Nancy Warren - British Bad Boys

“What color is it?”

“Antique gold. Here, I’ve got a flashlight. You could see it.”

“No. Put your torch away. I rather like it in here. It’s very private, isn’t it?”

“So are our rooms,” she said, but she didn’t urge him back to hers or onward to his.

“I don’t know. I’m terrified that Simon will come barging into your bedroom banging on about some sodding production problem or Wiggins will burst into my room because desperate criminals are destroying the estate.”

“Desperate criminals? Is that what he wanted?”

“Oh, yes. Three ten-year-olds and a twelve-year-old. They were caught trying to pinch the trampoline from the adventure playground.”

“Oh, no.” She knew it was serious, and criminal tendencies in kids that young weren’t a good sign, but she still had to stifle a snicker. “What happened to them?”

“The gardener caught them, and instead of letting me deal with it, as he should have, the bloody fool called the local constable.”

“But-”

“The trouble is that the parents of two of the boys work on the estate. It’s hideously embarrassing for them, excruciatingly so for me.”

“But what would you have done?”

“Oh, I expect I’d have had the gardener haul each of them home to his parents and have worked out a fitting punishment. Make them pick up all the litter from the public grounds for a few weekends or something. Officially, I’d have known nothing about the incident. Now, there’ll be all the awkwardness. Ah, well,” he sighed, and leaned in, kissing her hair. “Can’t be helped.”

“I think,” she said, rubbing her nose against his sternum, “that you make a very good earl.”

“I’m still so new at it. I wish my father were here so I could ask him. Though, of course, if he was here, there’d be no need. He’d be the earl and doing a far better job of it.”

“You miss him.”

“At times like this, I do. And…” He stopped.

“And?”

“I’d have liked him to meet you. He’d have adored you.”

She was touched. “I’d have liked it, too.”

They stood quietly for a moment. The darkness was blanket-thick, both cover and comfort. When he touched her it came as a surprise.

“Your skin feels so smooth, so soft,” he said, running his hands over her shoulders and down her arms. Then he skimmed her waist until his hands rested on her hips, orienting himself to her. Anchoring her.

Oh, how she would miss this, not just the sex, but the way he brushed her skin with his fingertips, as though it was a fresh experience every time. The way he’d talk to her. Those charming little compliments that slipped from between his lips like sighs.

Waiting to be together tonight had been dragged out so long, and they were both so desperate, and yet, still, he took things slowly.

She felt the slight friction of his fingertips against the silk, felt the warmth of his skin through the sheer fabric, and wanted more.

She reached for him, finding his shoulders, putting her arms around his neck and pulling his head down until she could kiss him. She tasted toothpaste and a hint of scotch. As his mouth moved against hers and their chins brushed, she could tell that he was freshly shaven.

How thoughtful. All the parts of her that wouldn’t be getting chafed through close contact with his stubble tingled in anticipation. She opened her mouth to him, tasting him, nipping his lower lip. And all the time his hands were stroking her, exciting her through the silk. He traced the long muscles of her back. “Your muscles are tight. You seem really tense.”

“It’s been a long day. And that last hour was hell. I thought I’d have to drug Simon’s drink to get away.”

She moaned softly as he began kneading the knots in her shoulder. “Then my boss in L.A. wanted to chat. It’s late afternoon there and he wants to talk about new ideas for programming. While all I can think about is finding you and getting naked.” She kissed him. “All I can think about is this.”

“I know,” he said, his slow, soothing hands in odd contrast to the barely restrained need she recognized in his voice.

Even though her belly was growing heavy with desire and she ached to have him inside her, it felt so good to have him massaging away the day’s tensions that she leaned into his hands, like a cat being stroked. He spent a long time on her shoulders and her back, and then he moved-very sneakily in the dark-and she felt his hands at her stomach, so warm and sudden that she gasped. He stroked her belly as he had her back, long, soothing strokes that left her quivering and wanting. It was like the Kama Sutra of massage therapy.

It was so quiet here, so still and so dark that her senses were abnormally heightened. Without sight, she was aware of subtle sensations. The sound of their breathing, the slight rustle as her gown brushed her skin, the smell of George’s shaving cream on his freshly razored face, the feel of the ancient wooden wall at her back, and the firm warmth of George at her front.

When his questing fingers reached her naked thighs, he said, “You’re trembling.”

“I want you so much.”

“It’s different now, isn’t it? Now that I’ve declared myself.”

She smiled in the darkness. Such an old-fashioned expression, but it suited him.

“It’s partly knowing how we feel, I think, and also knowing we won’t see each other for a while. We have to make enough memories to last us a while.”

“How long?” he asked, running his lips along her jawline.

“A few weeks.” She clutched at him. “Shorter if I can manage it.”

“I don’t think I can bear to be away from you. We’ve barely begun to know each other.” His hands were urgent on her, tracing her thighs, squeezing her buttocks.

“I know.” She was so empty, so hot for him, waiting.

“Maybe I can come up and you can sneak me into your hotel room at the next location.”

She could barely take in his words. If she didn’t have him inside her soon, she’d explode. But the meaning finally sank in. “You’d do that? You’d drive all that way for one night?”

“I’d drive twice as far. You haven’t even gone yet and I miss you already.”

She smiled against his chest. “I know. I feel it, too.”

His hand was moving higher, and she parted her legs to give him ready access to where she wanted him most.

“Your skin is so soft here. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything so soft.”

“It’s arousal,” she panted. “Blood’s rushing to the capillaries.”

“Really?” His fingers paused, no doubt in surprise.

“I produced a documentary on sexual arousal one time. It’s amazing the facts you pick up.” She laughed softly.

“Let’s see if we can find any more signs of arousal,” he said in a low, teasing tone, letting his hand sweep higher.

She wanted to open up for him but her legs were shaking and she thought she might topple. He seemed to understand her dilemma, for he raised her knee and draped her leg over his elbow. She felt the air wafting across her privates and was so sensitive that even the slight movement of air felt like a caress.

Then he touched her and she let out a moan of pleasure. His fingers explored her with a deft, light touch, making her squirm.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered.

“I’m so desperately horny, you have no idea.”

“Oh, yes I do,” he said, and pushed a finger inside her.

“I want you,” she cried. “Can’t wait.”

He didn’t say anything, but she heard the rustle and tear of the condom package, then he grabbed her hips and hoisted her up. She opened her legs, wrapping them around his waist, and he pushed up and into her, shoving her against the cold wall. The shock of the cold wood paneling against her back was in sharp contrast to the heat coming off George. He took her fast and hard, and she took him right back, spread so wide that she felt the shock of impact right through her with every thrust.