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She took a healthy gulp of her drink before resting it on the table. Prue went over to the chair she’d occupied and plucked up the book thumbing through the pages. Her face lit up when she found what she sought. Hurrying over to him, she tapped the page. “This…I want to try this with you.”
The damn minx had not prepared him. Every nerve in his body burned with instant lust.
“Where did you get this book?”
“From the club. I have been…perusing the pictures. It was my guide in seducing you.”
Bloody hell. The woman in the picture kneeled before a gentleman, and she held half of his cock in her hand and the other half in her mouth. “Prue…”
Fuck. His thoughts simply vanished as she dropped to her knees and peeked provocatively up at him from beneath her lashes.
“Yes, husband?”
A dark, wicked lust rushed through him. Gathering her hair in his hands, he twined the tresses in his fingers. “Suck me into that sweet, pretty mouth of yours,” he murmured.
A fine trembling cascade through her body, but her eyes were bright with desire and excitement. His wife was an adventuress. A damn sensual, beautiful one. She opened the flap of his trousers, and his cock sprung out, already hard and aching.
When her lips touched him, he groaned, his fingers tightening in her hair. Another slow glide of her tongue from the tip of his cock to the root. His damn knees trembled. Her mouth swallowed the flared head of his cock, her tongue stroking and caressing as her mouth suckled at the engorged head, piercing him with exquisite pleasure. Oh, that was delicious, he was fighting the sensual reactions that shot through him.
Sweet mercy.
Oscar pulled from his wife’s mouth, hauled her up and lifted her into his arms.
“I need you,” he said tightly, already desperate to be in her body. Tumbling with her to the chaise, he widened her legs and came down between them. Penetration was immediate. And Prue was ready for him and was wet and so damn tight she almost choked his release from him.
He paused and stared down into her face. An alien tenderness scraped at his insides, and his heart started to jerk an erratic beat. “Prue…” His damn throat closed. Oscar didn’t know what he wanted to say. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he understood what he felt at this moment.
Belonging.
That was it. Dipping his head, he claimed her mouth in a kiss and started to move within her. He loved the moans that poured from her and how she wrapped her body around him, offering herself to him so completely. He speared his fingers into her hair, clenching into the silky strands as he took her mouth and body. Showing her with passion what he was not able to express in words.
Chapter Thirteen
Pre peeked over her easel, wanting to see whatever Oscar was painting but determined not to distract his rapt concentration. They had decided to spend the morning in the gardens as it was such a bright and glorious day. The sun was out, the profusion of flowers were at their best, their perfume delighted her, and the birds fluttered about in the gardens making the scene enchanting. They were not in the country; however, the back gardens of their townhouse were rather lovely and large enough for them to picnic outside and set up wicker chairs and easels to paint.
Prue had always been poor at watercolors. She bit back her smile, fearing his judgement on her artistic efforts, her aptitude seemed so meagre in comparison to his extraordinary talent. She was anxious about what he would think upon seeing her artwork, she had chosen to portray Cleopatra as she lazed in the sun on the lush green grass. It was as if the feline knew she was much admired and remained still to allow herself to be painted. Prue hadn’t the heart to tell her husband that she was atrocious at painting, one of her many failings, according to her governess and tutors. Once he saw her efforts, the truth would make itself evident.
They had been outside for almost two hours, and Oscar was serenely concentrated as he swiped his brush in graceful strokes over his canvas. A rush of mischief gripped her, and leaning over, Prue dabbed the end of her brush in the pigments he had prepared for her earlier, walked over and drew a line under his cheek. Oscar glanced at her and Prue chuckled at his wholly befuddled expression.
He wiped at the spot and his fingers came away with green color. “What are you doing, countess?”
“I am playing with you, husband. No need to look so perturbed.”
“I am a man of two and thirty. I do not play games.”
“Oh, ancient one,” she said gravely. “We must remedy that right away.” Prue then drew a line on his nose. His narrowed gaze was the only warning she got before he lunged at her. With a shriek of laughter, she dropped the brush on the grass and attempted to dart away. He grabbed her about the waist, spinning her around. His eyes gleamed with devilry, and then he started tickling her.Oh, blast!
“Mercy.” she cried, laughing uncontrollably. “Mercy!”
“That can only be gained with kisses, madam.”
“Then a kiss you shall have, my lord.” With a laugh, she wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted her mouth.
“What is the meaning of this ruckus?” An imperious voice snapped.
Prue froze and snapped her head around to see how who intruded on their perfect paradise.Blast. It was his mother, the dowager Countess of Wycliffe, who wore an expression of appalled alarm. Outside of that, she appeared the picture of robust health. The dowager countess was gowned in a lovely dove gray silken gown, her dark hair showing no hint of gray upswept in an artful chignon. Prue had often wondered if the dowager’s hair color owed its depth to some secret alchemical substance or possibly to the chanting of unholy spells. Her face bore little traces of age, though Prue knew her to be a lady of one and fifty. Prue’s cheeks heated, and she stepped from his arms, aware that his mother had not truly approved of her to be a match for their family.
“Mother,” he said dryly. “I was romping with my wife, an interlude I was enjoying.”
