When Good Earls Go Bad: A Victorian Valentine's Day Novella (11 page)

He laughed, and that sound, so rare in their acquaintance, made her heart beat a little faster and made her want to hear it some more.

Hopefully, however, he wouldn’t laugh when he ate dinner, because then it would likely be in a bad way, and she was hoping to feed him enough so he’d have energy for later on.

For later on when she loved him. Literally, as well as figuratively.

“I just know how to,” he said with a shrug. He took the matches from beside the stove and lit it, just as he’d said he could.

“And the pan? Did you find one?” He glanced at the wall, where a few pans hung from hooks.

“A pan! Of course!” Annabelle scrambled onto the counter, then lifted one of the pans off the wall and hopped down, holding it out to him.

“So, if I’m not mistaken, we put the chops into the pan, put them over the heat, and cooking occurs.” His voice was amused, and she was relieved he wasn’t irritated at her inability to cook.

Then again, she’d told him she wasn’t a cook, so he couldn’t have been expecting much. She knew it was likely to be a disaster, but she’d wanted to do something for him, something that was here in the house they were sharing—albeit for only a short period of time—something that was lovely and companionable and very domestic.

While the chops sputtered in the pan, he chopped the vegetables and directed her as to how to open the wine bottle and set the table. And every so often they’d bump into one another and she’d glance at him, and something in his gaze would make her breath catch and think about later, after dinner, and what she had gotten from Caroline.

“Dinner’s ready,” he said after about fifteen minutes of pan-sputtering and glance-sharing and wine-opening.

The chops were good and the wine was better, and soon Annabelle didn’t feel foolish about any of it, especially when he looked so satisfied, but also hungry, and this time for her.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she said in a low voice.

“Like what?” he took a sip of wine and then licked his lips, and Annabelle knew the exact same look of desire was on her face.

“Like I am dessert.”

He raised one eyebrow. “I hadn’t thought of that, but now that you mention it, perhaps we could move straight to dessert?” And he stood and held his hand out to her, and she rose and took it, then let him guide her up the stairs, through the hallway, up the stairs again, and down the hallway to his room.

To his bed.

A Belle’s Guide to Household Management

Mopping the floor with someone is quite different from just mopping the floor
.

CHAPTER TWELVE

N
ow that it was finally about to happen, Matthew felt nervous. Nervous he wouldn’t please her, nervous it wouldn’t live up to his expectations.

Nervous that he’d never want to do this with anyone but her, ever again.

“It feels odd, having come up here just for this purpose,” she said as she faced him, beginning to untie his cravat. Her eyes were focused on what she was doing. Until she paused and looked up at him, her expression so direct it made him shiver.

“That is, I suppose I should be coy and pretend I don’t want this, but I don’t pretend—I can’t; and we only have a little more time before you return to Scotland, and I want to do this as often as we can, and I already miss you.” She looked back down and finished the cravat removal, tossing it onto the floor.

He swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I suppose I miss you already, too,” he said stiffly, wishing he could be as guileless as she was. Not that he lied, but he had difficulty expressing emotions.

Likely because usually he didn’t have any, beyond annoyance that he had to explain something that seemed perfectly clear.

But with her, he had many more emotions: he felt joy and happiness and warmth and desire and satisfaction.

He felt what it was like to be human.

Is this what it all felt like? That thing he’d never expected to have?

It seemed she understood what he meant, because she didn’t pull away or react as though he hadn’t just opened his heart to her. Because he had, oh he had, as much as he was able to.

That was item number six, wasn’t it?

“Then I suppose we should agree that this is what we are here to do, and you should kiss me. Now,” she added, as though either one of them would delay it.

He had never followed orders before—item number seven; at this rate he might have to move on to count numbers on his toes—but he did now, lowering his head to hers as he slid his hands around her waist, pulling her to him so their bodies pressed together.

His cock was already erect, and when it made contact with her stomach she made a soft moan in her throat that told him she liked what she felt.

And he did as well. Except there were far too many layers of clothing between them.

His fingers moved to the back of her gown and began to undo the buttons, still kissing her deeply, sliding his tongue inside her mouth, sucking on her tongue, coaxing more of those low growls from her throat.

Meanwhile, he’d gotten enough of the buttons done so he could slide his hand onto her back, now covered in one less layer of fabric. He slid his fingers lower, onto her arse, and squeezed, which pressed more of him into her.

She broke the kiss, gasping, a look of impatience on her face. “We need to remove our clothing because I will expire if I cannot feel you, all of you, on all of me.”

He very much appreciated how direct and honest she was at this moment.

Both of them began to undo buttons and slide fabric off shoulders and hips, and flung clothing onto the floor as though nothing else mattered but the speed of the task.

Which, judging by how he felt, and how he presumed she felt, was the truth.

She took longer than he did, of course, so he got onto the bed and watched her.

She glanced at him from under her lashes, a knowing, sensual smile on her mouth. “Touch yourself,” she said, her motions slowing as she slid her undergarment off her shoulder, revealing one breast.

“Touch my—”

She licked her lips. “Yes, touch your cock. Stroke it how you want me to stroke it.”

His breath caught at hearing her say the word, a word he’d never heard anyone say before, much less a woman. A lady, even, despite her not having a title. She was elegant and kind and funny and lovely and generous and honest. That was a lady.

Matthew reached around himself and began to stroke up and down his shaft, still watching her. And she was watching him, still undressing, but slower, as though putting on a show.

She was bared to the waist now, and as he kept sliding his hand up and down himself, she pushed the fabric down her legs and onto the floor, leaving her entirely naked.

And not on the bed with him.

“Get up here.” He barely recognized his voice, it was so low and raspy.

She crawled onto the bed on her hands and knees, her gorgeous, full breasts swaying, her gaze locked on his face.

“Now what do you want?” she asked in a whisper. “Do you want me to touch you? Do you want me to lick you? Or maybe I could find my feather duster and show you how very much not a housekeeper I am?”

“Yes,” he said in a groan, reaching for her, claiming her mouth in a ruthless, savage kiss.

She held onto his shoulders and pushed him back onto the bed so she lay on top of him, his cock nestled between her thighs, her breasts pressing into his chest.

It was too much, and yet it wasn’t enough.

He ran his hands down her back and onto the soft curves of her arse, then back up again, loving how she was touching him as well, her hands caressing his neck, his shoulders, sliding down his arms and then grasping his arse, squeezing it. She was moving her body slightly atop his, her breasts rubbing against his chest, her mound against his erection.

He wanted to devour her, he wanted to know what it felt like to be inside her, to bring her to climax as she’d done him the previous night.

Suddenly she sat up, still straddling him, a frown on her face.

No. What?
Had he done something wrong?

“I need to get something,” she said, hopping off the bed. She gestured to him. “You can keep all that going, I’ll be right back.”

It didn’t seem as though he’d done anything wrong, judging by her face. And she had given him a direction he was more than pleased to comply with, so he grasped himself in his right hand and began to stroke the shaft, closing his eyes, imagining it was her hand on him.

Within about a minute she’d returned, holding something, which she held out to him. “This is for you. So that when we . . . when . . . ” she said, her eyes alight with desire and want and perhaps something else?

“Ah.” He knew what it was, of course. He just hadn’t used one before, and wasn’t entirely sure what to do. It appeared simple enough, however, so he took it and began to roll it down over his cock.

“Let me help,” she said, getting back onto the bed and guiding the material down over him until it was at the very bottom.

Then she lay down next to him on her side and her hand began to stroke and play with the hair on his chest, her palms pressed flat against the muscles, her leg flung over his.

And then she reached lower and tugged on him. “I want you inside me,” she said in a soft voice so low it was hard to hear.

“We agree then,” he said in return, liking how she chuckled, even as she grabbed his arse and pulled, to indicate he should lay on top of her.

He got onto his knees and gazed down at her, at her body, her face, which had an intense expression as she met his eyes. “Now, Matthew,” she said, taking his penis in her hand and guiding him toward her body.

He entered her, just a bit, and it felt so incredible already he had a brief moment of worry he would spend right there. Or die of excitement before getting completely inside.

But she hooked her legs around him and pushed him in farther and farther, until he was buried inside her, his face against her neck, her breathing rough and ragged against his ear.

“You can move, if you want,” she said, an amused tone in her voice.

He wasn’t certain he could.

She shifted her hips and pulled him against her, then let go so he was released just a bit, at which point he realized that if he didn’t move, he would die.

And he did not wish to die, not right now, not until he’d finished.

So he raised himself up on his arms and hovered above her, his eyes focused on her face, moving slowly, the sound of their breathing the only sound in the room.

“Faster,” she said, grabbing his hips and guiding him in and out.

It had felt incredible before, but now it felt even more incredible. Matthew didn’t think there was even a word for how good it felt to have his cock sliding in and out of her, her hands on his body, her breasts jiggling as their bodies moved together.

It went on for a lifetime, or at least five minutes, and then he felt a gathering pressure, an intensity, and he then he exploded, the orgasm overwhelming his entire body as he pushed, hard, into her, collapsing on top of her as the ripples of pleasure rushed through him.

When he could speak, perhaps a lifetime (or five minutes) later, he lifted his head and met her gaze. “That was incredible.”

She returned his smile. “It was, wasn’t it?”

“But you didn’t—” he began, not quite sure how to broach the subject.

She shook her head. “No, but I did enjoy myself. It is much rarer for ladies to achieve all that during, hasn’t that been your experience?”

“This is my first time,” he replied.

Her eyes widened and she tried to sit up, only he was still lying on top of her, so instead she merely squirmed.

“Your first? That is, me?” Her words came out in a startled squeak.

“Mm-hm.”

“But you’re a man!” she exclaimed.

He laughed and said, “It’s good you noticed that, otherwise I would have to think I was terrible. Being a man doesn’t guarantee anything.”

“And an earl!” she added, still not seeming to comprehend what he’d told her.

“A Scottish earl, don’t forget,” he said with a chuckle. “And now that we’ve established who I am, let us move on to you.” He slid out of her and returned to his knees, taking the condom off and leaning down to grab his cravat from the floor. He wrapped it up in the fabric and dropped it to the ground.

“You are lovely,” he spoke in a low voice, putting his fingers on her shins and sliding them up her legs. He bent his head down and kissed first one foot, then the other. Then moved to her ankles. “And absolutely intriguing,” he continued, moving up to her knees, kissing both in turn, “and curious,” at which point he ran his hands up to her breasts and grasped them, rubbing his fingers over her erect nipples, “and delicious,” he said, before lowering his mouth to her sex and licking and kissing her there as he had her mouth.

She let out a gasp and buried her fingers in his hair, holding him to her, her soft cries letting him know what she liked. He licked her, burrowed his tongue inside her, reveled in the taste of her, how her moans were coming faster and faster, nearly in time with his licking.

He drew the little button at the apex of her sex into his mouth and sucked on it, causing her to cry out, then released it to lick her thoroughly, keeping the rhythm consistent as she had with her hand on his cock.

It seemed that was working, because she began to utter one long, continuous moan until she spasmed and screamed his name, her legs twisting all around him, his mouth on her until her body subsided.

“Oh my goodness,” she said at last in one breathy sigh. “That was incredible.”

He grinned, feeling quite proud of himself, then raised up and returned to lie next to her, gathering her in his arms and kissing her forehead, her head, touching her body with light, idle strokes.

“If you . . . if this was your first time, then how did you know?” her hand twirled in the air to fill in her missing words.

“Study. You wouldn’t cook a recipe without consulting a book, would you?” He paused. “Then again, you would.”