My Wicked Earl by Kathleen Ayers

 

22

Christ.

Colin expected to find Miranda sipping tea and calmly reading a book before the fire.

Well, at least she was in a chair before the fire, though the book she’d been reading, probably Lord Thurston, lay on the floor. And she wasn’t sipping tea, but whiskey.

One gorgeous leg hooked over the arm of the chair, the robe she wore, a frothy peach confection, split open to expose the creamy skin of one thigh. He could just make out the shadow of her mound in the firelight.

Christ.

Inky black locks spilled over the tops of her shoulders to slide down over the peaks of her magnificent breasts. Which were barely covered by the robe. He could see the tiny mountains of her nipples beneath the silk.

Her eyes widened. “Bloody hell.”

The scent of Sutton’s fine Irish whiskey rose in the air.

She stood, clutching the arm of the chair to steady herself. Her breasts rippled beneath the silk, and the robe opened to display another flash of her legs.

Colin’s mouth went dry. Everything he’d planned to say to her as he made his way upstairs immediately fled from his mind. The letter, still clutched in his hand, fell to the floor. Lust slammed into him.

“What are you doing here?” She seemed completely oblivious to the fact that she was half naked. “Shouldn’t you be traipsing about the woods with Lady Helen looking for some stupid bird?” Miranda waved the glass of whiskey at him. “Did she accept your generous offer to become the Countess of Kilmaire?” Miranda lifted her chin defiantly. “Well, I don’t bloody care. I’m marrying Ridley. You may,” her body swayed a bit, “call me Lady Ridley.”

The dusky circles of her nipples shown beneath the robe as she came closer. Her hair, the color of a raven’s wing, hung in spill of curls to her waist, begging him to plunge his fingers through the heavy mass.

She raised one dark brow at him, waiting for him to speak.

Instead, one arm reached out to snake around her waist, pulling her lush body against his own. The warmth of Miranda flamed beneath the thin silk of the robe and sent a rolling wave of heat down to the toes of his boots.

Miranda gave an angry gasp, and the glass she held tilted dangerously.

Gently, he took the whiskey from her and swallowed the remainder of the liquid before setting the empty glass on the table. His eyes closed, inhaling the scent of lavender and honey while his lips sought out the nape of her neck. Miranda’s scent enticed him, tempting him press his mouth against the scented flesh.

Miranda put up no resistance. Her head fell to the side with a soft whimper. She pressed herself against him even as her hands reached up to thread through his hair.

“You are bloody well not marrying that imbecile Ridley,” he murmured harshly against the column of her throat. “Nor Hamill, nor any other idiot who comes calling.” The words of apology he’d meant to utter, the admittance of what an ass he’d been stuck in his throat. He meant to claim her. Finally.

“Forgive me,” he whispered against her hair as his lips found hers. “Forgive me, Miranda. Please.”

WELL, this was rather unexpected.

Miranda thought at first it was the whiskey. Alcohol gave one delusions. Hallucinations. At least, she’d read that once in a book, or, maybe Grandmother mentioned it.

If this is an illusion, it’s remarkably realistic.The hard length of Colin swelling against her thigh did not feel as if it were a figment of her imagination. Figments didn’t feel hot and warm and press between one’s thighs.

A delicious vibration slid across her skin as he drew her more firmly against his chest. Her curves molded perfectly to the hard lines of his body, knowing instinctively where they fit together.

Dreams did not smell this amazing either. Leather and the citrus soap he’d used that morning filled her nostrils. His presence gave her the same euphoric feel as the whiskey, only she wished to drink more deeply of Colin.

I should probably demand to know what he is doing in my room.

If anyone found him there, even Ridley would find her unsuitable. Miranda didn’t find that thought as terrible as she should have.

His lips were moving along her throat, his breath tickling the inside of her ear. Teeth nipped the sensitive lobe and she immediately sank more fully into his chest.

Colin’s mouth left her neck to move against the line of her jaw. When he reached her plump lower lip, his tongue ran over the crease, then he pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth, coaxing her to kiss him.

Miranda’s fingers flowed through the honeyed strands of his hair, loving the feel of his skull beneath her fingers. She dragged his mouth down to hers, pent up longing surging through her. The silk of the robe chafed against her nipples, and the small peaks tightened, waiting for his touch.

They tasted each other, testing, asking, remembering. No kiss, especially in recent memory had ever stirred Miranda so. She surrendered so completely to Colin that she clung to him, her mouth opening as his tongue twined around hers.

One big hand cupped her behind, pulling her up against the solid length of him.

The back of her legs bumped against the side of the bed. Her fingers flew to his shoulders, trying to push off the coat he wore.

He broke the kiss, his breathing heavy and ragged against her ear. “Wait.” Then he gave a sigh of resignation. “I can’t help myself around you. I never could. I meant for us to speak first.” The cool patrician accent he usually affected had completely disappeared, and Miranda allowed the Irish lilt to wash over her already aroused body.

“Forgive me.” He brushed his lips against hers slowly, dragging out the sensation until she reached for him again.

“No,” he caught her hands and drew them down to her sides. “I’ve waited what feels like a lifetime.”

The robe fell from her shoulders, sliding down her already heated skin in a sensual caress to pool at her feet.

Miranda stood naked before him, her nipples peeking through the dark locks of her hair. Immediately, she put a protective hand over the small bump of her stomach, wishing she could hide her thighs as well.

He raised a brow in question, the chocolate of his eyes dark and unfathomable.

“I’m not as slender as I once was, Colin.” Miranda bit her lip and looked away. Would he find her wanting?

Reverently, Colin ran a fingertip along the line of her jaw, moving to slide along the delicate rise of her collarbone.

“Shush, Miranda. Just this once.”

His hand opened, the palm resting on the rise of her breasts before moving to cup the underside, as if testing the weight. With a graceful slide, his hand splayed against her stomach, before possessively cupping her mound.

“I’d forgotten,” the deep tenor grew rough with longing, “how beautiful you are. All of you.” His fingers threaded down into the heat of her, sliding through the slick, wet flesh. Rubbing back and forth until Miranda arched her back and thrust her hips forward.

“Mine.”

“Yes,” she moaned as he teased his finger between the folds.

“You’re very wet, Miranda,” he whispered. “I want you so very much.”

He was torturing her, his fingers gliding back and forth sending ripples of sensation across her skin.

“I find it unfair,” her voice caught as he slid a finger inside her, “that you are still clothed.” If she were being truthful, it was incredibly erotic to stand naked before him, while his fingers did the most amazing things.

He blew air across one nipple, eliciting a soft cry from her. His tongue flicked out to circle the tip.

“Open your legs, my love.”

Miranda fell back against the bed, her legs parting. He pressed against her until she lay down, settling his large body between her thighs.

Colin leaned over and sucked one taut nipple into his mouth, fingers curling up inside of her as he moved in and out.

Miranda moaned, reaching out to grab his hand and push it shamefully against her.

His mouth left the throbbing nibble. “Right there? I remember.” Then bent to his task again, his mouth sucking and nibbling her breast until she was near mad. He allowed the pressure inside her to build, then retreat, until she heard herself beg him.

Drawing his tongue over her tortured nipple, he murmured. “Now, my love.” He rotated his thumb over the engorged piece of flesh he’d so far ignored.

A cry escaped her lips as Miranda came apart. She bucked against his hand, her head falling to the side as her body moved with each wave of pleasure. Miranda floated up and then fell again as another tremor wracked her body, the whiskey giving her release an even more dreamlike quality.

He entered her suddenly, in one thrust, embedding himself deep in her body before she’d even realized he’d discarded his clothes. A soft moan came from his lips as he sank into her.

Instinctively her trembling legs hugged his hips. Reaching up, she ran her fingers down the length of the scar, tracing the puckered flesh to the place where it met his lip.

“I love you,” she whispered. “I will always love you.”

Colin turned his head and pressed a gentle kiss to her palm.

He moved inside her, thrusting slow and deep as Miranda rolled her hips. He kissed her eyes, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “Here?” he asked as he turned his body, catching hers.

“Yes,” Miranda whispered, surprised at how quickly the pleasure built again. She didn’t wish this to ever end. “I think perhaps I am dreaming from overindulging in Sutton’s whiskey. But, it’s such a beautiful dream. Go slowly, for I don’t wish it to end.”

Colin smiled and kissed her. “You are not dreaming, my love.”

“Say it again. Not the dreaming part.”

“My love,” he said in a ragged voice.

Flames cascaded over Miranda as her body moved with his. She wanted him deeper, harder. Miranda ran her hands down the sides of his torso, her fingertips dipping into the hollows of his muscles, until she reached his buttocks. “Harder.”

A growl sounded from him. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

Miranda squeezed the firm cheeks beneath her hands. “Bullocks.”

“Christ, you’ll be the death of me.”

The intensity increased until Miranda writhed beneath him, as if her body was on fire and Colin stoked the flame. When she arched against him, unable to wait any longer, he pinned her hands above her head, lacing his fingers through hers.

Miranda’s body tightened, the damn breaking apart within her. She cried out, feeling the clench of her muscles around the length of him. This time her release was deeper, more intense and the waves shifted and crested madly.

Colin thrust once more, burying his face in her sweat-damp hair, saying her name over and over.

They lay together, entwined on the bed, as their breathing slowly returned to normal. Colin was still buried inside her, his hips pressed against hers. Afraid to break the spell brought about by their lovemaking, Miranda remained silent. Instead, she listened to the beat of his heart, and took in the way their bodies fit together so perfectly.

“Puzzle pieces.” She mouthed the words but did not say them.

Her fingertips traced the outline of every supple muscle on his back, to the hollow at the base of his spine, to the curve of his hip. Gorgeous man.

Colin pressed a kiss to her nose and took his weight from her, ignoring the small squeak of protest she made.

“You’re no good to me if you can’t breathe, Miranda.” His fingers traced the line of her cheek as he pressed a gentle kiss against her lips. “My Marcella.”

“You’re not so heavy. Though you seem to be bigger than I remember.”

Colin wiggled his eyebrows.

“Not there.” Miranda giggled. “You just seem larger. More imposing.” She smiled against his chest. “If I am Marcella then you must be Lord Thurston,” she joked.

“In a manner of speaking.” He gave her a deep languid kiss that Miranda felt to the bottom of her feet and made her toes curl in pleasure.

“You taste of whiskey. And ravishment.” The big hands lazily moved over her body, possessively, caressing every curve and hollow. He worshipped her with his mouth and hands until she begged him for release.

Colin took nothing for himself, only murmuring beautiful wicked things to her as he coaxed her body to pleasure again until Miranda lay limp and boneless. Her body still throbbing from the aftermath of his attentions, Colin pulled her into the shelter of his arms and pressed a kiss to her brow.

“I wonder if we’ve missed dinner.”

Colin merely smiled at her. Picking up a curl that lay across her breast, he absently toyed with it, wrapping it and unwrapping it about his finger.

“Colin.” She was so sleepy. “Don’t leave again.”

Colin gathered her to him and pulled the bedcovers up around them. “Sleep.”

She snuggled closer to the large, warm male next to her, thinking she had never been so happy.

Always.