Ask for It (Georgian 1)

“You shared this with Hawthorne, but you won’t with me? Why?” His voice was rough and abrasive. “Why not me?”

Her reply was shaky, betraying the depth of her distress. “My husband never saw me like this.”

The wicked finger stilled, just barely entering her. “What?”

“Such things are done at night. One must—”

“Hawthorne made love to you in the darkness?”

“He was a gentleman, one who—”

“Was certifiable. Good God.” Marcus snorted and removed his finger. He stood. “To have you for his own, to fuck as he wished, and not appreciate your beauty? What a waste. The man was an idiot.”

Elizabeth lowered her head. “Our marriage was no different from any other.”

“It was completely different than it would have been with me. How often?”

“How often?” she repeated dumbly.

“How often did he take you? Every night? Every few days?”

“What does it matter?”

His nostrils flared on a deep breath, his frame taut beside her. Running an agitated hand through his hair, he was silent for a moment.

“Release me, Marcus, and forget this.” Her shame was complete, there was no more he could do to her.

Hard fingers lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “I’m going to touch you everywhere. With my hands, my mouth. In the light of day and long into the night. I’ll take you in whatever manner I choose, wherever I choose. I will know you as no one else in your life has known you.”

“Why?” She struggled again, completely at his mercy and unbearably aroused. Spread for him, she felt the emptiness inside her and hated how badly she needed him to fill it.

“Because I can. Because after today you will crave me and the pleasure I can give you. Because you’ll trust me, damn you.” He growled low in his throat. “All these years, married to him and then mourning him, when you could have been mine.”

Dropping to his knees, he held her hips and dropped his head. Elizabeth held her breath as he closed his mouth full upon her breast, soaking through the fabric of her shirt and chemise. Startled at first, she was soon moaning and arching her back in silent encouragement. Sharp pangs of sensation radiated outward, moving in rhythm with his suction, her womb contracting in spasms of need.

Marcus’s warm fingertips stroked from her waist to the ebony curls below. Painful tension seared her senses and Elizabeth gasped in surprise.

“I will touch you here,” he warned. “With my fingers, my tongue, my cock.”

She bit her bottom lip, eyes wide.

“You will enjoy it,” he promised, his thumb tugging her lip free from her teeth.

“You want to treat me like a whore. That is your revenge.”

His smile was devoid of humor. “I want to give you pleasure, I want to hear you beg me for it. Why should you be deprived?”

Marcus stood and freed the placket of his breeches. Reaching inside, he withdrew his cock, and a heretofore unknown level of wanting had her writhing in the chair. He was long and thick, the head broad and dark with the blood that engorged it. He jerked his hand along the length and creamy moisture leaked from the tip.

“See what the sight of you does to me, Elizabeth? How much power you wield? You are tied and helpless, yet it is I who is at your mercy.”

Swallowing hard, her gaze was riveted to his display.

“Trust, Elizabeth. You must trust me, in all ways.”

She looked up and ached at the sight of him. So beautiful, and yet harsh and rugged as only a man could be. “Is this about your mission?”

“This is about us. You and me.” He stepped closer, and then closer still. “Open your mouth.”

“What?” Her lungs seized.

“Take me in your mouth.”

“No . . .” She recoiled.

“Where is the minx who said she was not one to run from the sight of a man’s desire?” Marcus widened his stance until his powerful thighs bracketed the side of the chair and the glistening head of his cock rested directly before and slightly below her mouth.

“This is trust,” he whispered. “Think how you can hurt me, how vulnerable I am. You can bite me, love, and unman me. Or you can suckle me and bring me to my knees with pleasure. I ask this of you, knowing the risk, because I trust you. Just as I expect you to trust me.”

Elizabeth stared at him, fascinated by the abrupt change in the balance between them. She met his eyes again and saw the longing there, the need. For now there was no bitterness. He looked so much as he had before, when they’d been promised to one another and free of past injuries. He was so breathtakingly handsome, appearing younger without the burden of his enmity.

It was that openness that decided her mind. Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth followed the urging of her heart and opened her mouth.

Chapter 6

Marcus stood in an agony of lust as Elizabeth’s lips parted and she leaned forward to take him into her mouth. As she scalded him with wet heat, his breath hissed out between his teeth. His knees buckled and he gripped the high back of the chair with his free hand to remain upright.

She pulled away with wide-eyed horror. “Did I hurt you?”

Incapable of speech, he shook his head rapidly. She swallowed hard and his cock leapt in his hand. Licking her lower lip, she opened her mouth and tried again, this time engulfing the whole of the crown.

“Suck,” he gasped, his head falling so that he hovered over her, watching as her cheeks hollowed and she tugged with soft suction. His legs trembled and he groaned a low, tortured sound.

Encouraged, she took him deeper, her tongue swirling in tentative exploration. Her mouth was stretched wide to accommodate his girth and the sight was enough to wipe his brain of any rational thought.

“I’m going to move,” he bit out. “Don’t be frightened.” His hips began to thrust forward, fucking her mouth with gentle, shallow strokes. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t pull away or protest, instead she responded with less and less hesitation.

Watching her, Marcus was certain he’d passed on to his reward and been given the realization of his deepest longing. He was afraid to believe it was Elizabeth who serviced him so well.

“God, Elizabeth . . .”

Releasing his cock, he dropped his hand between her legs and caressed her through the open folds of her sex. She moaned and he stroked with more intent, determined to concentrate on her in an effort to hold off his own imminent release. Slick and hot, she melted into his touch. She felt so good, like satin, and he grit his teeth as he slipped a finger inside her. Tight as she was, she’d be a snug fit. His chest ached. His sac weighed heavily, then drew up. He stepped back on shaky legs, his cock slipping from her mouth with a soft, wet pop.

She worked her jaw and licked her lips, her violet eyes dark and questioning.

His voice like gravel he whispered, “It’s time.”

Elizabeth shivered. Marcus had always looked at her as if she were a meal laid before a starving man. At the moment however, his gaze was . . . desperate. The tip of his cock leaked profusely, and she swallowed, her mouth flavored with his essence.

He’d felt so different from what she’d expected. She’d thought herself beyond the innocence of a virginal girl. Now she realized how little she knew. With the thick, pulsing roping of veins that etched his erection she’d imagined he would be hard, textured. Instead the skin had been as soft as the finest silk, slipping over her tongue in a rhythm that awakened a matching pulse between her legs.

The act was not what she had expected, not at all. She’d thought she’d feel used, nothing more than a receptacle for his lust. But he was devastated, she could see it and she’d felt it in the way he trembled. The way his voice had grown so hoarse. There was power to be had in possessing a man’s passion.

“Release me,” she ordered breathlessly, wanting to see how far she could take this.

He shook his head and pushed the back of the chair onto its hind legs

. Caught off balance, she screeched until he stopped. It was then she understood his aim. Resting the top of the chair against the nearby damask-covered wall angled her perfectly, presenting her spread sex to his cock. His grin stole her breath, filled as it was with wicked promises. He reached between them and pressed his erect shaft down, bending his knees until he breeched her. He stroked up and down, coating her with the semen that continued to dribble from the flushed head.

She couldn’t hold back the half-sob of anticipation. The blatant, deliberate teasing had her sweating and gasping for air. She ignored the voice that urged her to fight, choosing instead to enjoy him . . . just this once.

“Do your arms pain you?” he asked, never ceasing his movements, soaking her with the evidence of his excitement.

“You pain me.”