Compromised for Christmas (The Jennings Family #1)

19. Fitz

19

Fitz

F itz had just shoved his wife under his desk. And now? Now Fitz was going to kill his brother. He was going to commit fratricide.

Because Fitz’s fingers had been deep inside the tight, wet heat of his wife, and she had been moments from coming. He could feel the quiver, the hint of a flutter around his fingers.

Bloody fucking whoremongering ballocks!

“I don’t know what to do about Flick,” Felix said, his voice tired.

Fitz dropped into his seat, barely holding back his groan, hoping his brother hadn’t seen his raging erection. He had no idea if he looked like he had been minutes from fucking his wife on his desk, but thus far, Felix wasn’t looking at him strangely. He blew out a breath.

“Another talk regarding Lord Wessex go less than pleasantly?” he somehow managed, though his voice was noticeably deeper than usual.

There was a slight shuffling beneath his desk, and he hastily cleared his throat to cover the sound. And then hands slid up his thighs, and Fitz squeaked. He quickly broke out in a fit of coughing.

Felix eyed him but seemed to deem this normal for Fitz. For once Fitz was happy, he was a blundering buffoon.

“Flick spoke to you then. I am sure she had lovely things to say about me.”

Were they really going to have this conversation now? There was a tugging at the placket of his trousers. His spine jolted straight in his chair. “I was able to convince her not to kill you.” And now his voice was about fifty octaves higher than usual.

Felix cocked his head at him. “Thank you…” He scanned over Fitz, a slight question in his identical amber eyes. “I try to reason with her, but she cannot seem to get past the fact that Lord Wessex is fond of caterwauling.”

Small hands dipped inside his trousers. And pulled out his cock. And stroked it.

“Nrrgh. Is that an un-unreasonable complaint?”

“Are you well, Fitz? You were acting odd last night and now you are again. Even for you.”

Fitz sucked in a breath. Because his wife had just sucked his cock into her mouth. “Fine! Everything’s fi-ine.”

Felix paced the study, apparently too preoccupied to notice that Fitz’s voice had just cracked like a green lad whose ballocks were dropping.

“I suppose it’s not unreasonable,” Felix said. “But it is uncommon to have a faithful husband. This match was exactly what Father worked so hard for. It is my duty as Earl to make it happen. I can’t—won’t—let him down.” He yanked on his hair. “Not when I already have in so many ways,” he grumbled.

Fitz opened his mouth to dispute that, but then promptly shut it to stave off his moan. Bloody fucking hell. The woman’s tongue was criminal. He gripped the edge of his desk and started counting to one hundred. In Italian.

Uno, due, tre…

“The issue is they were betrothed young. Well, Lord Wessex was young. They were both one-and-twenty. Which is young for him and old for her,” Felix rambled.

… Dieci, undici, dodici.

“Felicity will come around once they are married and Wessex settles down. I don’t think it is all that shocking that he is out there”—Felix gave a toss of his hand—“frolicking about. It is what every young buck does.”

It wasn’t what Fitz had done. But that wasn’t the point. He bit back a groan. The point was, his cock was now buried in his wife’s throat. She was frolicking about quite fabulously with his erection right now. Dear Lord, how did she know how to suck a prick like that? Now was not the time for such a discovery. Not when his brother was turning and walking closer to Fitz’s desk. Fitz ground his teeth. To sodding dust.

His blood thundered in his ears, pleasure streaking up his spine. Either his wife was the most talented wench to ever fellatio or Fitz was just now discovering he harbored a hidden desire for the thrill getting of caught. Perhaps both.

“Are you paying me any attention right now?”

Shite. Fitz hadn’t been paying attention. How could he when Georgiana’s tongue was swirling around his—

“Head!” He cleared his throat. “I-I am just in my head. T-Traaanslations.”

Oh God. He was going to blow down his wife’s throat any minute now. And that he wouldn’t be able to hide from his brother. Not that he was doing an admirable job just now, as it were.

Fitz’s hand shot to Georgiana’s hair, and he jerked her head back. And his little kitten moaned. Fuck .

Felix’s gaze shot to Fitz’s desk and back up to Fitz’s face.

Fitz’s eyes widened.

Felix’s eyes widened.

Bugger.

Felix started backing away. “I…I…think I’ll come back later.”

Georgiana, the little succubus, stroked his cock since she couldn’t reach him with her mouth, still immobilized by his fist. She gave a little twist over his head, and Fitz hissed through his teeth, and Felix picked up his pace. Fitz couldn’t answer his brother. Nothing articulate would come out. He was just trying to control his breathing, which wasn’t easy when his lungs were slamming against his ribcage.

Felix stepped into the doorway and gripped the edge of the door. “Enjoy your…head.” He swung the door shut, his snigger echoing through the study.

Fitz’s shoulders slumped, and he pushed his chair back. But he didn’t let go of his very naughty wife. He glared at her. And what did the little minx do? She blinked at him, the picture of sodding innocence. Ha!

“You-you. You!” he sputtered.

More innocent blinking.

“You. Are,” he gritted out.

“I am what, Mr. Jennings?” she asked demurely.

A shiver scurried down his spine. Her breathless words, her using his surname, her on her knees. Fuck .

“You are very, very bad. Incorrigible. Maddening.”

Her eyes fluttered shut, and his mouth slackened. She liked him telling her she was bad?

“What are you going to do about it, husband?”

His gaze flickered over her face, her pleading eyes, her parted lips, her rosy cheeks. His wife had depraved desires. What exactly did she want from him?

He slipped his thumb over her bottom lip, coasting slowly.

She leaned forward, and his thumb disappeared into her mouth. Deep into her hot, wet mouth. His kitten purred again. He pressed down, and she gagged. Now that was a beautiful sight. His cock twitched, yearning for those throat muscles to contract around it.

“This?” he asked. She wanted him to be rough with her? To show her what happened to a bad wench? His blood thrummed, thick with lust.

She dipped her chin and pulled back, his thumb slipping free with a pop .

“Use me,” she breathed. “Please, Fitz. I ache to be used.”

His breath fled him in ragged bursts. Just as his heart beat ragged in his chest. He wasn’t well-versed in this. He wasn’t a man who had experience in any sort of darker desire. He wasn’t the Duke, he wasn’t Dunmore. He was vanilla syllabub. He wasn’t who she wanted. The ragged breaths, the ragged beating, turned sharp and painful and choking.

He stood, his chair sliding back, but she followed him. Didn’t let him retreat. Her hands latched onto his thighs, and she looked at him, sincerity shining in her green eyes.

“By you. I want—need—to be used by you , Fitz.”

He didn’t understand how she knew he needed to hear those words. But it was exactly what he needed. Sometimes when he was around her, he thought…she might be exactly what he needed. He shook off the terrifying thought and focused back on his flushed wife on her knees, begging him to use her.

And just for clarity’s sake…

“You want me to f-fuck that pretty mouth of yours?” Lust pulsed in his cock. Just saying the words had him growing even thicker. “Hold you still, while I”—he paused, swallowed, trying to force the words out of his too-tight throat—“use you for my pleasure?”

“Please,” she whined. Her gaze dropped to his cock, and she whimpered.

He could do that. God, could he do that. He just didn’t want to hurt her.

“You…will tell me if it’s too much?” He gave her hair a little shake, and her gaze left his cock to meet his eyes. This was important. “You will tell me if it’s too much, Georgiana?”

“It won’t be.”

Bloody hell . She said it so quickly, with such surety. Fitz supposed he was going to fuck his wife’s mouth now, then.

He tightened his grip on her hair and pulled her to sit tall on her knees. Her mouth parted, and her small pink tongue darted out to wet her lips. Readying herself for him. He groaned. She truly wanted this. I am the luckiest man alive .

He dragged her head back, stretching her neck to the side, delicate, elegant. He traced a finger down the soft column. She shivered. She was beautiful like this. Seductive. Supplicant. And for the second time in Fitz’s life, a foreign, primitive impulse came over him. His.

He cupped her chin, turning her toward him. Then hooked his thumb on her bottom teeth and pulled her open for him. His free hand went to his cock, and he gave it a few slow pulls. He was painfully hard, his cock angry and weeping. The climb to orgasm with constant interruptions had him near exploding. With frustration. With want.

He eased into her mouth, and they groaned in unison. His eyes fell shut as he slid in and out of her. Shallow, but slowly slipping deeper, deeper as she coated him, made him slicker, wetter. She wrapped around him so tightly; it was otherworldly in its bliss.

His gaze collided with hers. She watched him, nostrils flaring, lids heavy. The sight was too much, watching his cock disappear between her slick, pink lips stretched wide around him. He thrust harder. And Georgiana didn’t bat an eye. Lord, could she have truly meant it? It won’t be . He snapped his hips forward, and the chit bloody swallowed.

Fuck . Fuck fuck fuck .

His shock must have shown on his face because her heavy lids lifted slightly, a seductive glint glowing in her eyes. If her mouth wasn’t full of his cock, he knew she’d be smirking at him. Saucy kitten .

“Mia audace micetta,” he murmured through pants.

Pleasure careened through him, settling heavily in his cock, every slide of her tight, warm mouth over his prick devastating. He leaned forward, bracing a hand on his desk while holding her securely by the hair with his other. Her hands had latched onto his hips.

He thrust into her again and again, building up to a rough, ragged rhythm. Dear God, this was paradise, heaven, ecstasy.

“Tu mi prendi così bene, micetta.”

His kitten took him so well. So beautifully.

“Sei bellissima.”

Georgiana moaned, the delicious vibrations shooting a streak of pleasure straight down his spine. He glanced at his wife, and a long, low groan left him. Because Georgiana had her skirts rucked up to her waist, and one of her hands had disappeared beneath the fabric. Her eyes were glazed, unfocused. She took him easily, each drive of his hips. And touched herself. Her own hips moving in tandem with his. And something about that fact blew his lust into a burning frenzy, flames of pleasure threatening to destroy him. Because him fucking her mouth? Sinking his cock deep past those pretty stretched lips? She liked it. She clearly loved it. Lusted for it.

“Dio, vorrei poter sentire quanto è bagnata quella bella fica.”

I wish I could feel how wet that pretty cunt is .

It was so much easier for him to let the words fall, knowing she didn’t understand. One day he’d work up the courage to say them. But for now, Italian would have to do.

Her moans grew louder, and his thrusts grew harder.

“Così. Prendimi fino in fondo, amore.”

He sank deep, and she gagged. He nearly came. He nearly ended this bliss much too soon. But then she pulled off him, her fingers digging into his hips, and she cried out. Her body tensed, then convulsed, and she buried her face in the crook of his hip as shudder after shudder wracked her frame, the most beautiful moans fleeing her lips, sinking into his skin.

He barely had time to savor the sight of her, the sound of her, the soft sighs that seared him. Shattered him. Because she was back on him, swallowing him to the root. And she took control this time. He merely held onto his desk for the ride. A ride of wicked pleasure that filled every crevice, throbbed heavily in every muscle, pulsed violently in every vein.

The pressure peaked, lurched to an unbearable height. Fuck, it was too much. It was—It was ecstasy. Fitz’s lungs heaved, and he gritted his teeth, but he was nothing against what was raging inside of him. His hand shot to Georgiana’s head, and he sank to the back of her throat, held her there as his pleasure crested. The release shot through him, surge after surge of agonizing bliss. Everything disappeared except for soul-crushing pleasure and the incredible woman on her knees delivering it.

“God, Gigi,” he groaned, low, guttural, undone.

He had never come so hard in his life.

And neither of them had been anywhere close to quiet. If anyone was even remotely near, it would be no secret what they had just done.

Fitz slumped back, falling into his chair, and she fell back on her bottom, both gasping for air. He quickly tucked himself away and yanked a handkerchief from his pocket. He leaned forward and gently took her chin.

And paused.

She was achingly lovely. His stomach twisted and tightened. Painfully lovely. A few tears had left tracks down her cheeks, her mouth glistened, and—by God—some of his cum had dribbled down her chin. Oh, how he wished he could commission a painting of this image. No. No one was to ever see her thus. Just him. That word floated through his mind again. His .

He softly dabbed away her tears. Then swiped away the evidence of his release off her chin. He folded the cloth over and used the fresh side of his handkerchief to carefully clean her lips.

Fitz dusted his knuckles over her flushed cheek, warm to the touch from her blush. She leaned into his touch like a contented kitten. His contented kitten.

“Did I please you, husband?”

Did she please him? He almost scoffed. He couldn’t articulate how well she pleased him. The words didn’t come. And for once it wasn’t because he was nervous, it was just that there were no words to describe the enormity of it.

He just stared at her. His beautiful wife. Green eyes glowing, lips swollen, a stark-pink against her creamy skin. Creamy all but for the blush painted high on her cheekbones. And bloody hell, her chignon in tatters from his touch. Just as his heart was from hers.

“You did so well, bella,” he finally murmured. “No one has ever, nor could ever, please me so well.”

She preened under his regard. And his chest swelled to the point he was sure it would burst. She wanted to please him. This beautiful, confident woman wanted to please him . And he, bumbling Fitz, had clearly just pleased her.

He pulled her into his lap, and she nestled into his chest. Like she wished to be there. He pressed kiss after kiss to every part of her he could touch: her hair, her forehead, the delicate curve of her ear. And then he trailed a finger under her chin, gently tilted her up to him, and dusted kiss after kiss to her lips. She sighed, one that whispered hopes and dreams and promises against his skin.

His swollen heart skittered across his rib cage. And even though he was the one holding her, the one doing the holding, he fell into her. And he thought, just maybe, this sensation swirling in his chest could be everything falling into place. Did she feel it? Or, like so many other things in his life, was he alone in this, too?