Page 26 of His Scandalous Viscountess
He licked and lapped as he continued to drive his fingers inside her, until her knees gave out and she sagged onto his face. She whimpered at the added pressure to her sensitive tissues while sparks of ecstasy shot through her. As long moments stretched out she reeled from his sensual assault. Finally, with his support, she found her legs as she reveled in the deep pleasure of the climax he’d wrung from her.
He stood up and eased her onto the bed. All the while he stroked and petted her, until she had fully returned to the moment.
He nibbled on her ear as he spooned her, and then whispered, “I need you. I need to fuck you hard. And I don’t think I can be gentle.”
She tilted her head back toward him, catching his expression from the corner of her eye. “I do not recall asking you to be.”
With a growl, he rolled her back onto her stomach and urged her onto her hands and knees. Moving with an economy of motion she could not credit, he donned a French Letter. Then he lined his cock up with her cunny and drove into her in a hard and fast move that had stars dancing before her eyes. Her swollen sex felt stretched, and so full of him. Then he drew out, dragging his shaft along all that sensitive flesh, and shivers broke out over her body.
“Do it again.”
And he did. He slammed into her hard, and then drew back in the most sensuous slide, that sent her desire spiking once more. He started fucking her, pounding into her from behind, with a pace that made her head spin and her heart beat like a moth’s wings. His balls slapped against her thighs as he shuttled in and out. His need was escalating quickly with each pump of his hips, as was hers. She could feel the frantic quality of his thrusting, and yet he’d not exploded.
“Reach between your thighs and rub your clit. Make yourself come for me.”
His command answered the question that had popped into her head only a moment before. And so, she did as he instructed. She reached down and stroked over the extended nub. As he continued to fill her over and over, she worked her clit until her orgasm slammed into her like a runaway train. She screamed his name as she pushed backward into his thrusts. Two strokes later, while she swiftly dropped from her high, he stiffened up behind her.
“Yes! Jules, yes!”
The warm heat from his seed seeped into her through the barrier of the French Letter as he continued sliding in and out with much less aggression. With each plunge, his hips slowed until he sank inside her and draped himself over her back.
She reveled in the heat of him, his weight, and the feel of all those muscles wrapped around her. A sense of contentment she had not felt in many years settled over her. She refused to examine it too closely, because she knew she could not afford to feel anything for Wolf.
They had no future, because she refused to be tethered to any man again. Not to mention trusting anyone was nearly impossible. She was the only person she could rely on.
Chapter 11
Julia and her sister had decided to take some air. It was early spring, and a particularly warm day, which was why half of London had decided to do the very same thing. Strolling along Rotten Row was a necessary evil—the only upside of which was that one was not expected to stop and chat. Much. People spent the majority of their time smiling and nodding, and both she and Ros excelled at this mundane interaction.
“Are we almost to the turn off?” Ros asked through her teeth, as they strolled arm in arm.
Julia continued to smile and nod. “It’s just ahead.”
They walked for a few more moments, and then came to a fork in the path where they could depart the more crowded route. As they left the notable set behind, they relaxed their sore cheeks and stretched their tight necks.
“Oh, at last!” Ros let go of her sister and reached up to rub her neck. “I couldn’t take much more of Society. Truly, I do not know how you stand it.”
Julia rolled her shoulders and offered her sister a genuine smile. “I’ll tell you, it has been much easier this time around. As a woman steeped in scandal—not to mention being a widow—I have far more leeway than during my come-out. There is no question you made the right choice when you ran off with Archie and got married.”
She darted a quick glance at Ros, instantly regretting her absentminded reference to her sister’s dead husband. Ros’ emerald green eyes—exactly like her own—dimmed a bit as the ever-present sadness that haunted her returned.
Julia grabbed her arm. “Oh, please forgive me! I know how much you miss him, still.”
“It has been five years, but yes, I do miss Archie. Though I have begun to suspect I miss being married more.”
At that, Ros blushed—fetchingly.
Julia was not above admitting that her sister’s less violent coloring allowed her to do things like blush and weep without turning a virulent shade of magenta. She, on the other hand, avoided both blushing and weeping with a vengeance. With her bright red hair, she had long ago learned that it did not make for an attractive appearance when emotional. Fortunately, in the last ten years, she’d had little to cry about. Blushing, however, still sometimes proved problematic.
“Oh, ho! And what part of being married is it you miss most?”
Julia could not think of a single aspect of marriage she had enjoyed. But then, that had likely had more to do with the man she had been wed to, and less about the state itself.
Ros narrowed her gaze. “Well, of course I miss the intimate activities.” She rolled her eyes. “But truly, I miss having someone to share the day with. To share my life. Archie would come home at the end of the day, sweaty and tired, and I loved taking care of him, hearing about his day, seeing the stress slide from his face as we talked and touched.” Ros fell silent, as though reflecting.
Julia sighed softly. If her marriage had been more like that, she might not abhor the notion of it so greatly. Her experience had beenfardifferent. She shuddered with the errant memory.
“You make it sound so lovely.”
