Compromised for Christmas (The Jennings Family #1)

15. Georgiana

15

Georgiana

G eorgiana splashed her face with cool water and then patted her face with a towel. The crisp water did nothing to chill her heated skin. Or her heated thoughts. Because Fitz with an axe? She fanned herself. Visions of his understated strength straining with every swing of his hatchet filled her mind, flooded her core with something hot and heady.

She snuffed out all but one candle and made her way to her bed. But she couldn’t snuff out the images of her husband. When the tree had finally toppled, still partly attached to the remaining trunk, he had picked up the large axe, hefted it over his head and brought it down, splitting the trunk clean in two. The display of vigor—she didn’t have words. Hand an anxious man an axe, and she was dead. She frowned. That probably could be taken the wrong way. Dead in a good way. La petite mort way. It was probably not advisable to give anxious men axes normally.

And the whipped cream on the trifle in this whole affair? They had won. Though Fitz deserved every ounce of credit, since all Georgiana had done was drool behind him as her nose-buried-in-books husband turned caveman on her. Not on her. If only. When they had found out they had won, Fitz had smiled. A face-splitting, teeth-glinting, and definitely heart-stopping smile. He had reached an arm around her and squeezed her to his person. He had squeezed her.

She let out a long, frustrated groan and set her candle on the nightstand. And stupid, feather-brained Georgiana had to go and ruin it. What had she done? She had frozen, blinking dumbly at her husband, her entire body thrumming. Something charged had streaked through her. Because he had been touching her. Grinning at her. A grin that had rapidly faded away. An arm that had quickly disappeared. A Fitz that had instantly turned back into his flushing, stumbling-over-his-words-and-feet self.

And now, here Georgiana was, very much in need of pillaging by a caveman, without a caveman in sight. She could still feel the weight of his arm around her, the press of his body against hers. Not once in her various encounters had she ever been so drawn to a man. Which didn’t make the least bit of sense, since her husband was not the sort of man she typically favored.

She clambered onto the very tall, very large bed and stretched her arms out wide. She stared up into the fathomless evergreen canopy, nearly black in the low light of the lone candle flickering in her chamber. Her husband had said he wouldn’t be visiting her tonight. She ignored the way her heart sank at the thought. Her fingers twitched against the bed linens. Her hands didn’t reach the edge of the mattress on either side. It was extra lonely to lie in a bed so large. Extra cold. And she was extra overheated from her tempting, tongue-tied, tactless husband.

That wouldn’t do at all.

She quickly divested herself of her nightdress and rolled over to her nightstand. She tugged open the drawer, withdrew a leather-bound box, and flicked open the lid. If her husband wouldn’t be visiting her, then…

“Hullo, Derek. It looks like it’s you and me tonight, darling.”

She pulled out her trusty dildo, the flickering flame of the candle reflecting off the glossy, white ivory surface. Derek was always so good to her. After a few discreetly placed inquiries, Georgiana had learned of a woman who possessed a stall at the local market selling baked goods . It wasn’t loaves of bread women left with in their baskets, though.

The seller had exquisite options—wood, siltstone, ivory, some with intricate carvings—but Derek had caught Georgiana’s attention from the start. The woman had warned Georgiana not to expect her actual lovers to be anywhere near the size of Derek. Now that Georgiana had a mite of experience, she could attest to the woman’s warning. She wondered how her husband would compare. Her heart rate spiked.

Georgiana wrapped her fingers around the cool ivory, her fingertips not quite touching. Some nights, she warmed him with her hands before she used him. But tonight—tonight she was too heated. Too heated by thoughts of her husband’s muscled form, naked before her, above her, on her. She had to get through to him, get past his anxious exterior. She wanted to experience Fitz. Desperately.

She slid Derek down her stomach until he rested on the apex of her thighs. She hissed at the contact of chilled ivory to burning skin. She slipped him lower, between her legs, stilled. She bit her lip. What she wouldn’t give for her husband to be in Derek’s place, his weight, his bare-heated skin, pressed against hers.

Georgiana rolled the dildo against where she throbbed, where she was already trembling with want from thoughts of her axe-wielding husband. Her breath hitched, and a moan fled her lips. After their disaster of a first kiss, she should be nervous for when they finally came together. But aching anticipation consumed her, drowning out apprehension. Because there was something charged, like an electrical storm, that raged between her and Fitz. And in her mind? Their joining was as cataclysmic as the lightning from one of those storms.

She coasted Derek between her legs, the ivory growing slicker, her core pulsing harder. She was on fire from thoughts of her husband. Legs clenched tight together, she teased herself, toes curling with every drag. Every drag was pure torment, her body shaking with need, demanding she sink her dildo deep inside. Her eyes fluttered shut, and in the backs of her lids, all she saw were visions of Fitz. Hovering over her, caging her in between his corded forearms, slowly thrusting between her thighs. Tantalizing her and never giving her what her body yearned for—something to fill the emptiness.

Her skin was so sensitive, so swollen. She pressed harder, clenched her thighs tighter, her hips canting up as she pushed down. She would grip tight to the biceps she saw so gloriously displayed today, use that solid strength for leverage. She’d fight him, try to force him to give her what she needed, craved. To be filled. But in her fantasy, he denied her. He would bring her to the edge, ready to fall, and then take it back.

God, how she wanted that. To be tortured. To have the pleasure withheld over and over again. Fuck it, she couldn’t wait. She could only hope that one day her fantasies about her husband would come true. She had no restraint; she needed a man to restrain her—Fitz to restrain her.

Georgiana drew her knees up and let them fall open. Then she sank her dildo deep inside.

“Oh, God.” Her words melded into a moan. Her core coiled tight. Tension radiated through her. Fast. Sharp. A promise of pleasure. Her hips thrust on their own accord as she fucked herself on her trusted toy, every part of her wishing he was flesh-and-blood Fitz. And she really wanted to know what her husband’s looked like. Felt like. Tasted like. Was he thick and long? Straight or curved? Salt and musk and man?

Fuck.

A tremor shook her frame. Pleasure spiraled, coiling tight. Derek did an admirable job. She would give him that.

But she wanted her husband’s cock sinking deep inside her.