When the Earl Met His Match (Wedded by Scandal 4)

Another kiss on the bridge of her nose. One that said, “Trust me.” Something warm and tender shifted inside her chest. Then he kissed her. At first, he was slow and tormenting, then his mouth on hers was hard and fierce and urgent. Soon she forgot about the discomfort of his presence inside of her and thrust her fingers through his hair. He reached between them, and his fingers brushed against her nub of pleasure.

She gasped into his kiss, arching to him, shocked to feel his manhood sliding even deeper. He found that nub once more and rubbed it again and again. Phoebe sobbed into his mouth, and she shivered at the astonishing pleasure that tightened low in her stomach. He swiveled his hips, and she screamed wordlessly at the heat that slammed into her belly.

Acting on instincts, she lifted her legs to hitch them on his hips. That bend in her knees allowed her husband to snap his hips in a deep rhythm. Phoebe felt blissfully shattered as a sweet, hot tension mounted low inside of her.

And yet…he still rubbed that aching nub.

Ripples of pleasure began to build. Somehow if felt as if they lost control. He stroked into her over and over, and Phoebe held onto him, her cries of delight ripping unfettered from her. The sweetest feeling of bliss whipped through Phoebe, her thoughts scattered, and she was unable to shape them into any semblance of clarity. Phoebe could only feel.

Moving his hand from between their bodies, Hugh hoisted her legs about his hips, slid his hands beneath her buttocks, lifting her to every thrust. She ripped her mouth from his and buried her face in the crook of his neck, clasping onto his shoulders as he devastated her sense with agonizing pleasure. The firestorm of sensations that peaked in the low of her stomach made her tremble, until she shattered on a loud, exhausted wail.

He hugged her to him as he shuddered, reaching his own pleasure. Phoebe breathed harshly, trying to recapture her breath, aware of the sweat on their bodies. Framing her face with one of his hands, he took possession of her mouth in a tender, lingering kiss.

He withdrew from her, and she bit her lip at that tender ache. Hugh slipped from the bed and lowered the curtains of silk around the bedframe, protecting her naked form from the servants he summoned to deliver a bath.

She had no notion how long passed, but she muttered sleepily when the bed dipped, and he slipped his hands beneath her body and lifted her against his chest. The next Phoebe knew was the feel of hot, rose-scented water enveloping her body. He had submerged into the large tub with her and held her in his arms as the water soothed all the tender places in her body. A kiss was pressed to her forehead, and with a sigh of contentment, she drifted off to slumber.

…

Hugh had created a scandal within his own household. He had been locked away with his wife for three days, only ringing for baths and trays with food. The only time they had left was to visit the nursery for a few hours each day to spend time with Franny. The wet-nurse blushed fiercely whenever she saw them, and that testified to the wagging tongues of the servants below stairs.

Their master and mistress were beyond lascivious in their manners. A satisfied smile curved his lips, even as hunger flooded every part of his body.

I’ll never get enough of you. The notion should have sent a surge of alarm through him. To crave another’s smile, kisses, and being linked together by their bodies with such intensity should surely be alarming. Yet Hugh did not shy away from these feelings but did what he had been doing these last several weeks. Mentally and very gently grasping the feelings and hoarding them away in his heart. He liked the sensations of wonder and awe whenever he looked upon the loveliness of his wife.

His Phoebe stood beside the dressing table, her hair rippling down her back in glorious waves after it had just been brushed with dozens of strokes. With a casual shrug, the peignoir fell from her shoulders onto the carpet. Her exquisite shape was silhouetted in the firelight. Her hips flared wide and buttocks were lush and rounded, the tiny tuck of her waist was impressive considering she had a babe, and the high thrust of her breasts urged him to feast.

They had made love so many times, he had lost count. Nay, not just make love. He had loved her gently, and other times he had ravished her, tupping her hard and rough, treating her as a wanton mistress and as a precious wife, and his Phoebe had met him with a fiery passion that had almost killed him. The memories of the many ways he had taken her crowded his thoughts and sent his heart into a wild tempo. After that first time he had taken her, Hugh had been careful to spend his seed outside of her body. He did not want her to fall with child so soon after childbirth. At least five years or more, before he would even think about an heir or more children.

But they hadn’t just basked in sensual delights, for hours they had talked, on many subjects, from the whimsical beauty of nature, Shakespearean tragedies, to the plight of the orphans she admired her brother for saving. They spoke of the young gentleman she had thought she loved, and the recklessness which had pushed her to drink with him and then kiss him, and if it was right that he did not know of Franny’s existence.

She reached for the nightgown, and he lifted a hand, halting her. “I want you naked, wife.”

Her cheeks turned bright red, but she did not look away from him. Hugh stood from the sofa where he’d reclined and poured two glasses of Brandy.

“Will you watch the lowering of the sun with me?” he signed before he collected the glasses and walked over to her.

She grasped the glass and took a sip. “Is that all we are to do? Watch the sunset?”

There was a hint of mischief in her tone, and Hugh flushed. He had been insatiable, and she could read his intention from his command for her to remain naked.

“We might do some kissing.”

She gave him a smile of such breathtaking sweetness, he wondered for the first time in his life if the warmth and hunger suffusing throughout his entire body were the sensations of tumbling into the madness that was love. She padded over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, her hips a swaying temptation. Hugh prowled over to her, lowered himself to his knees, leaned forward, and kissed the base of her spine. Then he bit the soft, rounded cheek of her buttocks. Her moan of need was music to his ears, and he lavished his attention on her next cheek and even down to the back of her thighs.

“Hugh!”

He listened to her breathless cries as he kissed her body slowly, stroking her desire to a pitch. Finally, when he stood, she was shaking ever so slightly. Hugh reached around her so she could see his fingers as he signed. “Do not move, my wife.”

He took the glass of brandy from her and rested it on the mantle then made his way back to her. Phoebe placed her hands against the coolness of the glass and arched her neck when he nipped at the hollow of her throat.

He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her neck. Hugh coasted his hands over her side, loving the feel of her curves and silky-smooth skin. He wasted no time, going for exactly what he wanted to feel, the petal softness of her quim. A hoarse gasp echoed from her when he slid two fingers deep inside of her.

And God she was wet, delightfully so. Using his feet, he nudged hers apart wider, and with a gasp she braced against the windows, her back arching in instinctive want. The beautiful arch of her back encouraged him to kiss along her skin, so he did, then he gripped his cock and tucked it at her heat then sank deep and slow, the hottest of pleasure spearing his cock. Hugh tightened his grip of her hips, wishing he had the voice to pepper her with praises.

Groans and whimpers tore from her at his slow invasion, but he pressed forward knowing she was wet enough to take his thick girth. The tight, incredible fit of her had sweat beading on his brows and every muscle in his body tense. Once he was seated to the hilt in her clenching tightness, he dipped low and kissed along her shoulder blades, soft brushes meant to soothe.

She dropped her hands from the window, curled her hands behind his neck, the move thrusting her breasts further out in a perfect arch, tilting her face to his and turning her head slightly to nuzzle into his throat. Hugh withdrew and thrust back into her wet heat with piercing depth and slow tenderness. Her cry of delight wrapped itself around his heart.