First Comes Scandal (Rokesbys #4)(73)

“You are the worst.”

He shrugged, wondering what spectacular god was granting them this much laughter in their first marriage bed.

Georgie pressed her lips together in a peevish expression before saying, “She told me that I will be certain that it won’t work, but that I would be wrong, and it would.”

He considered that. “Why is that embarrassing?”

“Because she said I would be certain it would not fit,” she ground out.

“Why is that embarrassing?”

“It just is.”

He rested his forehead against hers. “It’ll fit.”

“How would you know?” she retorted.

And then he started to laugh. He laughed so hard he could no longer hold himself up and he fell against her, his full weight pressing her down. He laughed so hard he eventually had to roll off of her and onto his back.

He laughed so hard he didn’t even realize he was crying until she wiped away his tears.

“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” she said.

“That’s what made it funny.”

She scowled. Or rather she tried to. He saw through it.

“It’ll fit,” he said again.

“You know this because you’re a doctor?”

He slid his hand to the juncture of her thighs. Even without venturing into her folds, he could tell she was hot. And growing wet.

“I know this,” he said, “because you were made for me.”

She gasped a little, arching her back when he touched her more intimately. “And were you made for me?” she asked, her voice barely a breath.

He stroked her, every manly part of him puffing with pride and delight as she grew slick. “Let’s think about that,” he murmured. “You’re the first woman I’ve lain with. So yes, I think I was.”

Her eyes flared, and he took advantage of her delight by slipping one finger inside her. She was tight—tight enough that he understood why she might think his cock might not fit, but he was a patient man. His body might be screaming for release, but he was more than happy to continue with his current ministrations, stroking and caressing until she was ready for his invasion.

“Do you feel that?” he asked, his voice husky with desire. “Do you feel how wet you are?”

She nodded.

“That’s to make sure I fit. Your body changes too.”

Her face lit with an expression of wonder. It was almost intellectual. Maybe it was intellectual, or maybe it would have been, had she not been in the grips of her own desire. He realized that his words did just as much to arouse her as his touch, and so he brought his lips to her ear and said, “When I touch you like this, you grow softer. And wetter. It means you’re getting ready for me.”

She nodded shakily.

“Do you feel empty?” he asked.

Her brow creased with confusion.

“Like you want more,” he whispered. “More here.”

He slid another finger inside her.

“Yes!” she gasped.

“Yes, you feel empty?”

“I did.”

“But not now?”

She shook her head.

“You will.” He moved his fingers and was rewarded by another rush of heat. “You’ll want even more.”

“Another finger?”

He smiled deviously. “Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know.”

“Shall we try it?”

She nodded.

He slid another finger in. “As you command, my lady.”

“Oh my God!” she shrieked. But it wasn’t with pain. He could see that on her face.

He could bring her to completion like this. It had not occurred to him that he could do so; truly, he’d only been trying to ready her body for his entry. But if she climaxed, if she experienced the womanly “little death” he’d heard so much about, surely that would make their inevitable joining all the more pleasurable, wouldn’t it?

“You like being stretched, don’t you?” he murmured.

It took her a moment to speak, but when she did, her words were clear. “I do.”

“Do you like it when I move like this?”

Her breath became shallow.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Nicholas …”

“Do you like this?” He crooked one finger, tickling her on the inside.

She liked it. She didn’t say anything. He suspected she couldn’t. But it was clear she liked it.

He moved his thumb, caressing her outer lips, the little bundle he’d heard was so sensitive. “What about this?” he whispered devilishly.

Her lips parted and she began to pant. Somewhere in it all, he saw her nod.

“More?”

She nodded. Urgently.

“Someday I’ll kiss you there,” he said, his words the naughty lyrics to the song of his fingers. “I’ll take my tongue and—”

“Oh!”

She arched beneath him, her body coiling tight. Her inner walls spasmed around his fingers, and dear God he almost came all over her right then.

“What was that?” she gasped.

“The French call it le petit mort.”

“I can see why.”