Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (Scandalous Seasons #2)(70)

Sophie raised her head to determine whether she’d caused him pain. His face contorted, and his eyes appeared tightly clenched. Her body heated at the response Christopher had to her ministrations. A pool of moisture settled between her thighs and she moaned.

She returned her efforts to his manhood, trailing her tongue along the plum-shaped tip of him.

“Sophie.” Her name emerged somewhere between a prayer and a plea.

Christopher rested his hands upon the top of her head, encouraging her on. Sophie hesitated a moment and then took all of him into her mouth.

“I can’t,” he rasped, and pulled back. He swept her into his arms.

“Christopher?”

But he was only carrying her to the sofa, lying her down so that her naked thighs were exposed to his heated stare. He slowly positioned her against the sofa pillows and then trailed whisper soft kisses down her body, touching each spot of bare skin until his breath hovered above the part of her that sought his attention more than anything.

She studied him with heavy eyes. His breath tickled her womanhood. He put his mouth to her hot center and her hips lifted off the sofa. His tongue laved her hot womanhood, teasing, tasting, exploring. Sophie tangled her fingers in his sweat dampened black hair, and she held him there, encouraging him on. Her hips thrust upward as she neared her peak. She cried out when he cruelly stopped, and placed a lingering kiss upon her inner thigh.

But then he was moving over her, his body covering hers as he braced himself on his elbows.

His knee edged her thighs apart. He gritted his teeth, his shaft poised on the threshold of her womanhood.

Sophie hissed when he dipped his shaft into her welcoming warmth. He thrust deep.

She keened softly, as he moved between her legs, filled her. She’d never dreamed…never thought…her hips rose to meet his.

“I love you, I love you,” she cried on a keening moan, and wrapped her thighs tightly about his waist. He sank his hands into the flesh of her hips and encouraged her on.

Sophie met his wild thrusts. Her body seemed to climb higher and higher on the wings of desire until she feared she’d go mad at the sensation of his shaft filling her.

Then, she stiffened, and wave after wave of pleasure flooded her.

Her climax pushed him over the edge and his entire body stiffening, Christopher threw his head back, a guttural groan tore from his throat and he spilled his seed inside her.

Christopher rolled sideways and promptly fell off the sofa, taking Sophie tumbling with him.

He blinked back a haze of confusion. “I say, I forgot we were in the,” he glanced around. “Yellow Drawing Room, is it?”

Sophie preened. “It seems I did very well, then.”

Christopher grinned. “Do you think you can do better?”

She nodded with mock solemnity. “Oh, absolutely.”

And she proceeded to show him.





Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet





Members of the ton were justifiably appalled by the sight of Miss S.W. sleeping quite soundly during Sarah Siddon’s farewell performance at Covent Garden. It is certain that when Miss Siddons appeared on stage to give a heartfelt speech to her adoring crowd, she most certainly was not addressing Miss S.W.


21

“Come along.” Sophie tugged at Christopher’s hand, urging him up the hill.

“Phi, it’s going to rain.”

She pushed her bonnet back and stole a glance up at the ominously darkening sky. Thick, gray clouds rolled across the horizon. “It is not going to rain.”

Her pronouncement was met by a distant rumble of thunder.

He arched a single black brow.

“Trust me,” she said.

Her words were punctuated by another loud roll. She smiled up at him. “See. No rain.”

Christopher sighed.

Sophie smiled and continued along. They’d spent the better part of the week at Milford House, alternating their time between making love and exploring the countryside. Sometimes both. Her smile dipped. The days were falling away and soon they would return to London.

They crested a small hill, and her family’s country house pulled into focus; the enormous Georgian structure framed by thick white and gray storm clouds.

Christopher’s brow wrinkled. “Are we visiting your brother’s home?”

She pointed her eyes skyward. “Don’t be silly. Come.” They picked their way through the high grass. She stopped at the soaring field maple and reached for the wood swing that hung from a thick, brown branch.

Sophie released Christopher’s hand and hopped upon the swing. The faint spring breeze caught her modest white skirts and the fabric fluttered.

Her husband’s frown deepened. “We’ve braved the storm for this swing?”

“I’ve missed this swing. And do not spoil the day; there is no storm.”

As if on cue, a single, fat raindrop landed on the tip of her nose. She brushed it back. “Now push me.”

Christopher bowed. “With pleasure, my lady.”

Sophie closed her eyes as her husband placed his palms along the back of the swing, and set her into forward motion. She pumped her legs much the way she had as a small child. As she soared higher and higher, her gaze wandered out over the lake that separated their families’ properties.

“Do you know when I was a small girl I would jump from this swing into the water.”