The Leopard Prince (Princes #2)(40)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

“Even though I’ve—”

“Even though.” George smiled. “Think how useful Tony will be when he convinces this gentleman. Really, it is the only advantage I can think of to having an earl for a brother.”

THAT NIGHT GEORGE SHIVERED and pulled the hood of her cloak tighter around her face. It was late, almost midnight, and Harry’s cottage was dark. Perhaps he had already retired for the evening? At any other time, for any other reason, she would’ve turned around. But this compulsion drove her on. She had to see him again. Except it wasn’t to see him that she’d come here so late in the evening, was it? She felt a blush start high on her cheekbones. She wanted to do more, much more, than see Harry Pye. And she didn’t want to examine too closely the reasons behind that urge.

She knocked at his door.

It swung open almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting for her. “My lady.” His green eyes were heavy.

Harry’s chest was bare, and her gaze was drawn to it. “I hope you don’t mind,” she began vapidly, addressing his left nipple.

He reached out a long arm and drew her in. Slammed the door and pushed her up against it. Shoved back her hood and seized her lips. He tilted her head back and slanted his mouth over hers, thrusting his tongue between her lips. Oh, heavens, she needed this. Had she become so wanton after only one taste? His hands gripped the back of her head, and she felt the pins falling out. Her hair came undone down her back. Her hands roamed, kneading, stroking his back. She could taste ale on his tongue and smell his musk. Her nipples were already peaked and aching as if they recognized him and what he was.

He drew his lips down her neck, open-mouthed. “I don’t mind,” he rasped.

And while she was trying to remember to what he replied, he hooked his hand in her bodice. He pulled down savagely, tearing the fine fabric and exposing her naked breasts. George gasped and felt moisture between her legs. Then he had his mouth on her breast, nipping at it. She actually worried that he would bite her. He seemed animal, fundamental, male to her female. He reached her nipple and did bite, a sharp pinching.

She couldn’t help but arch her head back and moan.

He had his hand under her skirts now, pushing and shoving them up as if he were impatient to find her center. She clutched at his shoulders when he reached his goal. He brushed his fingers over her, touching, feeling.

He lifted his head from her breast and chuckled. “You’re wet for me.” His voice was dark. Sexual.

He brought both hands under her legs and lifted her, bracing her back against the door; all her weight was on him. She was helplessly spread as he moved between her thighs. She felt the brush of his trousers. And then the brush of him. Her eyes opened wide and met his, gleaming and green like a predator’s.

Oh, my.

He rocked his hips, just a little. She felt the intrusion. She imagined that wide head, splitting her lips down there, and she panted, eyes half closed. He rocked again, and his cock pushed in a little farther.

“My lady.” His breath puffed over her lips.

With an effort, she opened her eyes. “What?” she gasped. She felt drunken, dazed, as if she floated in a marvelous daydream.

“I hope you do not mind”—he rocked—“my boldness.”

What? “No. I, uh, don’t mind.” She could hardly get the words out.

“You’re sure?” He licked her nipple, the devil, and she jumped.

She was so sensitive, the feeling was almost painful. I’m going to get him for this.

He rocked.

Some other time. “Very sure,” she whimpered.

He grinned, but a bead of sweat ran down his temple. “Then with your permission.”

He didn’t wait for her nod but slammed his entire length into her, shoving her up the door and hitting with exquisite accuracy that place. George wrapped her legs, her arms, and her heart around Harry. He withdrew with agonizing slowness and repeated the process, this time swiveling a bit when he crashed into her. The impact sent shards of ecstasy skittering through her.

She was going to die from pleasure.

He withdrew again, and she could feel every inch dragging against her sensitive flesh. She waited, suspended in time and air, for him to mate her once more. And he did, his cock thrusting into her and his pelvis rubbing her exposed center. Then he seemed to lose control. He began a rapid pistoning, his movements short and jerky. But just as effective, damn him. And it began for her, spreading in waves that seemed to have no end. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t see or hear, could only moan in primitive abandon and open her mouth and fill it with his shoulder, salty and warm.

She bit Harry.

He came, withdrawing from her suddenly but keeping his arms around her as he shook and spasmed his release between them. He leaned into her, his weight keeping her pinned to the wall as they both drew deep, shuddering breaths. George felt heavy. Listless. Like she’d never be able to move her limbs again. She stroked his shoulder, rubbing at the bite mark she’d made.

Harry sighed against her hair. He let her legs fall to the floor as he steadied her. “I wish I could carry you to my bed, but I fear you’ve just drained me, my lady. That is”—he pulled away enough to look her in the eye—“if you mean to stay the night?”

“Yes.” George tested her legs. Wobbly but adequate. She made her way to the small bedroom. “I’ll stay the night.”

“And your brother?” he asked from behind her.

“My brother does not control my life,” George said loftily. “Besides, I snuck out the servants’ entrance.”

“Ah.” He had followed her into the bedroom, and she saw now that he carried a basin of water.

She raised her eyebrows.

“I should have done this last night.” Was he embarrassed?

Harry set down the basin beside the bed and helped her remove her gown and chemise, then knelt to take off her shoes and stockings. “Lie down, my lady.”

George lay back on the bed. For some reason she was shy now when she hadn’t been before during their wild lovemaking. He took a cloth and dipped it in the basin, wringing it out; then he stroked it down her neck. She closed her eyes. The wet cloth left coolness and goose bumps in its wake. She heard him dip and wring out the cloth again, the trickle of the water somehow erotic in the room’s stillness. He washed down her chest, over her breasts, and across her belly, leaving a trail of cold heat.

Her breath was coming faster now, anticipating what would come next.