Lady Myddelton's Lover Read Online Free PDF Page B

body the entire time. To his surprise, she grabbed his waist and nudged her hips, forcing him onto his back to watch her ride him. Her movements were awkward and self-conscious, her tongue darting from between her lips in concentration. He held her hips loosely, willing to wait until she found the right rhythm to create the most pleasure for them both.
    He could not help the creep of his hands from her hips to cup her jiggling breasts, loving the way her softness felt against his work-roughened fingers. She leaned forward, running her palms across his heaving, sweat-slicked chest, rolling her hips so divinely he could only arch his back, eyes rolling in the back of his head. He blew a quick breath and lifted up, rolling her over so that he was on top once more. He would end this excruciating and delicious torment.
                  He thrust long and hard, arms braced on either side of her, his gaze fixated on watching the play of expressions across her face. Suddenly, she looked directly at him, her green eyes lucid with such tender understanding he had to smile.  She smiled back, and he was unable to tear his eyes away from her, forgetting everything—their unexpected meeting, her reputation, the servants, her dead husband, his obligations in Australia; everything—but pleasuring her. His smile turned triumphant when her gaze lost focus, going dreamy and frantic, and she dug her nails into his arms as he slowly, steadily and thoroughly pushed her towards the edge. His breath burst in his lungs as he increased his pace, just hanging over the edge by his fingernails himself.
                  “Yes, oh, yes, Richard,” She groaned, sliding her feet across the carpet.
                  The sound of his name did it, and he jerked against her, spilling hotly within her with a hoarse cry of utter ecstasy.
     
    ***
     
                  Aline never knew lovemaking could be so…sticky and wet. But it was a glorious sensation, she thought, stretching rather like a cat in the sunlight streaming through the window. She glanced over at Richard, who lay on his back, one arm over his eyes, utterly spent. His golden hair stuck out around his head, making him actually look like a bizarre sun, whose rays bent at odd angles. The sound of clocks striking vibrated through the house and she paused to count the chimes: one, two, three, four…twelve o’clock in the afternoon. Any other day—perhaps even just yesterday—she would be changing into a suitable gown for lunch and going to watch the cricket matches at Lord’s, then changing once again for a dinner party, and changing lastly for the theater or for a box at Covent Garden. Lying here, in the nude, beside an equally nude gentleman, was quite…scandalous.
                  She shivered at the thought: she was a widow just out of mourning, and had just shagged her husband’s heir on the carpet of her drawing room. She pressed her hands to her heating cheeks, unsure of whether to laugh or leap up from the floor, dress, and leave the house as though nothing untoward had occurred. She squeaked when Richard rolled over onto his side and gave her a look, as though he knew the precise thoughts running like a fox through the tangled brush of her mind. She shrugged her shoulders a trifle breathlessly, peeping at him through her lashes. His next words surprised her out of her confusion.
                  “Who is this fellow?”
                  “I beg your pardon?” She blinked at him.
                  He gestured towards the room. “The one you failed to mention in your letters.”
                  “No one—” Aline widened her eyes. “You must mean Sir Carleton.”
                  “Is he a rival I must run to ground?” He narrowed his eyes at her face.
                  “Lady Frederick Cornwallis is a gossip.” Aline rolled her eyes. “Sir Carleton