When Good Earls Go Bad: A Victorian Valentine's Day Novella (9 page)

“Shall we?” she said, waving the duster in the air as she headed to his room. He followed, this throat thick with lust, his hands frantic with the need to touch her.

She stood aside to let him enter, then gave him a quick, appraising look. “Do you even know how handsome you are?” she said, her voice low as though she weren’t even talking to him, even though of course she was.

But there was no answer to that, and thank goodness it seemed she didn’t expect one.

She tossed the duster onto his bed—
dear lord, his bed
—and stepped forward to him, lifting her arms to wrap around his neck.

“I want you to kiss me some more,” she said, her gaze on his mouth.

“Of course,” he replied, lowering his mouth to hers. Her lips were soft and warm, and her tongue swept into his mouth and explored, tangling with his as she made a soft noise low and deep in her throat.

His hands were at her waist, and he spread his fingers so they touched the curve of her spine, where her arse met her back. And then traveled lower, squeezing her flesh, kneading it as he pressed his erection against her body.

It felt too good, too soon.

Matthew had explored an attraction before, of course; he wasn’t entirely inexperienced, but he’d never before felt this immediate surge of desire, of attraction, of lust, of needing to possess. If he had, he wouldn’t still have been a virgin.

The thought of which nearly made him stop. Nearly. Would she laugh when she found out? How would she find out? Was he willing to give that to her, something he’d mentally promised to give first to his future wife?

Only how could he not share something so special with her, the most special woman he’d ever met?

He lost all ability to think, however, when she pulled her mouth from his and pushed him backward, toward the bed.

He shuffled until the back of his knees hit the mattress, then she gave him a harder shove and he fell back, bouncing a few times on the bed.

She tumbled onto the bed on top of him, her eyes sparkling, her mouth red and moist from their kiss.

“Your bed is much nicer than mine.” One corner of her mouth tilted up. “Not just because you are in it.” She unwrapped his cravat from his neck, then put her hands to his waistcoat and began to undo the buttons, quickly but competently. Then she pushed the two sides of the waistcoat away and began to undo the buttons of his shirt, her face frowning in concentration.

It felt so . . . unusual, as usual, for her to be here, taking control where normally he was in control. Where he knew every single possible outcome, and had planned accordingly for each one.

He had no idea what would happen next. Right now. As in, he had no idea that after she’d finished with the buttons of his shirt she’d lower her mouth to his neck and kiss it, then lick her way to the lowest part of his chest that was exposed.

He definitely couldn’t have predicted just how amazing it felt, to have her body on his, her soft weight pressing him down into the mattress, her mouth on his bare skin.

And how she raised her head and met his eyes, her own gaze focused with a particular kind of desire, of purpose.

He resisted the temptation to close his eyes since he didn’t want to miss one possible sense of what was happening. And then realized, of course, he should be exploring, as he’d been given permission to, with his hands, his sense of touch not just restricted to experiencing what she was doing to him.

He placed his hands on her ribcage, the part he could reach that wasn’t pressing on him, then spread his fingers out so his thumb and index finger touched the curve of her breast. And then he moved his fingers and she smiled at him, arching into his touch, and it felt amazing, better than any previous explorations had, even though they were both still entirely clothed (although he was now unbuttoned).

“I want to see you with your shirt off. Again,” she said with a smirk, and he remembered how it had felt to know she had seen his naked chest, how shocked he’d been at the time.

Only now he wasn’t shocked. He wanted her to see him, wanted to see that look of desire in her eye as she regarded him. More, he wanted her to touch him, to run those beginning-to-callous hands over his skin and touch him everywhere. Make him know what it was like to lose control of everything, for every plan and contingency to be forgotten as he gave himself to her.

“You’re going to have to move then,” Matthew said, nudging her aside with his body. She landed on the bed with a gentle thud. He sat up and flung the waistcoat onto the floor, pulled the shirt over his head, and threw that, as well.

If his housekeeper complained about how messy he was, he could always threaten to put his shirt back on.

“Oh my,” she said with a breathy sigh, looking at him so intently it felt almost like a caress on his skin. No, wait, she
was
caressing his skin—she’d reached out to his abdomen and her hand was stroking him, sliding over him as though he were something to be touched, to be handled, not something to be deferred to.

And of course he had to touch her, only she was still wearing clothing. Which did not suit his plans, and he did pride himself on being a planner. Until she had completely upset his carefully plotted course.

But he couldn’t think about that now. Not just shouldn’t, but couldn’t, because all he could think about was her. Specifically, her naked. “Take that off,” he said, gesturing to her gown.

“I’ll need help,” she replied, gesturing to the back. “With the buttons.”

She wriggled around and presented her back, looking over her shoulder at him, her expression one of joy and desire and surprise.

He undid the buttons with shaky fingers, then slid the fabric off her shoulders and leaned forward to kiss the nape of her neck. She shuddered as his lips found her skin, and then he pressed more firmly with his mouth, his hands wrapping around her front to slide the gown down until it was at her waist.

She wore more, of course; he hadn’t thought it would be so easy to get her naked. He had hoped, certainly, but he’d known that most ladies wore a multitude of clothing. To draw out the suspense of undressing? Or just because they were ladies and liked clothing and fabrics?

This, he reminded himself as he ran his hand over her breasts, still encased in some sort of covering, was research. He had to know what ladies had on under there, didn’t he, to know if they would want to purchase silk from exotic lands?

He was well aware he was justifying his actions, but at this moment, he didn’t care.

“This, too,” he said, tugging on whatever it was she had on under her gown. She stuck her tongue out at him as she leapt off the bed, her gown pooling at her feet, her hands going to laces and fastenings and whatever else there was there until she had taken it all off and stood in front of him, entirely naked.

And smiled, a confident, warm, delicious smile that told him she knew he wanted to look at her, and that he’d like what he saw.

As he did. She curved in at all the right places and curved out at the right places as well. As he watched, she cupped her breast in her hand and flicked her finger on the nipple.

He practically forgot to breathe, it was so erotic. And it was just her touching herself. Imagine what it would be like when it was his hands.

“Come here,” he said in a growl, unfastening his trousers and shucking them to the floor to join the rest of their clothing. Now he just had on his smallclothes, and his cock jutted out from the fabric, an obvious sign that their exploration was worth exploring.

She got back onto the bed, bouncing a bit as she sat, a delighted grin on her face. Yes. This was still joyous Annabelle, the one with the thousand questions and the curious mind, the one who, it seemed, was as curious about him as he was about her.

The one who was lushly, gorgeously nude, her pale skin dusted with freckles, like the ones on her nose, her breasts round and full, with rose-colored nipples.

The one who was exploring his chest with her hands, whose eyes were on his mouth, who was pushing him back down and straddling him, those lovely breasts right in front of him. Waiting to be touched.

He did not like to keep anyone waiting.

Matthew raised his hand to her breast, curling his fingers around the soft curve of her, grasping the fullness of her before grazing her nipple with his finger. As she had done.

“Oh,” she said with a sigh, then wriggled most interestingly on his body. “I like it when you touch me.” A pause as she looked at his body, then wriggled again. “Almost as much as I like to touch you.”

And then she slid off him and knelt between his legs, running her hand up and down his cock, like he did when he was alone, only having it be her hand instead of his was much, much better. And, obviously, he was not alone.

She made a low noise in her throat as she stroked him, harder with each pass of her hand. Until she stopped.

“Wha’?” Matthew said, wishing he could complete a word, much less a sentence.

“These should be off,” she said, putting her hand to the top of his smallclothes, dragging her nails on his skin. The contact sent shivers through his whole body.

“Yes.” Matthew couldn’t agree more, and he yanked his smallclothes down and tossed them onto the floor, too.

At this point his housekeeper would be here half the night cleaning his room. Or doing other things.

He preferred the other things.

Now they were both naked, and she smiled and reached out to clasp him in her hand again, and then, and then she leaned forward and licked the top of him and he let out a startled gasp.

“Mm,” she said, kissing him more firmly there, then took him into her mouth, the wet warmth of her surrounding him, his mind completely blank of anything but her, her naked body, her joy, her mouth.

A Belle’s Guide to Household Management

When a gentleman tells you he is “your servant,” that does not mean you are allowed to tell him to go mop the floors
.

CHAPTER TEN

S
he didn’t have to wonder anymore just how handsome he was. She knew; he was entirely and thoroughly handsome, from his desire-darkened eyes to his full mouth to his broad chest and then . . . well, she had to admit, even his manly appendage was handsome.

It tasted musky and throbbed in her mouth, and he was alternately moaning and uttering incoherent noises, so she knew he must have been enjoying it. Because she couldn’t see him allowing himself not to speak properly otherwise.

After a few minutes of licking and sucking, she withdrew her mouth but kept her hand on him, drawing her palm up and down the shaft. He was large; to be expected, since he was large everywhere else, too, and he was iron-hard in her hand, but the skin was soft.

She wished she could comment on the discrepancy of soft and hard, but she didn’t think this was the time. For once, it appeared, she knew when to keep silent.

And then she wanted to let him know that she, Annabelle, had actually refrained from saying something on her mind because it wouldn’t be appropriate. At that time, at least. Perhaps later she could tell him of her observations.

She glanced up at him and he was watching her, watching her move her hand with a sensual look on his face, his chest heaving as his breaths broke loud and gasping in the room.

Good. He was coming undone, and that was just how she wanted him.

She spotted the feather duster on the floor and stifled the grin that threatened to appear on her face. She also knew that grinning at such a point might make him question if she was amused by all of this, and she did not want to lessen the hardness in any way.

Still keeping a hand on him, she slid off the bed, then snatched the duster with one hand and returned to what she was doing, barely missing a stroke.

His eyes were wider now. “What are you planning to do?”

Annabelle did allow herself to grin then, and she ran the duster from the top of his chest down to his cock, flicking the feathers as she went.

He moaned and thrashed, but didn’t protest.

“A good housekeeper should always keep everything clean,” she said, in as proper a voice she could manage. Given that she had a Scottish earl’s cock in her hand, it wasn’t very proper at all.

“Of course,” he replied, his own tone amused.

She trailed the duster on his strong, muscular thighs, down his legs, and onto his feet. Goodness, even his feet were handsome! Then she drew it back up, making that same feather-flicking motion as her other hand rhythmically stroked his cock.

He groaned, and she glanced at him. Now his eyes were shut, his head was back, and the muscles of his abdomen were standing out as he flexed.

She tossed the feather duster aside and wrapped her other hand around the base of his cock, her fingers sliding over his tight balls as she continued to stroke, now with a firmer grip, now a bit faster.

“Oh, lass, this feels—oh, god,” he said, then shouted as he came, his release spurting all over her hand and his torso and his legs.

She smiled and slowly released her hold on him, then moved to lie next to him on the bed, her hand on his chest, which heaved, her face buried into his neck.

“That was . . . ” It sounded as though he was having a hard time speaking. “That was amazing.”

“It was an excellent beginning to our explorations,” Annabelle replied.

And she couldn’t wait to explore some more. Even as she pushed away the thought that she might never wish to stop exploring him. And they had less than a month.

W
ell. That was amazing. As he’d said already. Wonderful. Tremendous. And many other adjectives Matthew didn’t think he had ever thought about anything before.

Another new experience to add to his list of things he’d felt since arriving in London. More specifically, since meeting her.

“I didn’t . . . that is, there is something I could do for you?” He hated how he didn’t know, but that was what a virgin was, wasn’t it, someone who hadn’t done something?

He damned well wanted to find out, though.