Page 144 of The Lord Meets His Lady

“All the better to please you, milord.”

Straining, his hips pumped air. “Stroke me.”

“You mean here?” She fisted his shaft.

His thighs mashed into the table. Water splashed over the basin. She rubbed him fast. The snicks got louder. Strands of brown hair fell around his face. His body bucked hard. The pitcher went flying. The pewter vessel crashed, its jangling an explosion of sound.

Satisfaction was coming.

She was lost in the pleasure. In the giving. Mindless. Forgetful. Sating his need as one might slake a parched throat after days of no water. Until their stares connected in the glass. He watched her.

Savage craving burned in the depths. He could be sayingThis is who we are.

No other woman could reach his lonely, sensual depths. Not like her. A pang pierced her chest. This moment needed to last, something to savor for lonely nights ahead. Her caresses slowed, featherlight and tender. There was no need to rush this.

Heat flared from her husband’s eyes. Teeth bared, he growled, “Stop teasing me.”

Now who was the wolf?

She smiled at the glaring beast, catching her reflection over his shoulder. Damp tendrils stuck to her forehead. Her brown eyes were wide open, fearless. Gone was the young woman she knew, replaced by a wiser creature.

The hand holding his shirt and waistcoat let go. Smoldering hazel eyes stayed half hidden behind his lashes. He’d trust her a little longer to lead him along pleasure’s path. Her mouth opened against his shoulder. She tasted him through the shirt linen, and wrapping both hands around his cock, she stroked him. Firm and fast.

Lines fanned the corners of his eyes.

The snicking quickened.

His fingertips turned white pressing the wall.

A cry vibrated from his body to hers. Tendons in his neck strained. Her breath sputtered. Grinding against Marcus, fevered need spiraled. Passion. Sex. Love. All the parts that held her together threatened to come apart. One desperate press of her mons. One gentle slide around his cock’s tip, and he bucked. Hard. The basin rattled.

“Gahhh!” he roared and his seed shot across the table.

She milked him, and Marcus grasped the basin, a final quaver racking his body. Breath heaving, his head hung low. She kissed his arm and let go. It was time.

Cool air wafted around her as if she were bare as a newborn babe. Touching him did that, gave her new air to breathe. He stripped away her past, leaving her as no more than a woman alone with a man. No indenture. No struggles. No seedy Golden Goose.

Just life.

Crouching down, she collected the pitcher and stray linens. She wiped her hands with a cloth, needing to collect herself from the powerful emotions swamping her. Bed ropes squeaked behind her. A body fell hard on the mattress—the man she’d hold for a short time before seeing him leave for another.

“Genevieve.” His voice was hoarse and endearing.

Balling up the linen, she turned to face him.

Brown breeches slumped to his knees. A red mark slashed his thighs where he’d rammed the table. Marcus raised his head one lazy second before letting it drop back on the counterpane.

“You’ve drained me.” Panting, he held up both hands. “I couldn’t rub the salve on my hands if I tried.”

“Men,” she smirked and plucked the upended jar from the table. “A little sex, and you’re all worn out.”

“Pleasantly so.” He chuckled, his voice a sated rumble.

As she planted her hip on the mattress, papers crunched underneath. “What I wanted to say earlier was as long as our sham of a marriage lasts, our vows will be honored,” she said firmly. “That means I need you to be in ahurryto tell a woman you’re a married man.”

“Agreed.” His hand sought hers.

She scooted closer, her breath catching when he kissed her wrist. His mouth lingered on the delicate underside, gently nibbling and sucking.

“I prefer this latest use of your healing ointment,” he murmured against her skin.

He didn’t act like a man about to sever their tie.

Until…

“There’s something you need to know.”