No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(64)



His mouth settled against her and then she felt his tongue stroke and part her. The little bud he had teased with his hands earlier tightened and strained and was finally rewarded with a lick from his tongue. Julia moaned. He licked her again, his tongue lazy and inquisitive, rubbing against her until pressure began to build.

This pressure was unlike what she had felt last time. That had been pleasant and warm. This was more grasping, more desperate. As much as she had enjoyed the pleasure he’d given her before, this time she knew it would be more.

His hot breath feathered over her swollen flesh. “Do you enjoy my tongue here?”

She nodded.

“I can’t hear you all the way down here.” He blew a breath of cool air over her and she let out a small cry. “Do you like this?” He laved his tongue over her, and her hands fisted in the bedclothes. “Or this?” He flicked the tip of his tongue across her, and she cried out.

“Yes! Oh yes!”

“Good.” His tongue returned, grating and tapping against her until her whole body strained toward something indefinable. The entire experience wasn’t even pleasurable. It was agony, but the sweetest sort. She would have killed him if he had stopped, and she wanted to kill him for making her feel this way.

And then with a growl he pushed her legs wider. One finger slid inside her while his tongue kept up that exquisite torture. Then another finger slid inside her, stroking her, moving in and out as his tongue lashed at her. White spots blurred her vision and her entire body tensed. Then he did something. She could not have said whether it was his tongue or his fingers in the end, but everything inside her broke free. She felt as though her body was the fluffy dandelion seeds, blown apart by a wild gust of wind. Ecstasy rushed through her, making her cry out at its intensity. It twirled and danced and blew where the breeze would take it. And when it finally ebbed, she could only gasp in a breath and lay in an exhausted heap of feeling.

She managed to open her eyes and found him beside her, looking down at her with an expression she couldn’t quite place. Tenderness? Affection? Desire?

“What are you doing to me?” she murmured.

“I think the better question is, what are you doing to me?”

*

Several hours later, when he’d bathed, shaved, and changed into his evening clothing, Neil could admit he had not been entirely honest with Juliana. He’d been honest that he was, in the strictest sense, a virgin, but he was no sexual martyr. It was true that when he took a woman to his bed, he enjoyed giving her pleasure. Certainly, there had been times when, after the heat of battle, he needed a quick release and a woman willing to give it to him. For the most part, he was a considerate lover who gave as much as he took. The truth of the matter was that he did take. Juliana had been right to assume he would—any man would—seek his own release after giving her one.

But for the first time, his pleasure hadn’t been paramount. For the first time, he wanted only her fulfillment. She deserved an hour of joy in an otherwise difficult day. What to him seemed like a stream of difficult days. Putting her pleasure above his didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy her. She was a beautiful woman, despite the drab gowns and mussed hair. And she was even more beautiful in the throes of passion. He was still aroused from their encounter, and Neil wasn’t certain how he would manage to keep his hands off her the rest of the night.

Fortunately, the Earl St. Maur solved that problem. He arrived with the coach at half past eight, and soon, Neil and Juliana were inside with her father. Though her father attempted to appear interested in the orphanage by asking about the boys and the repairs, his questions were polite and his responses noncommittal.

For her part, Juliana sat stiffly and spoke only when spoken to. She was a vision in a white dress ornamented by sparkly gold flowers. She shimmered in the dark of the carriage, looking like a queen. Neil’s gaze continued to drift to her lips, still swollen from his kisses. What he would have given to kiss them again.

St. Maur’s next words reminded him, however, that this was the end of his association with Lady Juliana.

“And have you given any more consideration to my request you come home? I’m afraid if you are away much longer, people will begin to talk.”

It was not an idle observation. People would talk, if they hadn’t already, and then she would be ruined beyond repair.

“Papa, I told you, I don’t care about what people say. The orphanage is my home.”

“And what if I care? What if I do not want our family name dragged through the muck and mud?”

Juliana sighed. She could hardly argue against duty and honor.

“Fortunately, the way for Lady Juliana to return home should clear after tonight,” Neil said. “The last of the major obstacles should be dealt with.”

From across the carriage, Juliana glared at him. Her father, however, clapped his hands. “Capital! That is the best news I have had in weeks.”

Neil barely paid attention to the receiving line or the performers at the musicale. His attention was focused on the guests and the servants. Slag was here somewhere, and Neil intended to find him before he found Juliana. He spotted Rafe at one end of the large music room. A brunette woman was on his arm, staring up at him adoringly. Rafe nodded to Neil and made a cut with his hand, indicating he had not spotted Slag yet. On the other end of the room, Ewan stood, all foreboding blond menace. His wife, Lady Lorraine, whispered to him. She was one of the most verbose women Neil had ever met, and he didn’t expect an opera singer’s aria was enough to silence her, even for a few minutes. Despite the distractions, Ewan caught Neil’s eye and shook his head.

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