Wild Lily (Those Notorious Americans Book 1)(60)

“Would you like your breakfast on a tray, my lady?” Nora turned toward her, all efficiency this morning and not meeting her gaze.

“No, thank you, Nora. I’ll go down. Draw a bath for me quickly, will you?” She fingered the pearls at her neck. Amazed they had suffered no harm in the evening’s festivities, Lily smiled to herself and rolled over to hide her grin in the pillows.

The maid puttered about so much that Lily emerged from her pillows to sit up and witness her activities. “You can put out a morning dress for me, Nora. I’ll have my breakfast and then return up here to dress for the day.”

“But, ma’am, that is not done,” the maid said, her brows high.

“I will, Nora. I’ll have my velvet dressing gown.” Lily preferred to dress herself and feeling so deliciously decadent from her husband’s ardor, she abhorred the idea of whalebone and constriction.

Less than an hour later, her bath over, she sailed down the staircase to enter the dining room. There at the far end of the table sat her new husband, barbered, well dressed for the day in a tweed jacket and twill waistcoat. He read a newspaper, but at her entry, he glanced up. This look on his face—dare she call it reverence or awe?—was another one she wished to commit to memory for her dotage.

“Come sit with me, my lady.” Julian beckoned her and with his fingers, made a motion to the footman to serve her and leave.

She came to sit at his right hand and allowed the footman his duty of seating her. Beneath the table, Julian pressed his knee to hers. She undulated in her chair, her inner core molten and pulsing at his seduction. At her uncontrollable needs, she caught her breath. But her body defied her as her breasts beaded and her mind bent to the thrilling memories of the erotic ways Julian had excited her last night. And in the meantime, the footman took for blasted ever to serve her coffee and a plate of eggs and toast and bacon.

When he closed the door and the latch clicked shut, she exhaled.

Julian’s hand covered hers and pulled her up. He whirled his chair around and yanked her into his lap. “I’ve waited hours to have you again.”

She marveled at him, ecstatic that he could be hungry for her. “Me, too.”

His hand to her nape, he kissed her, devouring her lips and thrusting his tongue inside to trace the cavern of her mouth. She cupped his cheek and kissed him back.

But his other hand was already traveling her thighs and parting her legs. “Darling,” he said as his mouth sucked on hers and he sent two fingers up inside her very needy core. “You are very wet.”

“Could you help me with that?” she offered and moved to allow him greater access.

He barked in laughter and brushed aside her skirts. “I could. Good woman, you are, to have worn no pantaloons.”

“I wanted you,” she said as she kissed him and rocked against his fingers.

“Stand up,” he ordered her. And when she did, he led her to the far end of the dining room table and laid her back upon the bare expanse.

“Can we do this?” she asked in wonder while he opened his flies and his large hard cock popped out. “Don’t you have…um…other things to do?”

She shivered, eager, her mouth watering to have his long firm member inside her.

“You are my only occupation at the moment. Besides, the table is old. Solid. And you—” He breathed through flared nostrils as he surveyed her flesh naked from the waist to the tips of her toes. “You are beautiful. And mine.”

Swallowing loudly, she spread her legs, eager, wanton, discarding old lessons about virtue and timidity. “Be quick and then let me— Ohhh.”

He slid inside her, his eyes closed, his face up, his cock solid and searing, consuming her to the hilt. He seemed mesmerized, transported. His long dark lashes fluttered and he opened his eyes to caress her with hot intent. In a fluid motion, he began to pump her, filling her with frenzied need. All the while, he pinched and circled that special point within her folds. And he drove her mad.

Sinking down into the black comfort of his possession, she lolled her head upon the hard wood of the table. Her breasts ached for his teeth. Her hips bucked, urging him closer, faster, tighter.

“Is this what you had in mind for breakfast?” he asked as he moved in and out of her.

“Better than.”

“Me, too.”

She laughed and whimpered as he began a regular plumbing of her depths in a smooth and fascinating rhythm. “Wives don’t bare themselves on the dining room table this early in the morning?”

“Most don’t.”

“Do you mind that I do?”

He shot up inside her and held. “Do you?”

She bit her lips. “Oh, no. I love this.”

He slid out and in again, rock hard against the limits of both their bodies. “I want more of you than this.”

Tears burned her eyes. Whatever remained to give him was a mystery. But his desire was all she needed to know. “Have me.”

He grabbed her at her nape, leaned over her and ground his lips on hers. His heat, his ardor, was frightening and beautiful. How had she created that emotion in this man? Or was that what every mating came to? This ferocity? This bliss.

He slammed into her, her body arching up, her cries loud and pleading with him to take all of her.

He growled, coming into her at the same moment that she broke apart, trembling, pulsing. Her culmination was more violent, more satisfying than those the night before. He withdrew his cock from her and arched over her, his forehead to her stomach, his lips to her mound. “You are sensual and generous. As unique as those pearls you wear.” He raised his head and branded her with the delight in his eyes. “You and I will do very well together.”