When It's Perfect (27 page)

He probed her mouth, lingered there, his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs pressed against the top of her breasts. She arched into him, wrapping her arms around his waist, feeling his hardness against her hips, joyous that he found her so arousing, so quickly.

In seconds he’d ignited the fire within her and her heart raced as she felt the heat of desire between her legs, the sudden, desperate need to welcome him there.

As if sensing the increasing hunger from her, he began to work the fasteners at her back. Mary dropped her arms from around his neck and twisted them behind her to help him. Her efforts were wasted, however, and within seconds, he pulled his mouth away from hers.

“Turn around,” he said, his voice strained.

She did as he ordered, and he worked through each clasp easily enough, though seconds of waiting seemed to take hours.

Mary had yet to open her eyes, and as she felt the rush of air on her back, her stays opening to expose her, she clutched it to her breasts.

“Marcus, the light is on,” she whispered.

He stuck his hands beneath the corset, skimming her waist as he pulled her against his chest, his face finding the crook of her neck and kissing it with soft pecks of his warm lips.

“I want it on. I want to see everything this time. No barriers to any curve, any look.”

She groaned in semi-disapproval, but quickly forgot that as his palms brushed her ribs, her belly, one making its way up, one lowering to a shameless level at her hips.

She squirmed against his hands. “Marcus…”

Mary didn’t know if he heard her, could hardly breathe, and yet her heart raced with every fast exhalation.

“I want to see you,” he whispered in her ear.

She gave in. Leaning against him completely, she loosened her hands and released her grasp of satin and lace that hid her from his view.

His hand moved upward as the corset dropped to the floor, and gently he covered one breast with his broad, warm palm.

She moaned and leaned her head back against his shoulder.

“Tell me what you like,” he murmured, his lips at her ear, then kissing her behind it.

“I like everything you do,” she whispered.

He ran the tip of his tongue down her neck and she shivered.

She still wore her stockings, but her bottom rubbed up perfectly against his erection, and he seemed to like it when she pressed herself against it. She couldn’t see his face, but she could hear every sharp breath he took, feel the tenseness in his arms as they embraced her.

Eyes still closed, Mary relished the feel of his hands on her, one at her breast, stroking her aroused nipple, the other at her hip, not moving, but clinging to her, holding her pressed into him.

At last he moved to turn her, and within seconds, he had her facing him again, her exposed breasts against his chest, his mouth on hers once more as he kissed her relentlessly.

She’d loosely bound her hair, but he quickly pulled at pins and ribbon so that it flowed through his fingers and drifted down her back.

In some far-off point in the recesses of her mind, Mary wondered at his skill in such a very feminine practice, but within seconds he cupped her breasts with his palms, and all reasoning eluded her.

She heard him whisper her name against her mouth as he continued his wondrous assault of his lips to hers. He ran his thumbs across her nipples expertly, and she squirmed, her legs suddenly unable to support her as they liquefied and she melted into him.

He began to guide her toward the small bed, and as she felt the edge with the backs of her knees, she lowered herself. He followed, one hand still at her breast, the other splayed across her spine for support.

As if charged with heat, her body quickened. Her heart raced, her breath came as fast and harshly as his, with each kiss, each brush of fingers, each small sound of satisfaction.

With one hand he supported his weight as he lowered himself beside her; with the other he swiftly unfastened the buttons on his shirt. In only seconds he’d removed the top half of his clothing, baring his tanned and muscled chest for her view, to her touch. She didn’t disappoint his obvious need for her to explore.

She sighed audibly as she placed her palms on his shoulders, then moved them downward slowly until her fingers drifted through fine, soft hair. He groaned as well, thoroughly exciting her deeply within,

picking up the tempo of his kiss, his tongue in her mouth, teasing the inside of her lips then plunging deeply.

Good intentions vanished; the outside world ceased to exist—for both of them. Mary let rationality disappear as pleasure engulfed her in its raw form. She lifted her hips into his, feeling his need for her, squirming to reach it as she felt him pull back.

“Marcus—”

“You can’t keep touching me like that, Mary,” he said breathlessly.

“I’ll lose control too soon.”

Those simple words from him left her intensely gratified. Her hands to his chest, she sought his lips again, but he instead lowered his head to take her breast in his mouth.

She arched against him from the contact, but he was ready for her. In seconds he reached down and unfastened his pants while he flicked her nipple with his tongue.

Through her panting, she heard the rustling of his clothes as he pushed them from his body. She raked her fingers through his hair, relishing in his delicious torment, his tongue expertly flicking one rigid nipple, his hand stroking the other.

She whimpered beneath him, wanting more, needing to feel him as she did last night. To see his beautiful form take her from above.

His hand cupped her between her legs. She let out a soft cry of surprise, of tentative resistance, until he pressed his fingers through her folds to feel her heat, the intensity of her desire.

“God, Mary,” he whispered, his face at her breasts, rubbing his cheek back and forth across her nipples as he began to gently explore her cleft.

“It feels—” She swallowed, unable to finish, to think, clenching her teeth, then gasping as his fingers found the center of her pleasure and began to slowly, deliberately stroke her intimately. “Please…”

“You’re wet for me,” he whispered, tone husky, thick with near-reverence. “You can’t know what this does to me.”

Emotion she couldn’t begin to describe pulsed through her. Seconds later he took her nipple in his mouth again, lightly sucking as he found an easy rhythm to match that of his fingers.

Mary braced herself for the surge of pleasure to come. She knew it would, had felt it before. For the first time she wanted it from Marcus, with Marcus.

She raised her hips, begging for more. He complied, never letting it end, stroking her, flicking her nipple. She felt the tip of his erection—so hard, so hot—at her thigh, urging her toward blissful surrender.

“Marcus…” she pleaded. “Please—I’m going to—”

“Come for me, Mary…” he whispered. “I want to watch you.”

At any other moment in her life she would have been mortified by such language, but not here. Not with Marcus. Sanity had escaped her and now she only wanted release from his measured, perfect torment.

“Please—”

He took her higher, concentrating on every sensitive point on her body, never yielding. Suddenly she felt herself rising to the edge.

She whimpered, panted, and clutched his head with her hands.

He sensed her closeness, fingers stroking, tongue flicking. Then he raised himself up and gazed into her eyes.

“Mary…”

She stared at him, intensely focused, until it happened.

Suddenly she felt the marvelous burst within. Body shaking, hips jerking, she moaned his name and squeezed her eyes shut to the exquisite pleasure as it engulfed her in lucid waves.

Before she’d relaxed, before she realized how far he’d taken her, he shifted his body so that he centered himself on top of her, between her legs. She clutched him, eyes still squeezed shut, breathing erratically, wrapping her arms around his neck to hold him close.

He groaned just as she felt him begin to slide into her. She tensed from a sudden discomfort and he paused until she eased a bit. He felt heavy above her, slick with perspiration, hot with need. Instinctively, she began kissing his jaw, running her lips across his cheek, to his ear, his temple.

In seconds he’d filled her completely, deeply, and she drew a shaky breath as she folded her legs over his, pulling him close. He stayed still for a moment or two, threading his hands in her hair, thumbs rubbing her temples, his lips brushing hers in a tenderness she couldn’t begin to fully grasp. It felt so real to her, so marvelous, to feel him all the way inside of her.

“I want this memory to last forever,” she whispered in his ear, her arms tight around his back.

With his face in her neck, in a breathless whisper, he said something she couldn’t hear, couldn’t understand, and then he gently began to glide in and out of her.

It didn’t take him long to build his passion. Mary clung to him, holding him tightly as he focused on himself this time, finding pleasure with her, from being inside of her.

I will never forget this moment, my darling Marcus…

His body grew rigid, his breathing fast and shaky. Suddenly he raised himself on both hands, and she clung to his muscled chest, watching him closely.

He paused again for a second, his face tight, eyes squeezed shut, the tip of him resting at her cleft.

“Mary…”

And then he groaned a final time as he plunged deeply into her once, then pulled himself out, thrusting his hips forward as he spilled himself into the hair between her legs, rubbing the crease at her thigh through each pulsating wave of pleasure he found in her.

Mary pulled him down on top of her again, clinging to him, her nose in his hair, inhaling the scent of him, of them together. He shuddered against her, still tense, breathing harshly until at last he began to relax.

Smiling, she held him, her mind closed to all but this room in the cottage, this hour together, content in the silence.

« ^ »

Baybridge House

8 March 1855

…Miss Marsh finally confided a bit of interesting information
to me. After a little coaxing she revealed that she feels horribly
guilty for something she did to her sister and brother-in-law. She
hasn’t given me details, but I intend to discover them. I can’t
imagine her doing anything bad, but she asked me never to tell
Mother. Of course I never would. Miss Marsh would be sent
packing immediately, regardless of what it is, if Mother had even
the slightest notion of scandal…

M
ary kept her eyes closed to the feel of the soft coverlet against her

naked body. Marcus lay beside her, touching her, leg to chest, his breathing slow and even, and she imagined he probably dozed.

It made her smile. It had been ages since she’d felt so content, so at peace with herself and her surroundings. As if she belonged here, in Cornwall, in his arms.

Her lids fluttered open at the thought, and she gazed to the darkened beams on the cottage ceiling, her skin cooling as her mood tempered with the notion of the world beyond these four walls.

Life at Baybridge House. So removed from this moment, and still so close and uncertain. She wouldn’t be staying here much longer. She couldn’t. Her father would need her; Mimi would want to see her, hug her, and tell her how wonderful her marriage had been these last few months. Perhaps, Mary wondered with a sigh, she’d been away long enough not only to receive forgiveness for the pain she’d caused her family, but to forgive herself. It’s what she’d wanted more than anything from the time she’d spent in St. Austell. But most troubling, the most difficult consideration of all, was knowing that if she stayed much longer, she would, without question, fall in love with the Earl of Renn.

That would be the second biggest mistake of her life, and at nearly thirty, she was far too old to make mistakes of the heart.

She shivered, unwittingly stroking his back with featherlight fingertips, as if the feel of him at her breast were perfectly natural to her, something to enjoy, perhaps for the last time, as this would likely be.

Suddenly he pulled up a bit, one hand still on her breast as if he simply loved the feel of it.

“Are you cold?” he asked, his voice resonating that particular mixture of sleepiness and sexual satisfaction.

Her lips curved up into a slight smile. “A little.”

He turned and pulled the coverlet down from the pillows, then shifted his body so that he moved in between the sheets, pulling her along with him. Mary followed his lead, noting how he never let go of her as he twisted himself until they’d angled in properly and he’d given them both room beneath the covers.

As they settled between the sheets and blankets, she closed her eyes again, a bit unsure of his mood, and not particularly wanting to look at him, though she felt certain he watched her. For a few long moments he said nothing, though he did raise one hand and lightly begin to caress the hairline at her temple.

“Tell me something, Mary?” he asked in a low murmur.

She moved her face against his touch. “Hmm…”

“Who took your virginity?”

Her eyelids fluttered open, but she didn’t speak immediately. When he refused to back away, or back down in his determination, she whispered, “Does it really matter?”

For long moments, he didn’t respond, just gazed into her eyes with a burning desire to know everything within her, to reach for all of her. It made her want to cry.

“Only,” he answered at last, very quietly, “if you want to tell me.”

Tears filled her eyes, and when he noticed it, concern lit his brow.

“You’re a good man, Marcus,” she murmured, placing the pad of her thumb on his cheek.

He didn’t settle for that. “Is it that you don’t trust me? Or is there a past relationship you don’t want to relive or tell me about?”

She tried to smile as he brushed one lone tear from her lashes. “I do trust you. More than you know. I just—I can’t talk about it yet.” After a pause, she added softly, “Is it important?”