Counterfeit Countess by Lynne Connolly Read Free Book Online Page B

her body stiffened against him. “If you are not here, she won’t relent. I’ll be married before the year’s out.”
    “Charlotte and Louisa are much more agreeable without their mother present. I believe she imposes on them a little too much.
    But it is none of my concern. Either would make an excellent countess.”
    “Not while I’m married to you.” He rolled further in to lean over her, his cock lying on her hip, informing her, as if she needed it, of his renewed arousal.
    She blinked but showed no other sign. “We’re not married.”
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    He framed her face with his hands, bent his head lower, watched her lips part, ready for his kiss. He wondered if she knew she was doing it, or if it was a natural action, and craved the latter. “We could be,” he murmured, before finally giving way to temptation.
    He’d give her that much, the temptation of the worm on the hook.
    She sighed into his mouth and he surrendered, for the time being at least. Gave himself over to pleasing her, and by doing so, pleasuring himself. He’d taken women in desperation, with the certainty this would be the last time he would do this because the next day he’d stare death in the face. Again. Taken them with mutual pleasure in mind. Never before had he desired anyone this badly. He needed her, more than here, in bed, but elsewhere too. If he could not persuade her, then his task would be all but insurmountable.
    When she arched into his hold, teasing his cock with her feminine slickness, her soft skin, her sighs, he forgot any other consideration.
    His shaft didn’t need guidance this time. It knew its way. All he had to do was rise up enough to let it slip between her legs. When she widened her thighs and opened for him, he drove in, deep and sure, all the way home.
    A sense of rightness washed over him, together with an insatiable need to thrust hard into her, force her to call out, accept him as her—he would have said ‘master,’ but he didn’t want that.
    Only his recalcitrant member seemed to force him to want it. He could use the feeling, and he did.
    When he pushed straight in, she moaned, but it seemed practiced, by rote, her actions what she expected him to want.
    Difficult to describe, but he knew he’d seen those reactions in other women. At the time he’d known they were trying to please him, mostly because he was paying them.
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    Not now. He watched her when he changed his angle, so he thrust sharper, then lifted an inch or two so he grazed the lower part of her channel.
    There. Victory roared through him when she gave a sharp gasp and reached out as if to clutch him. “Open your eyes,” he whispered to her. “Let me see you.”
    She did so, blinking into his face. He saw shock, mingled with heat. Oh, yes . Her expressive gaze showed him her reactions. Her unguarded behaviour with him flattered him more than any words.
    She trusted him, and he suspected she gave her trust to few people.
    Urged on, he moved again, touched the same sweet, soft place and watched her pupils widen, her bright eyes darken, sparkling with shared intimacy.
    “Let me help you there, Faith.”
    He continued with his slow, steady thrusts, taking care to touch the spot that gave her most pleasure. Another time he’d work on her clitoris, but they were still learning and in his experience one step at a time worked best. Get that right and move on to the next.
    Concentrating on her helped him to delay his own culmination until he could ensure hers. As she blindly reached out, her hands touched his shoulders, clasped tightly and held on. Her cries became whimpers, shreds of sound in rhythm with his thrusts, keeping the beat until he changed, paused and then began again.
    One, strangled cry, her eyes closed and she turned her head, pressing her cheek against the pillow, crying his name as she came.
    The rush of heat and the way her body clenched around him were enough to set him off. Barely able to