Compromised for Christmas (The Jennings Family #1)

23. Fitz

23

Fitz

F itz’s eyes shot so wide he could feel his lids expanding. His wife’s eyes did much the same. Oh, bloody lawks. Had he really just said that? He had. He had just asked his wife to let him watch her… Watch her. One would think he’d be able to say it in his head since he had just blurted it out loud. But apparently, he had hit his quota for vulgar speech for the day.

“Yes.” She nodded vigorously, a few loose blonde tendrils flying wildly around her face.

A sigh of relief flew from him. Wait. She said yes? She was saying yes? Oh, God. She was saying yes. He hadn’t thought about what would happen if she said yes. Which was dim-witted. She was going to fuck herself. Obviously. Box the Jesuit. Mount a Corporal and four. Fetch mettle. He frowned. Did that same terminology work with a woman?

He shook his head, focusing back on her. She tilted her head, and her brows pinched. She probably thought he’d gone mad. Which he had. He must have. Because he had asked, and she had said yes, and she was going to, and he was going to, and… Dear Lord. Where did all the air go?

His lungs heaved as they finally remembered to work. It didn’t last long though, because the soft pads of her fingertips were trailing down his chest, down his abdomen, settling at the waistline of his smalls. His cock gave a jolly jump, and Fitz made a strangled sound in his throat.

“I will be but a moment,” Georgiana said. “I just have to run back to my chamber to get—”

“No, no. I’ll get it,” he said hastily. “You-you-you.” He paused and sucked in a breath, trying to regain control of himself. “Why don’t you get comfortable on my bed?” The least he could do was retrieve her, er, implement. She was already going to be doing all the work. “Where might I find your…ahh…your…”

She smiled softly up at him, her green eyes dancing. “My dildo? It is in a box in my nightstand.”

He jerked his chin in a nod and took a bracing breath. All right. He would retrieve the dildo. He could do this. He bounced slightly on his feet, working up his resolve. Before he lost the small amount he’d just built up, he grabbed his wife’s hand and dragged her into his chamber with purpose. He swung around to face her and pointed to his bed.

“You get on that bed. I want you naked when I return.”

He almost smiled and gave a cheer at how clear and authoritative that had come out. Well done, chap!

His almost-smile died, though, because Georgiana’s eyes went dark, and her sharp exhalation sliced through the room. She glanced to the floor and licked her tempting, parted, pink lips. “Yes, sir.”

His cock pulsed, and he groaned. He really hoped he could get more comfortable with this. Because Georgiana’s reaction to being told what to do? He glanced down. Shite. He couldn’t run through the hall in nothing but his smalls and a raging cockstand to boot.

He shrugged into his banyan, ushered out a quick, “I’ll return shortly,” and was on his way to her chamber. Fortunately, it was quick to retrieve the box with her item. He worked to control his breathing during the journey there and back. That was about all that was within his ability. There was no hope for the clamoring in his chest. His heart was spinning around like an out-of-control top.

He shouldn’t be nervous. She was the one about to be on display. Doing everything. He was merely the observer. So the nerves? It didn’t make any sense. But he would fight through it. Because this was happening.

He burst through his door and flicked it shut with his heel. And then nearly dropped the box—but fortunately didn’t—because his wife was naked on his bed, an absolute vision framed by the maroon curtains tied to the bedposts. Legs spread, with her fingers… He gulped, and a breath fled him, choppy and loud in the quiet of his chamber. Her beautiful fingers stilled and started to pull away.

“No!” The word burst from him. “Don’t you dare stop,” he growled.

He blinked. Where had that come from? His chest puffed out slightly. He had sounded quite beastly. He strode to the bed. Perhaps he could do this.

He tripped.

Or not.

The box flew onto the bed, dildo shooting out—thankfully landing on the soft bed linens and not the floor where it would have cracked into a million little pieces. Unfortunately, he couldn’t say the same for his head. Because his head cracked right into his bedpost. And holy Mother Mary, Joseph, and all Three Wise Men. Ouchhhhhh!

“ Ohmygod, Fitz! Are you all right?”

“Yes,” he gritted out. He rested his forehead against the offending bed post, his shoulders sinking.

Why could he manage to do nothing even remotely well? Small, warm hands ran up his chest, his neck, coming to cup his face and pull it from where he was hiding behind the column of wood.

Georgiana brushed back his annoying curls, her gaze scanning his face. Her fingers brushed gently over his forehead, and he winced at the sharp throb, sucking in a breath. But then she coasted her thumb over his parted lips, and bloody hell her fingers smelled like woman. Like intimate woman. Like intimate Gigi . He couldn’t stop himself—the hunger racing through his body too rampant, too uncontrolled. He pierced her with his gaze and sucked her thumb into his mouth. His eyes slid shut. He could taste her. Intimate Gigi.

His eyes opened, and he was greeted with lids falling heavy over pupils blown wide. Lust-filled green eyes. For him. She had undone her plait while he was gone, her blonde waves framing her rosy cheeks, cascading over her naked breasts, rose-pink nipples peeking out at him. She was lust kneeling before him in his bed. His for the taking.

And he was bloody damned well going to take it.