Free Sylvia Day - [Georgian 01] by Ask For It Page B

through her cream and then dipped a bit inside. Against her will, she arched into the caress, despite the painful tension the angle placed on her arms.
    “You shared this with Hawthorne, but you won’t with me? Why?” His voice was rough and abrasive. “Why not me?”
    Her reply was shaky, betraying the depth of her distress. “My husband never saw me like this.”
    The wicked finger stilled, just barely entering her. “What?”
    “Such things are done at night. One must—”
    “Hawthorne made love to you in the darkness?”
    “He was a gentleman, one who—”
    “Was certifiable. Good God.” Marcus snorted and removed his finger. He stood. “To have you for his own, to fuck as he wished, and not appreciate your beauty? What a waste. The man was an idiot.”
    Elizabeth lowered her head. “Our marriage was no different from any other.”
    “It was completely different than it would have been with me. How often?”
    “How often?” she repeated dumbly.
    “How often did he take you? Every night? Every few days?”
    “What does it matter?”
    His nostrils flared on a deep breath, his frame taut beside her. Running an agitated hand through his hair, he was silent for a moment.
    “Release me, Marcus, and forget this.” Her shame was complete, there was no more he could do to her.
    Hard fingers lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “I’m going to touch you everywhere. With my hands, my mouth. In the light of day and long into the night. I’ll take you in whatever manner I choose, wherever I choose. I will know you as no one else in your life has known you.”
    “Why?” She struggled again, completely at his mercy and unbearably aroused. Spread for him, she felt the emptiness inside her and hated how badly she needed him to fill it.
    “Because I can. Because after today you will crave me and the pleasure I can give you. Because you’ll trust me, damn you.” He growled low in his throat. “All these years, married to him and then mourning him, when you could have been mine.”
    Dropping to his knees, he held her hips and dropped his head. Elizabeth held her breath as he closed his mouth full upon her breast, soaking through the fabric of her shirt and chemise. Startled at first, she was soon moaning and arching her back in silent encouragement. Sharp pangs of sensation radiated outward, moving in rhythm with his suction, her womb contracting in spasms of need.
    Marcus’s warm fingertips stroked from her waist to the ebony curls below. Painful tension seared her senses and Elizabeth gasped in surprise.
    “I will touch you here,” he warned. “With my fingers, my tongue, my cock.”
    She bit her bottom lip, eyes wide.
    “You will enjoy it,” he promised, his thumb tugging her lip free from her teeth.
    “You want to treat me like a whore. That is your revenge.”
    His smile was devoid of humor. “I want to give you pleasure, I want to hear you beg me for it. Why should you be deprived?”
    Marcus stood and freed the placket of his breeches. Reaching inside, he withdrew his cock, and a heretofore unknown level of wanting had her writhing in the chair. He was long and thick, the head broad and dark with the blood that engorged it. He jerked his hand along the length and creamy moisture leaked from the tip.
    “See what the sight of you does to me, Elizabeth? How much power you wield? You are tied and helpless, yet it is I who is at your mercy.”
    Swallowing hard, her gaze was riveted to his display.
    “Trust, Elizabeth. You must trust me, in all ways.”
    She looked up and ached at the sight of him. So beautiful, and yet harsh and rugged as only a man could be. “Is this about your mission?”
    “This is about us . You and me.” He stepped closer, and then closer still. “Open your mouth.”
    “ What? ” Her lungs seized.
    “Take me in your mouth.”
    “No . . .” She recoiled.
    “Where is the minx who said she was not one to run from the sight of a man’s desire?” Marcus widened his stance