How to Marry an Earl (A Cinderella Society 1)

She nodded, tugging at his shirt until he pulled away long enough to divest himself of the offending thing. “I want to taste you on my tongue.” His tongue tickled her earlobe. The sound of his voice and his breath rumbling in her ear had her shivering. “I want to hear all of the sounds you make.”

She flattened her palms over the warm ridges of his chest and abdomen, the soft skin, the brush of hair. He was magnificent. Strong. When she tentatively traced the line of his breeches, the way he had her gown, he made a sound in the back of his throat. Now she understood what he meant. It was music, primal and empowering and she wanted more of it, more the way his breath hitched, more the way he had to force his words past the other things he was doing with his mouth. There was no hiding, no wondering which version of Conall touched her, which version she touched.

She fumbled with the buttons until he reached down to help her, his lips never leaving her skin; on her neck, her collarbone, tracing the blue veins inside her wrist. She closed her fingers around his length, and he stilled, eyes blazing. He was soft and hot and hard. She stroked him and when her palm grazed the tip of his manhood, he jerked. She worried that she had hurt him.

The expression on his face said otherwise.

Some dam inside him seemed to break. “I’m going to make you come until you’re weak from pleasure.”

He swept her backwards, lowering her gently to the floor, his hands eager and demanding. The carpet was soft on her skin, warmed from the fire. She could smell the raspberries, and smoke. Her skirts were bunched around her knees and then at her waist, a froth of offending lace he had to stop himself from tearing. He kissed around her belly button, dragging his mouth over her stomach, and then just inside her thigh. Her muscles quivered instinctively, and he chuckled against her. When he reached the juncture of her thighs, tongue dipping into the heat gathered there, she gasped. He licked at her, gently, softly, then with increasing pressure. He slid a finger inside of her and it was nearly too much and at the same time, not nearly enough. It was torture. Perfect, beautiful torture.

She squirmed and he grasped her hip with his big hand, keeping her still. “Ah, ah,” he murmured.

“I can’t…” she couldn’t bear it. There were too many sensations racing under her skin.

“You can,” he crooned. He licked a stripe along her folds, then stopped. Abruptly.

She lifted her head. He grinned at her from between her legs and it ought to have been awkward, but it wasn’t. “Did you want me to stop?” he asked.

“You…” She might have called him names if she could tear any part of her from the sensations coursing through her, retreating like a river in high summer. “Don’t you dare stop!”

He bent his head, taking the little nub into his mouth and sucking on it until she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. A second finger moved inside her and her back arched. Pleasure built, tingling in waves up her thighs, finally cresting until she had no choice but to let it carry her away.

When her lower back touched the carpet again she was out of breath, and he was smug.

A clock chimed somewhere down the hall. A bird answered from the gardens, now pink and grey with the mists of morning. “The maids will be coming around soon to see the fires,” he said. “I should go. Regrettably.” He moved up her body to kiss her again. “You are as delicious as I’d imagined.”

She blushed from her ears down to her collarbones and it made him smile. She sat up, pulling her skirts down around her. It was ridiculous to feel shy now, but she did. “You…,” she tried to force herself past her bashfulness. “You didn’t…”

He kissed her again, swift, hard. “All in good time.”

He fixed the buttons of his pants where they sat low, showing an expanse of skin and muscle and a trail of dark hair she very much wanted to follow. He winked and turned away, toward the balcony. “You can use the door,” she said, still feeling dazed.

“I’ve a guard outside.”

“You do?”

“Of course. And outside your grandmother’s rooms. As I told you I would.”

Something softened inside of her, something too important to inspect too closely. Here was a man who was steady, strong. And careful. Someone who saw her and still kept his promises even though she was an inconsequential wallflower in the eyes of the world.

“It hardly matters if someone sees you,” she said. “We are engaged, after all, and I’m already ruined.” She shrugged one shoulder, trying to appear debonair, sophisticated. Women with her reputation generally came with a great deal more experience.

He scowled. “I won’t have them looking down their noses at you.” He bowed and the was gone into the cold grey shadows of the morning.

He was sweet. It was a surprise, though it shouldn’t have been.

Persephone joined theother guests for breakfast at half past ten. She ought to have been exhausted on so little sleep, but she only felt hungry and happy. A little fatigue was a small price to pay. Although she’d woken from strange dreams of a house filled with baskets of raspberries, the color too bright and too red. She put it down to being fed berries in the dark by a handsome earl.

Her grandmother looked well and safe, happily wearing a wig in a disconcerting shade of lilac. Persephone smiled at her fondly over a plate of coddled eggs, trout, and sweet rolls. She helped herself to coffee and a disapproving glance from a lady at the other end of the table. Persephone shot a toothy grin at her, raising her cup in a silent toast. If only she knew how disapproving her glare ought to have been. A little coffee in mixed company was nothing.

Conall was not at the table which was just as well. She wasn’t sure how ladies acted after a night like last night. Just thinking of it made her blush.

“Lady Persephone?”

She turned to Holly. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I only asked if you will you be married in Town?”