Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(86)

Emmaline had expected Drake would continue to go out and visit his clubs. Instead, he’d forsaken all trips to White’s and Brooks’s and insisted they decline the many invitations for the new Marquess and Marchioness of Drake. They alternated their time between reading gothic novels on the library sofa, and making love— oftentimes also on the library sofa.

Drake guided her to a halt. Carefully untying the length of fabric he’d used to cover her eyes, he removed the fabric. “We’re here.”

Emmaline blinked to accustom herself to the unexpected ray of sunshine.

Then blinked again

The garden, walled off by solid brick, was a tangled mess of shrubs, flowers, and weeds. Branches were all twisted up in overgrown ivy weeds had long ago choked off and overrun the rosebushes throughout the space. The area was so vastly different than her mother’s well-tended, immaculate gardens.

Taking a long, slow look around…her fingers twitched with the urge to work on the space. Her mind conjured strategies of redesign. It was a blank canvas…and it was hers.

Drake rocked on the balls of his feet. “I purchased the home after seeing the garden. I imagined you working here. If it does not suit, if there is too much to be done, I will gladly bring in as many—”

Emmaline turned and threw her arms about his neck, squeezing tightly. “It is the most amazing gift anyone has ever given me.”

Drake took her lips in a slow, lingering kiss. Without a thought for propriety, he scooped Emmaline into his arms and carried her through the gardens, down the hall, up the stairs, down another hall, and into his bedchamber. The bedchamber they’d come to share.

Turning the knob, he kicked the door closed with the tip of his Hessian boot, and carried her to the bed. His ravaging mouth never broke contact, as he carefully set her down on the edge of the mattress.

Emmaline threw her head back and moaned her disapproval, when Drake pulled his lips away. But he only moved his exploration to her neck, to the line of her bodice. He made quick work of the tiny buttons along the back of her gown. Next, Drake tugged the bodice down, and divested her of her stays and chemise, so that her breasts were exposed to his hot gaze. The cool air, combined with his hungry jade stare made the tips of her breasts tighten painfully.

With breath held, she watched as his lips closed around the bud. A pool of warmth settled at the juncture of her thighs. Drake lowered her to bed, and followed her with his body. His hands expertly worked the hem of her gown up, inching it higher. Her thighs parted for him, urging him closer. He came over her, but Emmaline rolled away. Going up on her knees, she pressed her exposed breasts to the fabric of his blue coat. The rough material against the sensitive skin of her nipples nearly drove her to a fever pitch.

Drake’s emerald eyes darkened the color of onyx, his eyes clouded with passion.

“It seems you are in need of release,” she purred. She reached between them and through the fabric of his riding breeches, stroked his hard shaft.

“Emmaline, free me,” he said his voice scratchy with desire.

“My pleasure, my lord.” Emmaline unfastened the buttons at the front flap of his breeches and shoved him down to the mattress. She looked up at him with heavy eyes. “I’d show you pleasure like you showed me last night.”

***

Before Drake could fathom her intentions, Emmaline took him in her mouth.

A hiss escaped his lips at the unexpectedness of her ministrations. He labored to open his eyes so he could view her as she pleasured him. His eyes slid closed. God, she was brilliant with her tongue. “Stop,” he commanded. He didn’t know how long he could last. The pull of her lips around his length was near torture.

Drake arched his hips upward. Her delicate tongue worked him and a groan ripped from somewhere deep in his chest.

A jerky hiss slipped from between his tightly clenched teeth when she pulled back, but she rucked her skirts above her knees and straddled him. Of their own volition, his hands went to her hips as she eased upon his hard shaft. A sweet, breathy sigh escaped her as she sheathed herself fully.

Emmaline moved upon him in a slow rhythmic motion at first that built into a frenzied movement as she violently rode him.

Drake stroked his palms over the swell of her buttocks. Her body stiffened and she came in long, rippling waves upon him, coating his shaft. With a little moan, she collapsed atop him.

And then, with a guttural cry wrenched from his throat, he spilled his seed deep inside her.

They continued to lay that way; their limbs entangled like old tree branches. The sound of silence filled the room, occasionally punctuated by the tick of the ormolu clock on the oak mantle of the fireplace.

Their efforts had brought the silken waves of her deep brown hair cascading about them. It fanned over them like a satin sheet.

Drake’s rapid breath began to slow. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to move again.”

Emmaline finally picked up her head from his chest and peered at him through sated, heavy eyes. “Was that—?”

“Do not even ask.” His lips found hers. He smiled at the pleased expression his words resulted in and pinched her right buttocks. “Don’t grow conceited, love.”

Emmaline curled into his side and rested her chin on his chest. He felt her smile against his naked skin.

“It’s been dreary going through life being adequate at everything. It is nice to know there is something I excel at.” She gave a long, exaggerated sigh. “It is unfortunate, others can’t know of my skills.” Drake pinched her on the buttocks again and she squealed.