The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6)(43)

Amusement flashed across his chiseled features. “You are, you silly chit.”

“I don’t know that for certain—”

“I do.”

His kiss cut her off. She couldn’t have spoken anyway for he was rubbing that hidden bud just like that time at the plumassier’s, and it melted her mind. Her hips bucked as he stroked her, faster and faster, winding the coil in her belly ever tighter. It suddenly sprung free, and she gasped his name as pleasure ricocheted inside her.

When she regained her senses, heart still thumping wildly, she saw that Andrew was watching her with an intense, heated gaze.

“Are you going to… bed me now?” she said bashfully.

His head canted, almost thoughtfully.

He said, “No.”





Chapter Seventeen


“What?” Primrose jerked into a sitting position on the sofa.

Refusing to plow a beautiful, naked woman wasn’t high on Andrew’s list of preferred activities, especially when he was kneeling between her thighs. He had a perfect view of temptation: her hair cascaded over her creamy shoulders, her full pink nipples playing peek-a-boo through the strands. His gaze dropped to her little blonde nest, dewy from his recent frigging. Even as his cock strained toward all that bounty, his brain reminded him that this wasn’t just any woman.

This was Primrose.

She deserved better than a meaningless fuck.

And so, he realized, did he.

He didn’t fool himself into thinking that a permanent future was possible for them. She’d been clear about the respectability she needed, and he knew the limits of what he could offer. Even so, he couldn’t turn his mind from the possibility of them… together. Before, when she was unwed, he wouldn’t have considered it, but things had changed. She was a widow now—and would have the title and status she so craved, once he helped her with her “problem.”

She would also have freedom.

The notion roused both anticipation and unease. Undoubtedly, Primrose would soon have packs of men sniffing at her heels. Her origins and reputation might have rendered her ineligible as a wife in some men’s eyes—but those same men would have no compunction pursuing her as a lover now that she was widowed and fair game. And with her youth and passionate nature, she’d eventually want companionship.

His muscles bunched at the idea of Primrose taking a lover. If anyone was going to make love to her, it was damned well going to be him. An affair wasn’t what he wanted, but he would take what he could get.

He wanted Primrose. More than he’d ever wanted anything.

Which meant he had to play his cards right. He had full confidence in his ability to do so. If there was any game he knew how to play, it was that of seduction.

“But I thought you were going to help me!” she cried.

“I am.” A plan unfolded in his head. To prevent her from rising, he clamped his hands on her thighs. The sight of the frilly black garters against her pale skin tested his resolve, but he said calmly, “I’m going to do it my way, however.”

“And what way is that?” Her glorious eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“This way, love.” His hands slid to her bottom, tipping her up, and he bent his head.

“What are you…?” she gasped, “No, you mustn’t! That’s not clean, that’s—oh, heavens…”

His first taste of her pussy fired his blood. Sweet and feminine with a hint of salt, the reality of her was even better than his fantasies. He hid a smile as her protests melted into shapeless moans. As her superficial primness dissolved, revealing the hot, passionate woman within.

He ate her cunny with the hunger he’d suppressed for weeks. Spreading her petals, he tongued her slit up and down before circling her entrance. When she was moaning, her hands gripping the cushions, he slid the tip of his middle finger into her hole.

Goddamn, she was tight. Exquisitely so. But she was also slick from his licking and her earlier climax; when he saw no sign of pain from her, he pushed in until he was knuckle-deep.

She gasped his name.

“All right, love?”

“Yes… yes…” She looked dazed with desire.

He added another finger and stirred in a motion that would remove any flimsy barrier that might mark her as virgo intacto. He thrust firmly, simulating the fucking of a cock, sweat gathering beneath his collar as her pussy gripped his digits with lush insistence. Devil and damn, to feel that snug heat sheathed around his prick…

Her thighs trembled, her head lolling against the back of the sofa. He could feel her crisis approaching; it would be so easy to free his throbbing erection and bury himself inside her. To give in to the desire that raged between them. Lust warred with rationality: he reminded himself that, for her, desire had a purpose, a goal.

And that goal isn’t you… not unless you convince her otherwise.

After one last thrust that pushed a moan from her lips, he pulled out.

Her head popped up, her cheeks flushed and breathing uneven. “Why did you…”

“That should take care of your maidenhead,” he told her. “There’s no bleeding, so I suspect yours might have already been dispatched by horse-riding or the like. That’s common for young ladies, you know.”

From her blank look, she didn’t.