Compromised for Christmas (The Jennings Family #1)

24. Georgiana

24

Georgiana

“O n your back,” her husband said. No. Demanded .

Georgiana could scarcely fathom where this commanding, confident man had come from, but…

She. Was. Reveling in it.

She wanted it all and then some. Please, sir, may I have some more?

She scrambled back on the bed until she collapsed, head on his pillows. He crawled over her, lean biceps flexing, jaw clenching. He looked savage . A wild dog crawling over his mate. Oh God, she was going to expire. Her core was liquid. Molten. She was nothing but melted wanting for this man. And she wanted to be spread all over her husband like butter. Bloody hell, she was cracked. But he was her adorable, blushing lobster, and one was supposed to butter a lobster. So…

He lowered to his forearms, and his heat surrounded her, banishing all quips of the crustacean variety. His head dipped to her neck, lips and tongue and teeth devoured her flesh, laving the hollow of her neck. She arched into him, her legs sliding up his thighs, desperate to find his cock, to have him sink deep inside her. But he lifted onto his knees, pulling what she wanted away from her.

“Touch yourself.” Another demand.

Her hands shot between her legs, and she picked up where she had left off. She was swollen, aching, painfully so. Walking in on him naked, having the time to leisurely admire his form earlier, had her wound tight. When she had been touching herself a few moments ago and he had walked through his door, she had been going so slowly, so softly. Because she had already been so close. And she refused to come without him watching. She wasn’t sure what it had taken him to make the request, but she was sure it hadn’t been easy for him. She was determined to give him the fantasy. Give them both the fantasy.

Tension flooded her body, her muscles quivering in a dance of clench and release. She was rapidly reaching that point again, the point where she was thrown into the abyss, the achingly devastating abyss. Pleasure coiled tight with each quick circle she made over herself. Because of Fitz’s tongue trailing up her neck. Because of his lips dancing over her ear. She moaned, purred, her hips thrusting into her fingers, completely out of her control.

“Oh God, Fitz,” she breathed. “I-I’m not going to make it much longer. I’m too close.”

He abruptly left her, and she cried out. But he was back just as quickly, his lips dragging over hers, cool ivory sliding down her stomach. She shivered, her breath shuddering against his lips.

“You,” he growled. “Are absolutely not going to come without me watching you-you”—he paused, drawing in a deep breath—“fuck yourself.”

Oh God.

He took her hand and brought it to her dildo, wrapping her fingers around it. He pushed off and sat back on his heels. He gripped her ankles and slid them up, so her knees bent and pointed to the ceiling. Her heart hammered a staccato rhythm in her chest. Because he moved her body like she was his puppet. And she wanted nothing more than to be his puppet. She was incredibly exposed like this. But where she should have felt embarrassment, there was nothing but exhilaration, adrenaline, coursing violently through her. Oh, she most definitely liked being watched.

He spread her thighs wide and glanced up at her. Waiting. Eyes black. Just as overcome by the moment as she was. His chest surged, and it was a beautiful sight.

She’d always wanted to be watched. She wanted the thrill. But the thrill was so much stronger with Fitz, so much stronger than she could have ever imagined. He wasn’t some rakehell who had every woman lifting her skirts with a snap of his fingers. She was a private performance for her adorably befuddled husband, who had just stumbled over the word “fuck.” Something rare and just for him.

She wrapped her fingers tight around the dildo and slid it down her belly, stopping at the apex of her thighs. Her breaths came rapidly now, but instead of dipping between her thighs, she slowed down. Drew out the anticipation, savored the dark desire slackening her husband’s face. His gaze was transfixed between her legs, his entire body still, poised, as he waited for her to move. She thought he might even be holding his breath.

And she couldn’t wait any longer.

She whimpered, nothing but a broken mewl. Then dipped her dildo between her legs, sliding it down and gently rolling it over her flesh. She gasped, and Fitz’s hands flew to her thighs, his body lurching toward her as though he had no control over it. Like his body wanted hers and he could do nothing to stop it. He squeezed, massaged her flesh, and rough, ragged breaths flew past his lips. She drew her dildo back up, bringing with it her slick wetness, allowing for the most delicious glide as she rubbed and rotated the hard ivory over her pulsing flesh. A strangled groan came from Fitz, and her gaze shot up to his. He was locked on what her hand was doing, his jaw ticking, every muscle in his neck corded tight.

“Hai la fica più bella, micetta. Così rosa. Così perfetta. Guarda come luccichi per me.”

Lord save her. More Italian. Her eyes fluttered shut at his words.

You have the prettiest cunt, kitten. So pink. So perfect. Look at how you glisten for me.

This man was like a jarring stop in a carriage, head whipping back and then forward. One moment he was bumbling and blushing, and the next he was self-assured and seductive, whispering the most deliciously dirty things to her with that multi-lingual tongue.

Deep inside, she ached, throbbed for him. She was empty, too empty. She drew her dildo down and notched it at her entrance. Fitz groaned, his hands squeezing painfully tight on her thighs. Pressing her open for his view. The pain felt so good. Apparently, her pause was too much for her husband.

“Inside, Gigi. Fuck yourself. Now.”

A soft cry left her at his command, and she sank her dildo deep in one swift thrust. Her eyes rolled back. That glorious stretch, that glorious feeling of being full . Her muscles clenched around the dildo, and she was nothing but an incoherent mess of moans.

Her husband sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh god, oh god, ohgodohgod.” His hands skimmed up and down her thighs, almost frantic, as he watched her. She slid her dildo in and out, picking up speed, playing with the angle until she found the spot, the spot that had her toes curling and her back arching.

And then Fitz’s hands left her. The loss of his large hands had her cold, shivering. But oh, oh. The result was worth the loss. Because Fitz hovered over her, one hand pressed into the bed linens at her side, the other wrapped around his turgid cock. His gaze was glued to her core, just the top of his tousled curls visible to her, and he stroked himself in time to her thrusts. This was heaven, sweet, sweet heaven. He watched her while she was able to watch him in return.

Her husband looked like he was close to losing control, Italian flying from his mouth, his hand flying over his cock.

“Non vedo l’ora di affondare dentro di te.”

I can’t wait to sink deep inside you.

“Dio, ti dilaterò così bene, micetta.”

God, I’m going to stretch you out so good, kitten.

“Mi abbraccerai così forte.”

You’ll hug me so tight.

Dear God, she loved the words falling from his lips. She loved how they carried a soft accent. She loved how he said them, like he was devastated by her. As if his desire and want of her were akin to pain.

His gaze flew to hers, his eyes glowing fire, heated with dark longing, lust. And it latched onto her, tangible, reaching deep inside her, the most intimate of caresses.

“Sono così disperato per te.”

I’m so desperate for you.

She sucked in a breath, her eyes flaring wide. The passion in that gaze, the ferocity in that tone. Her heart scrambled in her chest, determined to get to him. Because when he said those words, delivered them like that, it sounded like he meant more than just sex.

She wasn’t sure if it was his words or her thrusts, but her orgasm was veering toward her, much too fast. She almost didn’t want to come without Fitz inside her. But her husband took away that option. He swung around to the side of her, knees next to her head, planting his hands on either side of her hips, then buried his face between her thighs. His mouth went straight for her clitoris, his tongue licking and then flattening, providing a pulsing pressure that echoed in her core.

Ohgod ohgod .

The man’s tongue was deadly. His mouth fatal. She could barely fuck herself, her body so overwhelmed in sensation her hands couldn’t remember what to do. She pressed her feet into the bed and ground against his face, chasing the spiraling ecstasy building inside her. So. Close.

And then he sucked on her clitoris. It was exactly what she needed. The crescendo of pleasure spiked, detonated over her, and she cried out, her body convulsing in uncontrollable shudders. Fitz gentled his pressure, staying with her, drawing out every surge of blissful ecstasy possible. And then she was wriggling away, her skin over-sensitive after her release, and sinking into his bedding, replete.

Fitz grabbed her wrist and gently pulled her dildo out of her. He took it from her and threw it to the side of the bed. Then he was back over her, surrounding her, caging her in again.

He hung above her, nose brushing hers, lips almost, almost on hers.

The tip of his cock pressed deliciously against her entrance.

“My turn, Gigi.”