Free The Earl and His Virgin Countess by Dominique Eastwick Page B

Satisfied, she went back to what she had been doing.
    He, meanwhile, died a slow, excruciating death with every stroke, payment for every sin he had ever committed through his life coming due. Nerves nearly snapped, and the natural instinct to wrench up her skirts and dive into her nearly undid him. Instead, he held onto his baser instincts by the finest of threads. She wanted to explore his body, eager to see what the male anatomy looked like. And, if this allowed for an easier, less frightening wedding night, then it would be worth it. Or so he kept repeating to himself.
    Think of England.
    Not helping.
    Think of crops and rotations.
    Not that either.
    Think of —
    Her tongue touched the tip of his cock.
    Fucking hell!
    “What are you doing?” he croaked.
    “I wanted to taste you.” She licked her lips like the cat that got the cream.
    “Why?”
    She pouted, and he wanted to take that bottom lip into his mouth and suck on it. “Because you did something similar to me; it seemed only reasonable that I would do it to you.”
    “Your thought process might be the death of me.”
    “But it is done, is it not?”
    “Oh, it’s done.”
    “Good.”
    The joy in her voice, as well as the enthusiasm, forced him to change his tactics. He’d gone about things all wrong. If he wanted her to learn about him then showing her what pleased him made a hell of a lot more sense. Everything she did, he wanted more of. Closing his eyes, he fought the need to grab her hair and push his cock deep into her throat.
    Instead, he lifted his arms and gripped behind his neck. Intertwining his fingers, he held strong where he stood. She licked and sucked and explored the slit where his seed seeped out. Finally, she took him between her lips and deep into her mouth.
    Fireworks exploded behind his closed eyelids, and he threw his head back with a load groan. “Hell!”
    Only when his balls tightened did he step back, yanking his pants up. Looking at Miranda nearly completed his undoing.
    Beaming up at him, she said, “That was quite nice.”
    “Nice?” She’d nearly brought him to his knees, and she called it nice ?
    “I would like to do that again.”
    “So would I.”
    “Honestly?” Her face lit up like an eighteen-candle candelabra.
    Leaning in, he kissed her. Words couldn’t express what he wanted to convey, and a sudden fear consumed him that those feelings might be akin to love.

 
     
     
Chapter Six
     
     
    Miranda had ceased listening to her brother twenty minutes earlier. After dragging her out of her bed, he’d thrown her dressing gown at her and demanded she meet him in the library downstairs. Although her ankle might not have been as swollen as before, the ugly purple and blue bruises showed it hadn’t yet healed. She had hated to call the footman from his rest, but as he arrived dressed and by her bed within moments, it seemed a good guess all the servants were up.
    Daniel said nothing as they helped her into the room with the aid of two more footmen. Unlike her husband-to-be, who had easily lifted her weight, the poor footmen, being much smaller in stature, hadn’t even attempted to carry her, but offered her their shoulders. When she was finally settled, a maid placed a shawl over her lap for modesty and the servants all vacated the room. Leaving her the soul focus of her brother’s wrath.
    “How did you get here so fast?” she finally broke from her musings to ask. But once the words had slipped past her lips, she remembered she wasn’t supposed to know he would be arriving.
    His look told her he thought she might be addled. “Did you expect me to simply allow you to marry a man when you were contractually bound to another?”
    “You make me sound like a piece of chattel,” she mumbled, though not loud enough for anyone to hear. She wondered when her brother had become so pompous. They hadn’t been close, but she had rather liked him before this.
    “Do you love this new man?”
    Did she love him? She