Magnate by Joanna Shupe (13)

Chapter Thirteen

Something had shifted between them. Emmett could feel the change, a truce of some kind. Elizabeth smiled at him often, the mood decidedly lighthearted—and he hadn’t even poured the champagne.

He set out their provisions of salami, cheese, and bread on a blanket he’d spread over the carpet. Night had fallen, and the snow continued outside, but the room was comfortable. He popped the cork on the bottle and filled both of their glasses.

Indeed, this was a celebration—though his wife would hardly agree if she knew the stock transactions she’d just evaluated belonged to Northeast Railroad. Turned out her brother had been selling too many shares of the company’s stock. While this wasn’t entirely unheard of—Fisk and Gould had watered down the Erie Railroad stock to keep the company out of Vanderbilt’s hands—it was fraudulent. The shares would be worth absolutely nothing, no matter what the investors had paid for them.

So how would Emmett use this information against Sloane?

The water closet door opened, and Elizabeth emerged. “I removed my bustle. All things considered, I thought I should be comfortable.”

He closed his eyes briefly. The idea of her removing clothing, even something so innocuous as a horsehair bustle, was embarrassingly tantalizing. “Of course. I agree wholeheartedly.”

She turned to show her profile. “It ruins the line of my dress.”

He gestured to the empty room. “I think formalities can be bent in these desperate times. Of course I am happy to loan you some of my clothing, if you’d rather.”

She snorted and came toward him. “Not even in desperate times, I think. Oh, that looks delicious. I am starving.”

“Come, sit.” He held out his hand and helped her down to the floor. “It’s not much, but—”

“Emmett, it’s wonderful.” Her gray eyes sparkled in the firelight, gratitude shining up at him. “Thank you. For everything. If it weren’t for you, I’d be downstairs, freezing and hungry.”

No, you wouldn’t, he wanted to tell her. Nothing would have prevented him from reaching her today. Not snow or wind, or even ice. He would have found a way to get to her. But he couldn’t imagine admitting that aloud, so he merely said, “You are welcome.”

The next several minutes were spent attacking the food and the champagne. They ate in companionable silence, reminding him of the first time he’d taken her to dinner.

“Why are you smiling?” she asked him.

“I was just thinking we get along remarkably well when food is involved. It’s the other times . . .”

“Do you plan to carry a hunk of cheese in your pocket every time you wish to speak with me?”

A brief noise escaped his throat, the sound rusty and hoarse.

“Was that a laugh?” She peered at him with exaggerated seriousness. “Oh, I cannot believe it. I actually made you laugh.”

“Do not get ahead of yourself. I didn’t exactly guffaw.”

“Still, I shall treasure it always. The time I made the perpetually serious Emmett Cavanaugh laugh.”

He shook his head at her foolishness. “I’m not always serious. Just ask Kelly or Brendan.”

“Is that so? Your sisters say they hardly ever see you, that all your time is spent working.”

True. He didn’t spend enough time with them, but they were surrounded with tutors and governesses, learning how to be proper young ladies, as they should, befitting the status that Emmett’s wealth gave them. Claire and Katie would not scrounge and grasp for a husband when the time came. “And your point is?”

“Perhaps you need a bit more fun in your life.” She popped a piece of cheese in her mouth and chewed.

He leaned down and cut another small piece of cheese. Lifting it between his thumb and forefinger, he held the morsel in front of her lips. The teasing light in her gray gaze faded, only to be replaced by a dark curiosity that never failed to make him hard. Her lips parted on a breathy sigh, acquiescing, and he slipped the bite of cheese inside. “Perhaps you and I have a difference of opinion on what constitutes fun. Shall I show you my version?”

Bold as brass, she closed her lush mouth around the tips of his fingers. Her lips were soft and smooth against his rough skin, and he wanted nothing more than to feel them on other parts of his body. She held his stare, not shy in the least, and a fierce hunger that had nothing to do with food swept through him.

How could an innocent woman be so brazen? How could a sheltered heiress be so intelligent? How could one woman force him to feel things that none other had even dared?

He slid his hand over her jaw. “You are unlike any woman I’ve ever met,” he said quietly.

Her eyes fell, and she drew back. Reluctantly, he let her go and watched as she reached for her glass. Her hand trembled, and satisfaction tore through him. He’d unnerved her. Good.

He plucked his own glass off the rug and decided to ease his conscience a bit. “I owe you an apology.”

“For?”

“What I said in Newport. I was deliberately crude and cruel. I know it doesn’t absolve me of what I said, but I didn’t care for the idea of you and Henry together.”

“Henry and I are not together. We never were.”

“I realized as much, and I’m sorry.”

She blinked a few times, her mouth working before she said, “Thank you.” She sipped more champagne. “Why actresses?”

He was growing used to her knack for abrupt changes in topic. “Why not actresses? They’re beautiful and talented. Self-sufficient.”

“So you want a woman who will leave you alone?”

“At times. Or I merely want to spend the evening with a pretty woman. I buy them whatever they want, and their names appear in the newspaper. Both parties benefit from the arrangement.” He finished his drink then reached to refill both their glasses.

“That sounds . . . cold.”

He flashed her a leer. “I promise you, it is not.”

She threw her head back and laughed, a rich, joyful sound that stole through his entire body. “You are shameless. How did I never suspect it?”

Probably for the same reason he’d come to realize countless things about her over the past few hours. Like how she tapped her foot when she was concentrating. Or how her hair shined like wheat in the lamplight. “Because we hardly know one another. Isn’t that what you once said, when you were trying to finagle out of the wedding?”

Pink bloomed on her cheeks as she reached for the bread. “And it was true.”

“But no longer?”

She opened her mouth to take a bite and anticipation slid through his gut, tightening his muscles. Is this what he’d become, a man desperate for the mere sight of a woman’s tongue? Then the pink flesh emerged to lick her lips in an innocent-yet-provocative gesture, and Emmett nearly groaned.

At that moment, a decision settled over him with steely resolve. Annulment be damned.

He would seduce his wife in this room before the storm ended. Let her worry over that ridiculous annulment. He no longer cared.

“I am developing an . . . understanding that I did not have before.” She cradled her glass of champagne, clutching the flute in front of her chest like a talisman.

Too late, he wanted to tell her. The devil would not be dissuaded, not tonight.

Tonight, she was his.

* * *

Lizzie strongly suspected her husband intended to seduce her.

He’d inched closer and closer on the rug, his long limbs and brawny shoulders entirely too distracting. His dark gaze followed her every movement, tracking her like a hunter on the African plains. He seemed especially fascinated by her mouth and lips while she ate. Heat lurked in his eyes—heat, and a promise.

Perhaps the fault of the champagne, but she was coming to like the idea. Quite a bit.

Selecting another small piece of cheese, she slowly placed the morsel in her mouth. Emmett watched intently, saying nothing. All masculine grace, he was reclined back on an elbow, one knee propped up. A thrill skated down her spine, a heady rush of something wicked and mysterious, as she waited to see what he would do.

“My brother likes you,” Emmett said casually. “Claire and Katie, as well. They said you promised to take them ice skating.”

“I did.” She smiled. The girls were curious about her, constantly peppering her with questions about her life, her clothes, the people she knew. Had she been to the Patriarchs’ Ball? What had it been like to debut? How many marriage proposals had she received? Lizzie didn’t mind. She could talk to the two adorable girls for hours. They were clearly starved for a female presence in their lives. “You should come as well.”

He glanced away, a muscle twitching in his jaw. She asked, “Have you ever been skating?”

“No. Never had the time for that sort of nonsense.”

“Ice skating is not nonsense. Having fun and spending time with your family is not nonsense.” He didn’t say anything, so she pushed on his shoulder playfully. “What if I teach you how to skate? I promise I’ll only laugh at you once or twice.”

“Oh, is that all?” he said dryly. “Let me guess, your brother took you ice skating.”

“Yes, he did. Many times, in fact. No, do not roll your eyes, Emmett Cavanaugh. Manipulations and blackmail aside, he was a good older brother.”

“So you’re saying I’m a terrible older brother?”

“Not at all, but the girls can use more of your time and attention. Beyond dinners and occasional swimming lessons.”

“Sounds as if you’ve been giving them your time and attention recently. I’m grateful, Elizabeth. They can benefit from a woman’s perspective, especially one as sophisticated as yours.”

“I adore Katie and Claire. You’ve done a marvelous job in raising them.” She picked at a thread on the blanket, unsure of how to broach something during this newfound détente between them.

“But?” he asked, picking up on her struggle.

“You should know the girls have been asking me about you. I do worry the distance between us will upset them.”

“What have you told them?”

“That you are busy. That Newport was cold and boring, that I was anxious to start my investment firm.”

“All entirely true,” he pointed out. “And not all the honeymoon was cold and boring. I seem to recall a very passionate kiss in the salon. In fact, you almost scratched my back with your fingernails while—”

“Emmett!” Her face warm with embarrassment, she shoved at his shoulder once more—but this time he was ready for her. He sat up, caught her wrist, and did not let go.

“I liked it, Elizabeth,” he said quietly. “I liked it so much I’ve nearly driven myself mad with the memory.”

Her heart pounded, a steady pulse that seemed to center between her legs. Gently, he slid his hand up her arm and skimmed her throat to bring her closer. “Tell me you don’t wonder,” he continued, gliding his thumb under her jaw. “Tell me you don’t lie awake at night thinking of what it would feel like. What I would feel like. How good the two of us could be together.”

A denial sprang to mind, one that was a complete lie. Countless hours had been wasted contemplating exactly that—and more. Thoughts of the powerful attraction between them arose at the most inopportune times. Stock tables would swim before her eyes, she would lose track of conversations, and once she’d gotten so turned around in the mansion that a footman had to give her directions to her room.

“We should resist the temptation,” she said, her voice thin.

“If I were a better man, I would try. But I am not that man.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, where he brushed the rough pad of his thumb along the edges of her lips. Goose bumps erupted down the length of her body in the wake of his tender touch. “I’ve done many terrible things in my life and will no doubt commit hundreds more. But you are the first woman I’ve ever met who makes me ache to be worthy.”

She drew in a shaky breath. Her resolve to resist was rapidly melting along with her insides, need and desire building at an alarming rate. “Emmett—”

“Let me, Elizabeth. Let me show you.” He bent his head slowly and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth. She sighed, and he shifted to repeat the gesture to the other side, his lips surprisingly soft for such a large, complicated man.

There was no point in denying that she wanted him, no benefit to running any longer. Lizzie had fought her physical reaction to Emmett for too long, weighing the emotional risks against the pleasurable rewards. Something about this man twisted her up, and perhaps he had been right: No one need know about their intimacies during the annulment proceedings.

Decision made, she tilted her head, let her lids fall, and found his mouth with her own. He gave a swift intake of breath at her surrender just before crushing her to him. His lips turned insistent, fevered, as they melded to hers, drawing and teasing until she clung to him.

Large hands traveled over her corseted ribs, and her breasts swelled. No man had ever touched her this intimately or kissed her with such vigor. Even through layers of clothing she could feel his touch, as sensitive as if he slid over her bare skin. Blood rushed through her veins, in her ears, along her scalp.

He pressed his tongue past the seam of her lips and she welcomed him, eager to explore the warm, lush recesses of his mouth. How could a person’s tongue be so arousing? But, oh, it was . . . Lips open, their tongues twined and danced in a slick, urgent rhythm that stole her breath. He pulled back to sink his teeth into her bottom lip, causing the sweetest sting of pleasure and pain. “Such fire inside you. I am going to enjoy watching you burn, Elizabeth.”

He stretched out next to her and kissed her, hard, as if dying for the taste of her. Their teeth clashed, mouths attacking one another in desperation. He loomed over her, bearing down while she strained up, trying to get closer. The rustle of silk barely permeated her brain before air washed over her stocking-clad legs. She should be shocked, but instead nearly moaned in relief. Sensation gathered in every pore, every cell, creating a restlessness that demanded relief.

Higher went the layers until they pooled at her waist. He pushed her thighs apart, then his hand cupped her mound over the cotton drawers. Without even realizing, she rocked her hips into the heel of his palm. The delicious friction sparked more fierce desire up through her belly, along her spine, and she had to break away from his mouth to release a moan.

He dropped his face into her throat. “So hot,” he murmured. “So unafraid. God knows why I’m even surprised.”

Her hips began moving once again, seeking. Oh, she needed . . . She didn’t know what she needed, but everything was building inside her. “Emmett, please,” she whispered, her fingers wrapping around his shoulders to pull him closer.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say those words.” His fingers shifted, parting the fabric of her drawers until he reached the feminine heart of her. His touch glided easily through the moisture pooled there. Should there be so much of it?

Embarrassment washed over her, and she turned her head away, even as he traced her entrance. “No, don’t hide,” he said. “I want to see your face while I pleasure you.”

Before she could ask what he planned to do, he dragged his rough finger along the sensitive skin, up to the bud at the top of her cleft. He rolled it, stroking her, and Lizzie’s back bowed off the floor, her toes curling. She closed her eyes, unable to focus on anything but what he was doing with his wonderful, marvelous hands. “That’s it, my beautiful,” he murmured. “Enjoy what I’m doing to you.”

His lips nibbled her neck, below her ear, and then he continued to whisper low, husky words of encouragement. How lovely she was, how intelligent, how perfect . . . Lizzie’s muscles soon clenched, her body racing higher and higher as he continued to touch her, drive her to the peak. The deep timbre of his voice, his hot breath on her skin, the catch in his breathing every time she moaned . . .

Then he slid a finger inside her, filling her, and excitement built until her body could not contain all the buzzing giddiness—and she exploded in a burst of white-hot energy, a thousand pieces scattering into the air. She dug her nails into the heft of his shoulders, holding on as she convulsed and gasped his name, the incredible sensation overtaking her.

Before she floated down, Emmett positioned himself between her legs, his knees pressing her thighs wide. He shrugged out of his topcoat, threw it aside, and then his fingers flew down his trouser buttons, undoing them, allowing him to reach into his underclothes to withdraw his erection. One hand propped by her shoulder, the other held himself steady as he lined up at the entrance to her passage. Lizzie felt the hard heat of the smooth tip just before he started inside, slowly, until one mighty thrust rendered the proof of her virginity. She sucked in a lungful of air at the uncomfortable stretch, and instinctually tried to twist away from him. Away from this horrible feeling.

“Wait, Elizabeth.” Emmett’s eyes were closed, his teeth clenched. “Just wait, please. It will get better. I shoudn’t ’a taken you so fast, but it’ll get better, I swear.”

She heard the guttural consonants, the mispronunciation that sounded so unlike his polished, cultured voice. He sounded like his friend, Kelly, and she wondered how long it had taken her husband to lose the traces of Five Points from his speech.

The soreness between her legs began receding. Emmett towered above her, suspended, as he waited for her to adjust. In his shirtsleeves and vest, he looked impossibly large. “Has the pain eased?” he gritted out. “May I keep going?”

“Are you not . . . in?”

He gave a dry rasp of a chuckle. “Almost, sweetheart.” He folded himself over her then, coming down onto his elbows, and captured her mouth in a blistering kiss. She could taste his urgency, his need for her, and ribbons of desire unfurled in her groin once again. Her limbs relaxed, and she melted under him. “That’s it,” he murmured against her mouth, and rocked his hips to press deeper, the broad head of his penis sliding along her innermost flesh. Strange, this invasion . . . but not unwelcome or unpleasant. He did not stop, just kept up a steady advance until their bodies were flush.

When he retreated and snapped his hips forward, the sweet drag of him inside her was unlike anything she’d imagined. They each groaned into the other’s mouth. Two more quick thrusts, and she threw her head back with a cry. She’d never guessed, hadn’t dreamed their coupling could feel this intensely good.

He levered up over her, supporting himself on powerful arms. She had never seen him so untamed, so out of control. Dark hair fell onto his forehead, sweat beading his brow. The angles of his face were taut, stark in the firelight, the divot in his chin more pronounced. He was breathtakingly handsome.

“I want to be gentle with you, but God help me . . .” He began pumping in earnest, hips churning into her pelvis, rubbing the swollen nubbin of flesh between them. Unable to speak, she held onto his arms, anchoring herself as waves of bliss surged through her limbs. He didn’t need to be gentle. She craved this heat, this animalistic response from him, where primitive, raw lust broke free from his ironclad restraint.

“Wrap your legs around my hips. Let me in deeper.”

Lizzie did as directed, and then he withdrew, returned, and hit a spot that made her gasp. Dear God, how did he . . . He did it again, and the storm began building, pleasure gathering where their bodies were joined. His hips pounded into her now, the force driving her across the carpet. Her muscles tightened, her body drawing into herself, clenching, until she snapped, the orgasm rushing over her. She shouted, nails digging into his back, dimly aware of his grunts, the way his hips stuttered.

He stiffened and groaned loudly, the tendons in his throat straining as he spent inside her womb. “Goddammit,” she heard him breathe before he collapsed on top of her.

* * *

Never had Emmett felt worse.

He had just fucked his wife like an animal in heat. No gentility. No finesse. No tender words—or even a bed. Hadn’t properly prepared or stretched her first. He’d taken her virginity on the floor of his damned office, not even bothering to remove her drawers.

Christ.

What must she think of him? He could only imagine how horrified she must be, how appalled. His cock was still hard inside her, pulsing in utter contentment, while Emmett could feel nothing but loathing for the way he’d treated her.

The room was deathly quiet. The only sounds were the flakes hitting the panes of glass outside. This had been a horrible idea. Why hadn’t he kept his hands—and everything else—away from her?

Knowing he was probably crushing her, he began to pull away, not meeting her eyes. Calling on years of practice, he hid his emotions, building up an icy indifference where disapproval and disappointment could not touch him. He slid out of the warm clasp of her easily, the skin of his cock so oversensitive that he shivered.

A cloth. He needed to get a cloth and clean her. That was what a normal husband would do, wasn’t it? He drew back on his knees, tucked himself back in his combination, and buttoned his trousers. Before he could get up, a small hand wrapped around his forearm.

“Emmett, wait,” she said, rising up on her elbows. “What is wrong?”

He blew out a long breath. You just took your wife’s virginity. You’re supposed to be reassuring her, you shit-sack. She was spread out on the floor, her blond hair mussed from his fingers, clothing askew. She’d never looked more beautiful. “Nothing is wrong. I want to get a cloth to clean you up.”

“You seem unhappy with me.”

He shook his head. “Not with you. With myself.”

She gave him a hard stare. “Why?”

Instead of answering, he strode to the water closet. He turned on the hot tap and found a clean cloth. The water remained lukewarm, even after a few minutes, which didn’t surprise him since the water heater ran on gas. No doubt the poles holding the gas lines had fallen down by now.

He wet the cloth and returned to where Elizabeth lay on the floor. She watched him curiously, as if he were a stock hiccup to reason out. Ignoring her shrewd gaze, he dropped to his haunches by her hip and gently removed her sweat-dampened drawers. A small amount of blood smeared her inner thighs, and he cleaned her as carefully as he could manage with his clumsy hands. When she had been sufficiently tended to, he returned the cloth to the sink. He felt sticky and sweaty, a sensation he intensely hated, but changing his clothes would have to wait. So he washed as best he could.

When he came back, she hadn’t moved, so he lowered himself to the carpet and found his drink. “I apologize,” he said before finishing the warm champagne in his glass. He nearly gagged, but it was no less than he deserved.

“Apologize for what, exactly?” She sat up and reached for her own glass.

He made a vague gesture to the carpet. “Not doing this properly. Your first time should have been . . . gentler.”

Her brows rose dramatically. “Granted, I had no idea what to expect, but that seemed absolutely perfect to me.”

“Perfect? You must be joking. On a floor. Nearly fully clothed. I can only imagine what you are thinking of me.”

“Actually, I am thinking,” she said with a small twist of her lips, “that I want you to do that again.”

He blinked at her even as some of the tension left his shoulders. “What?”

“Did you not enjoy it?” Uncertainty deepened the lines of her face. “I thought that you . . .”

“I had an orgasm, yes. But there was never a question of whether I would enjoy sleeping with you.”

Even more lines appeared, and her gray eyes turned troubled. “Because every woman is the same?”

Jesus, he was mangling this. Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, “No. You are different from every other woman I’ve ever met. I’ve wanted you naked since the moment you read that ticker tape in my office.”

“You have?” A broad grin broke out on her face. She hitched her skirts, rolled onto her knees, then shuffled forward until she reached him. “I didn’t understand my reaction the first time I saw you,” she was saying as she began to unbutton his vest. “You were entirely too handsome.”

“You weren’t afraid of me? Afraid of my size?”

She cocked her head and studied him. “Absolutely not. I was afraid of what you made me feel. After all, I didn’t even know you. Why should I have such an immediate, visceral reaction to the sight of you?”

That admission struck him squarely in the chest. Tossing the crystal aside, he wrapped his arms around her waist and dragged her on top of him, falling to the floor at the same time as he took her mouth. He ravaged her, kissed her with everything he could not express, cupping her buttock with one hand while the other buried in her silky hair. She held nothing back, her tongue meeting his, the two of them struggling for dominance in this pleasurable game.

He was hard and heavy already, a feat he hadn’t expected so soon after spending, but Elizabeth affected him like none other. Still, he would do this properly.

Forcing himself away from her sinfully tempting mouth, he kissed her jaw. “I want to see every inch of you.” He palmed her small, round breast over her clothing, pleased when she arched into his hand. “May I undress you?”

He held his breath while awaiting her answer. If she refused, he very well might beg.

She nodded and slid off him. He rose and offered her a hand, aiding her to her feet. The row of buttons on her lilac shirtwaist beckoned, tiny buttons much too delicate for his large, anxious fingers. His mistresses had always worn garments factoring for a man’s impatience. Undressing his wife would no doubt be a test of his fortitude.

He began forcing the buttons through the holes. Anticipation churned in his gut, his skin tight and hot, and he considering rending the fabric. If they were at home, he wouldn’t hesitate, but he did not want to ruin her one available garment during the storm.

The release of each button revealed further glimpses of her underthings. Silk and lace covered unblemished, creamy skin. He traced his fingers over the hard edges of her collarbones, watched her shiver. He didn’t stop, but forced himself to slow down. The first time he removed her clothing, the first time he saw her entirely naked needed to be forged into his memory forever.

Buttons undone, he pushed the sides open and over her shoulders, revealing a white cotton corset cover fashioned with bows and more buttons. Sweat broke out on the back of his neck as he unwrapped her, and when he reached her pale pink corset, she was breathing fast, the motion forcing up the small mounds of her breasts. Ever lovin’ hell, the woman was perfection.

“So lovely,” he murmured before bending his head to place reverent kisses along the edge of the heavy fabric. She clutched at him, and the proof of her desire lit a match to the fever inside his blood. He had to have more of her, had to taste her. He held the weight of her corseted breast, plumped the soft flesh to expose it, then he rained kisses over the creamy slopes. After a long moment, he pulled back to drag in air, his cock aching, harder than it had ever been. Christ, the threads of his control were unraveling quickly, and she was still more than half dressed.

He stepped behind her, appreciated the curve of her delicate shoulders. At her waist he found the ties of her outer skirt, pulled the loops free. The ruffled petticoat came next, dropping to the floor on top of the skirt. He ran his fingers along her spine, over the lacings of her corset, enjoyed the gasp she gave as a result. Grasping her hand, he helped her step out of the skirts, moved them to the side with his foot.

He spun her around and found her wide eyes burning with a myriad of emotions. Desire, excitement, curiosity, embarrassment . . . She held nothing back from him, and he wanted to pay her back in kind. “You are the most magnificent woman I’ve ever seen.”

The smile she gave him tightened his chest with something entirely unfamiliar. Something unexpected.

Something he must ignore.

This was not forever; she still planned to leave him. Freedom could be attained with one creative lie to the judge regarding consummation. And why wouldn’t she, this high-bred girl from wealth and privilege, one who could have her choice of worthy men?

Nevertheless, Emmett had her now. And he meant to have his fill of her.

His hands popped open the fastenings of her corset, exposing her bit by bit. The heavy piece fell to the ground with a thump. Unable to resist, he stroked her small breast over her chemise. Soft and round. He plucked at the hard nipple, then pinched, and her head fell back with a moan. With deft hands, he undid the bow and buttons, lifted the garment over her head. Her skin gleamed in the firelight, her breasts high and perfect, with dusky areolas that surrounded pink nipples just begging for his mouth.

Bending, he drew a nipple between his lips, onto his tongue, and sucked. She exhaled sharply, her fingers weaving through his hair to grasp his head. He repeated the motion, then bathed her nipple with his tongue, circling, alternating with suction, until her knees gave out.

He caught her easily and lowered her to the carpet. She gazed up at him from under long lashes. “I had no idea,” she breathed.

“You still don’t,” he said, before giving the same attention to the other breast. She was writhing beneath him by the time he removed her stockings. He took a moment to appreciate the view. Long, smooth legs. Downy blond curls. Tapered waist and gorgeous breasts. “My God, but you are a vision.”

“Emmett.” She reached for him.

“Wait. There’s something I must do first.” Shifting lower, he positioned himself between her legs. His fingers parted the folds until he reached the plush, slick center of her. Moisture pooled there, so much that his mouth watered. He wanted to devour her, to bury his face in her cleft for days and never come out. The tip of his finger traced her entrance. She would be sore from their earlier encounter, so he would need to restrain his own lust this time. But he could pleasure her.

“Lie back, Elizabeth. Let me taste you on my tongue.”