The Undoing of a Libertine by Raine Miller
He stroked a hand up her leg and looked down at it. “Your legs are so finely made. I saw them that day in the rain.”
“You saw my legs?” she asked.
He nodded wickedly. “Oh yes, I saw. You took off your stockings to cross the creek and then had to put them back on again. I watched the whole delicious show. Thought my heart might give out from the beauty of you.”
“How shocking and devious on your part.”
“Are you angry, my sweet Gina?”
“No. If our situations had been reversed, I probably would have done the same. So, did you skulk behind a tree and stay quiet so I wouldn’t know?”
He slid his other hand up the other leg. “Exactly, my darling. Your perfect limbs stunned me silent anyway. I just had to keep still and not move.” He closed his eyes for a moment as if he was remembering the scene from that day. “You are beautiful,” he hummed.
“So are you. I think, have always thought, that you are a beautiful man.”
His hands came up to her shoulders and then to her neck and the base of her head, cradling her to his lips. Mouths met in a seeking rush to fuse together. He thrust his tongue deep into her, sweeping in a wide circle, searing over every plane of her mouth. When he pulled back, he sucked her tongue as far as he could pull it until his lips popped off with a wet draw. And then he delved back in for more.
Movement became as necessary as breathing. She couldn’t help the slow grinding her hips fell into as he plundered her mouth with his tongue.
Wide palms left her head and slipped down to cup her breasts. His thumbs and forefingers met to pinch the centers, drawing them into even tighter bundles. The glory of it brought forth a deep moan and a steep arch to her back. She needed to get her body closer—
“I meant what I said. Before… I want in you,” he breathed, his mouth now at her neck. His teeth came onto her skin and bit gently.
“Yesssss, please,” she begged.
Jeremy pushed her backward, his hands supporting her shoulder blades as he laid her far down onto the mattress so her head was now near the foot of the bed.
She was aware of him changing positions, transferring to his knees and opening her legs, bending her knees, splaying her wide for mounting, but that wasn’t what he did. Instead, he did something much different. Something so shocking and so unexpected she would have frozen in mortification, that was, until she felt it.
Oh dear God in heaven and the angels! Was that his mouth on her nether parts? Lips to lips, tongue to quim, soft to soft. Sweet unimaginable bliss… Oh God, she was going to die from the exquisite pleasure. Georgina was going to die and love every lick and swirl, every sucking draw, and every penetration of his tongue inside her as she moved toward death. He’d told her he wanted in her, and he was, thank Christ! Please let it go on forever—
He started with long, slow licks, like she was a cat he petted. Each pass over her slit opened the folds a little more until her swollen nub was revealed itself for special attention. He covered it with his lips and drew it in a suck that slammed her hips right up off the bed as she ground against the sweet torture.
When he entered her with his tongue as far as he could get it, she could feel his nose pressing hard above. He cupped her bottom to lift her closer. Mouth, tongue, and lips worked together to ravish her sex, holding her captive, a slave to the sensations that drove her toward incineration.
The orgasm was so powerful, she cried out. No, it was more of a shout, but she couldn’t help it in the slightest because another one followed so quickly on its heels. The pleasure gripped her, shot her body to a place where she shattered apart, completely blown, no skeleton left inside her skin to keep her from becoming liquid.
* * * *
Ensnared in the gratification of pleasuring her, Jeremy felt the contractions of her orgasm on his tongue. That, and the taste of her honey down his throat and the sounds she was making, flipped a switch in him. He knew he was crossing into dangerous territory—a place he’d sworn he wouldn’t go with her.
But he loved Gina. He wouldn’t hurt her. Goddamnit! The need to break free of all this restraint was just so overpowering he couldn’t—stop. He just couldn’t hold back what he was going to do—
He twisted up so fast, and before he even knew what he’d done, he had both of her wrists gripped firmly in one hand. His other palm supported his weight. He penetrated her convulsing core, and the fucking started. Yes…oh, yes! Glorious, demanding, animalistic fucking. The kind that was all about carnality and, in its crushing dominance, pretty much blotted out every other paradigm he held to. His mouth found its way to her neck, latched on, and bit. None too gently.
He worked her wickedly fast, and if his sexed-up mind could even deduce that he should hold back for fear of scaring her, at least he didn’t last long.
A minute or so of fierce pumping and he was ejaculating and moaning into her throat, thrusting slower but getting his seed worked up in her good and deep. Somehow in his befogged brain, his male awareness told him this was imperative. Get it up inside!
When at last he stilled, it was more of a collapse than anything.
He wasn’t even sure if he might have lost consciousness, and for how long. The first thing he felt were Gina’s wrists coming away from his now-slackened grip. That jolted him into wakefulness real quick. He pushed up on his palms and looked down at her. Oh no! No—no—no—no—no!
Her eyes were closed, and the streak of a tear tracked from each. On her neck was a huge love bite, the delicate skin marking quickly from the voracious nursing he’d done.
“What have I done? Gina. Oh, fuck…goddamn! Forgive me…”
Her eyes snapped open. She looked stricken, just absolutely devastated, pinned underneath him, his cock still halfway stiff, buried to his balls. Shallow breaths moved her beautiful breasts up and down.
“No, Jeremy…” she told him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.
—John Milton, Paradise Lost (1667)
The sight of her husband leaping off her and out of the room was not what Georgina was expecting.
“No! I am well, truly! Wait! Jeremy, wait!” She called after him, but he didn’t even slow, like he didn’t even hear her.
She did not get up immediately because she couldn’t. Her body was sapped after that session with him on the bed. Hell’s bells! Her blood hummed from what he’d done to her in a very good and very wonderful way.
Georgina realized he was horrified by how he’d taken her, but she wasn’t. His desire was apparent, and if he needed her fierce like that sometimes, then she wanted to give it to him. For her to comfort and serve him was her duty, her right as a wife! She felt the tingle of anger.
As she waited for him to come back, her irritation grew. Jeremy needed to get over this worry about treating her like a fragile bloom. She thought she’d explained it clearly to him enough times! He didn’t frighten her and never had. His loving her body was certainly glorious, and from the first time, a heady surprise, but never hurtful or frightening.
An hour passed. The room next door was quiet. She heard no sounds apart from the fire dying in the grate.
Where was he? Where would he go? Frustration mounting, she made a decision, left the warm bed that smelled of him, and returned to her rooms.
Quickly donning a gown and robe, Georgina went to her dressing table to arrange her hair into some semblance of normal. Frowning, she tilted her neck at the mirror. There was a large mark—ah, it was a love bite. He’d made it when he’d suckled, no, bit at her neck.
She shivered at the remembrance. The pain of the bite had made for sweeter pleasure, and she longed to feel it again. His face had looked so tragic when he’d stirred above her after his fiery release. Realizing that seeing the mark he’d made would probably upset him more, she wisely arranged her hair to one side and covered it up.
Tonight was c
After Georgina explored all of the usual places, Jeremy stubbornly remained absent. His study, the library, billiard room, and guest bedrooms were all searched, and he was not in any of them.
Mrs. Richards came to her rescue though. The woman appeared in the hall, silent as a cat, when Georgina stepped into it after checking in a guest suite.
“Oh Lord! You startled me,” Georgina gasped, bringing her hand to her throat.
“Good evening, madam,” the housekeeper replied smoothly, with not a trace of surprise that anything was out of order with the mistress of the house skulking about in her nightclothes by candlelight. “Such cold in the air. It is good you have covered up well,” she said, eying Georgina’s shawl. “That is a lovely shawl you have, madam.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Richards.” Georgina looked straight into the housekeeper’s intelligent eyes.
“It will warm you, should you choose to look at the portraits.”
“Portraits?”
“Yes, madam. I should imagine it is very cold in the portrait gallery tonight.” She bade Georgina a graceful leave and glided away.
Bless that woman. Mrs. Richards was a definite jewel, Georgina thought. It was a good thing to have an ally. She made her way to the gallery on the second floor, wondering what she would say to him.
* * * *
Jeremy brooded. Her scent clung to him all over and just served to remind him. How could he have lost control like that? The look of her, the tears—
Damn it all to hell, what must she think of him? How could he ever repair the damage he’d done? She wouldn’t love him now. She would probably be afraid of him. God, it would kill him if she cringed away from him in fear.
He stared up into the eyes of the enigmatic woman in the portrait, hoping she could impart some wisdom. Jeremy must be such a disappointment to her, and it was ironic, too, after all this time, all these years of telling himself he’d never be like his father, yet here he was stepping right into the role—
“You must be very cold with only that robe covering you.”
He snapped his head around, in disbelief that she’d come after him. Gina looked as gorgeous as ever, wrapped in a green shawl he’d never seen her wear. Green was her color—definitely. She wore it splendidly.
“Coldhearted, yes, I know.”
“No. You are never that. And I should not have had to come searching for you like this!” She sounded angry more than frightened, he thought. “Mrs. Richards must think—God I don’t know what she thinks now!” she sputtered, stamping her foot. “No doubt we are providing good gossip for the servants.”
Yes, she was definitely angry, and looking down fiercely as she stood over him, her cheeks pink, eyes sparking, arms folded, and more beautiful than ever. And she wasn’t done speaking her piece either.
“Why are Mr. and Mrs. Greymont flittering about the house in their nightclothes, and in the dead of night? Well, I don’t know. It is very unseemly though! Maybe they’re having a spat. I heard the master stormed from their chamber with the mistress calling out to him to stay with her. Well, I heard the new mistress searched all over the house for an hour before she found him sitting alone in the portrait gallery! My God, the master must be truly dicked in the nob to be sittin’ in there. He’s going to freeze his arse off!”
Listening to her mock tirade between the servants was good medicine. The short laugh slipped out of him before he could pull it back. She was so witty and beautiful and brave and… everything.
“You speak cant magnificently.”
“Well, Tom is my brother. You know then I learned from the master.”
“Indeed you have done.” Jeremy chuckled despite the circumstances.
“Does that laugh mean you’re ready to come back to bed now?” she asked.
“How could you even want me back there with you?”
“Because it is where you belong. And…we are the happiest of lovers, remember?”
His breath punched out in a gush. He hadn’t realized he was holding it in. “Still?”
“I am certain of the fact.”
“After that—after I was so rough in bedding you? How can it be, Gina?”
She set down her candle on the floor and deliberately plopped onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his chest. God, she felt and smelled divine, her hair just under his nose. He folded his hands together over her hip to secure her, the lovely warmth of her melting his cold dread instantly. Miracles of miracles, she wasn’t disgusted or afraid of him!
“My feelings for you will not be denied. I am right where I want to be, next to you. And I know you have never hurt me or scared me or made me frightened of anything you’ve done, ever.”
“But I saw your face! You had tears, and you looked stricken, and I marked your neck all up! I am so sorry—”
She put her fingers over his mouth again. “You misinterpreted what you saw.” She stroked his lips softly, the pads of her fingers following the curves. “Jeremy, I did have some tears and I may have looked stricken to you, but it was not from fear, rather the shattering pleasure—”
“Truly?” he cut in.
She nodded slowly. “Truly. I was in disbelief from what we’d done, and you took those signs to mean I’d been frightened and you tore off before I could explain.”
He took her face in both of his hands and just held it for a moment. “I adore you. And I only want to show you, but I made a bloody mess of it. Gina, I know I let my self-control slip tonight, and I fell into behavior I swore I’d never show to you.”
“You don’t want to be like that with me?”
“No.”
“But what if I want you to be—” She frowned at him. “Well, I suppose it is forgivable to let your self-control slip when in the throes of what…we did tonight.” He could tell she blushed even though the light was too dim to see it. “I know I had no self-control when it was happening to me.” She whispered the rest to him. “You should know that I—I liked it—the whole thing—and I hope we do it again sometime.” She kept her head down when she was done.
Can this be happening? Can she be real? Jeremy was in utter shock at what she was saying to him. Could his beautiful Gina, traumatic experience and all, be telling him she liked what he’d done to her? Not offended by the hard fucking? Because that was what it’d been. He loved her, yes, but he’d fucked her all the same. But as impossible as he thought it to be, it seemed she didn’t have a problem with the rough ride he’d just given her.
He met foreheads with her and whispered back, “Are you real?”
“Yes.” She made a soft sound, halfway between a laugh and a sigh.
He had to shake his head in disbelief, rocking their heads together. “You amaze me and I don’t deserve you, but still I count myself among the luckiest of men.”
She snuggled down against his chest, and he gripped her a little tighter. “Do you feel better now?” She spoke at his throat.
“Much better.” He kissed the top of her head.
“Better enough to come back to bed? ’Tis like ice in here.”
“God, yes! For I think my arse is truly frozen to this marble bench I was stupid enough to sit on.”
She laughed at him and slipped off his lap. “Come on then. I promise to warm you.”
“Hmmm, I cannot wait to be privy to your methods.” He leaned in behind her to whisper at her ear, his mind running rampant at the idea of what they’d do to find warmth together. “You’re exceptionally skilled at warming me.”
“Thank you for the compliment, lover.” Georgina bent down to retrieve her candle from the floor, and as the flame was lifted, it illuminated the painting behind it. Her soft gasp caught his attention.
“Who is that, Jeremy?”
He put his eyes on the painting again. “It is my mother, Clarissa.”
“She was lovely, yo
“Gina, when you look at her, how do you find her countenance?” he asked.
Georgina observed carefully in the candlelight before answering him. “Well, she is beautiful but composed in a way that seems…well, almost sad to me. She does not look happy, I think. How did you lose her?”
“I was ten when I lost my parents, well, mostly just her. My father was always a distant parent, literally and figuratively. He left in my tenth year, and it killed her. Truly it did, for after he left, she died of a broken heart.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Now let it work; mischief, thou are afoot…
—William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar (1599)
Georgina looked up at the painting. In the daylight, the nuances of color were exceptional. The light brown hair and blue eyes so emotive of Jeremy. The son definitely took after the mother.
Clarissa Greymont, nee Bleddington, had been blessed with beauty, but not in love. She married a cad. Henri Greymont was a poor husband and even worse father. Jeremy had shared the sad tale when she’d asked about his parents.
Henri married Clarissa, the only child of Jeremy’s maternal grandparents, Sir Rodney and Lady Bleddington. Clarissa loved Henri. Henri loved her money even more. Jeremy was a product of the very first years of the marriage, when they’d actually lived together.
Henri spent the majority of his time philandering and racking up debts. Clarissa spent the majority of her time pining for her husband and welcoming him home with open arms, that is, whenever he deigned to return to it.
But Henri finally killed even that eternal optimism. When there was no more money to extract from her, Henri left England with an actress he’d taken up with. He wrote, saying he wanted a divorce. That was the final nail in Clarissa’s coffin. She lost the will to live and simply faded out of life. Within six months, she was dead. And even in her death, she granted Henri Greymont’s last request of her—an irrevocable dissolution of their marriage.