He fervently hoped it was the latter.

“I had no idea you thought of me doing those things,” she said softly. “Or at all.”

God, if she only knew.

Her gaze fell to his trousers, and her hands went to his falls, her knuckles brushing against his erection. His breath caught in his throat, and pleasure, sweet and intense, shot through him, as if he were an untried lad in the throes of his first sexual experience.

“Touch me, Olivia.” His voice was hoarse, pleading. He swallowed. “Let me feel your hands on me.”

Her gaze met his, dark and unwavering, as she began to remove her gloves, her movements deliberate and unhurried.

She set her gloves on the bench and a moment later his falls slackened, and his cock sprang free. His breath hissed through his teeth as her fingers closed around his thick length. She stroked him gently, tentatively, her hand soft and warm, and Griffin’s eyes fell closed.

“Like this?” she whispered. “Am I doing it right?”

“Yes, petal,” he said roughly. “Just like that. Exactly like that.”

God, her touch.The pleasure she wrought on his body…

It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced—beyond anything he’d ever experienced—and he was desperate for more. Insatiable. Ruined.

“You’re so hot,” she mused, her brow furrowed as she stroked him. “So soft yet so hard.”

“That’s you,” he said through gritted teeth. “That is what your touch does to me.”

His hips jerked, his body begging for release as she worked him over, the pleasure beginning to build, and he watched her face as she pumped her sweet little hand down his cock. Working so hard to please him. God, how she undid him.

He was moments away from spending in her hand. It was too late to stop it—he was too weak to stop it—and somehow he had the foresight to tug his handkerchief from his coat pocket.

He wrapped his hand around hers and stroked hard, once, twice, a third time, and with a rough, guttural groan, spent his seed into the handkerchief.

A long, fraught moment passed with only the sound of their labored breathing between them. Griffin’s head tipped back, and he swallowed, his heart thudding in his throat.

“Christ above, Olivia,” he muttered, his voice an uneven rasp. “I—”

He broke off and his head shot up, his shoulders tensing. Voices. They were no longer alone.

Olivia’s breath caught and her eyes widened in alarm as she turned to look in the direction of the house. With frantic movements, she scrambled off his lap and brushed hurried hands over her dress. Griffin reached out to help, but she shied from his touch and before he could utter another word, she was gone, dashing toward the house.

He watched her leave, her retreating form barely visible beneath the moonlight, and only when she’d disappeared from sight did he relax. The voices he’d heard only moments ago were silent now, and he hoped that meant they’d returned to the ballroom. He did not wish to share the garden with anyone, not like this, with his breathing still ragged and his mind reeling in the aftermath of Olivia’s touch.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, and went to rake his fingers through his hair, only then realizing he still held his soiled handkerchief. He thrust the linen into his trouser pocket then refastened his falls and tucked his shirt into his waistband.

With a sigh, he rose and ambled over to the nearest pillar, leaning his arm against the smooth wood. He turned his gaze up to the night sky and sighed again, seeing none of it. Pleasure still thrummed through him, his skin prickling with the memory of her soft hands, his body hungry for more of her. He wanted her, more than he had before, though how that was possible he did not know.

All he knew was every taste of her lips, every touch of her hands only seemed to intensify his yearning for her.

He muttered another curse and scrubbed a hand down his face. What was this effect she had on him? Why could he not stay away from her?

Olivia was not his to desire, and yet, desire her he did, even though he knew he shouldn’t. Even though she was practically promised to another man.

What in bloody blazes was wrong with him?