Compromised for Christmas (The Jennings Family #1)

46. Georgiana

46

Georgiana

C rash!

The door ricocheted off the wall—right back into her husband. Georgiana winced. But the door was already hurtling back into the wall again with a thundering bang, Fitz’s palm outstretched. Georgiana’s eyelids stretched round, her hand frozen on the Duke’s chest. Fitz took a step forward, his chest heaving, gaze darting between her and the Duke. It settled on her palm, and his eyes went black.

Oh dear. Her husband was murderous. And Georgiana should not be melting into a puddle of lust at the sight. But a fanatical Fitz? Curls wild, nostrils flaring, jaw sharp and clenched, hands balled into fists? She sucked in a shuddering breath.

“I would ask you to step away from my wife. Immediately,” Fitz ground out, his eyes not leaving Georgiana.

The Duke cocked his head, gaze slowly moving between Georgiana and Fitz. His eyebrows lifted slightly, bored, bemused. He stepped back, and her palm slid off his chest. Fitz growled, and the Duke let out a soft chuckle. There was a warning in that chuckle.

Apparently, it didn’t faze her husband.

“It appears there was a mix-up,” Fitz said, his voice low and lethal. “Your assignment is in room 2A.”

Oh, buon Dio . That voice? Georgiana fanned herself. Perhaps she could convince him to do some role-play where he was her captor. Because she desperately wanted him to talk to her in that voice.

Fitz’s gaze finally moved from Georgiana to the Duke. They locked gazes, neither moving. Her husband wasn’t as tall and not nearly as broad and muscled as the Duke, but right now? If Georgiana was a wagering woman, her coin would be on her husband. Her husband reminded her of the little mongoose she had seen at a menagerie once. It was said a mongoose could take down a King Cobra. So, a Duke should be no task at all.

Either the Duke agreed or had something of a conscience hiding inside his dark exterior, because he took another step back. “Your wife was just telling me she didn’t want to sleep with me.” He paused, the only sound in the room Fitz’s rough breathing. “Not the most flattering thing I’ve ever heard.”

The Duke slowly backed away as Fitz approached Georgiana, neither taking their eyes off each other, as though at any moment one would lunge for the other.

The Duke stepped into the doorway and tipped an imaginary topper. “Best of luck to you two.” Then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him.

The tension holding her husband’s body went limp, and he rushed the rest of the way to her, crushing her into his chest. His arms squeezed the breath right from her, his nose burying into her hair.

“God, I pushed you right into the arms of-of another man, the man you’ve always wanted,” his mumbled words drifted to her ears.

She nudged at his stomach where her hands were trapped, and he reluctantly loosened his hold. She searched his volatile amber eyes. “So you didn’t set up a rendezvous with me and the Duke, then?”

“No, no .” He shook his head emphatically, his rich, brown curls flopping. “I-I… Is that what you want?” His chin jerked back, and his eyes went wide, panic or hurt or fear—maybe all three—swirling like a tempest there. The room went silent, her husband’s ragged breathing stalling.

“No, it’s not what I want, Fitz,” she said gently. She slid her hands up and down his chest soothingly. “And what on earth did you mean, ‘the man I’ve always wanted’?”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and looked away. “I overheard you speaking with Felicity when we were in Kent. The day we went out for those bloody trees.” He met her gaze. “You had said you had been waiting for the Duke that night I accidentally compromised you. That he, and the things he partook in”—he waved his arm around the bedroom—“were what you desired. The Duke is everything you could ever ask for in a man. And I’m—”

“No,” she said sharply, fisting his cravat. “No, Fitz. You have that completely wrong. That man who just left has nothing I desire. He and I may share an interest in certain proclivities. But there is only one man I desire. One man I desire to do those things with.” She slid her hand up and gripped his chin. “And that man is you.”

Instead of the relief she was expecting, her husband stared at her like she had five heads. “You want me?” He circled his hand in front of him. “This whole mess?” His forehead wrinkled, and his expression oozed skepticism. “Are you sure? Because I’m fairly certain I just made a complete hash of things this past sennight. I have been the biggest idiot. Repeatedly. I have been just piling on the idiocy left and right, building the largest tower of idiocy ever known to man.”

She breathed out a chuckle. “You have been a bit idiotic,” she agreed. “But you’re my idiot,” she said tenderly, smiling up at him.

His forehead dropped against hers. “I want to be your idiot,” he whispered.

Her chest swelled. With hope. With love.

“I’m so sorry, Gigi,” he murmured. “I never intended to hurt you, to make you feel as though you are not the only woman in this entire world I want. Because there is no one else for me. You are my person, Gigi. I can feel it deep in my bones. I never thought that person existed, not for someone like me.”

He drew in a slow breath. “I’m different, and I’ve accepted that, learned to live with who I am. But then you came into my life and quite literally knocked me off my feet. I felt things, things I can’t even put into words. For a while, I thought perhaps I was having some indigestion. But now I know what it is. I’ve finally found someone I fit with. When you’re in my arms, God, I feel like I belong, like I’ve found my place in this world. And I’m terrified—terrified I will do something incredibly Fitz-like and ruin this, lose this, lose you.”

Georgiana swore her heart was at risk of taking flight, light and untethered like one of those grand balloons.

“You won’t lose me, Fitz,” she whispered, the emotion tightening her throat, not allowing for anything more.

Her hands slid up his chest to his shoulders, under the lapels of his coat. She pushed slightly, and he helped her slide the coat off.

“Even when I had believed the worst,” she finally said. “I wasn’t going anywhere.” She met his heady amber irises. “I was crushed”—her voice faltered, her heart lurching at the memory of when she feared the worst—“but I was determined to see if we could work through it.”

His hands came up to cradle her face; warm, reassuring, safe. “I’m so bloody sorry, Gigi.”

But those rich mahogany eyes swam with fear.

“You won’t lose me,” she reiterated, injecting strength into her tone.

Her husband needed this. Needed to know she was wholeheartedly committed to him, to them. Unwavering. Because standing in front of her right now? She thought might be the young man who had been tossed over for his brother. But Fitzwilliam Jennings deserved to know he was the one someone chose. He deserved the world, to be someone’s world. And he was her world.

“We’ll work through every bumble you come up with, Fitz. I promise. With plenty of conversation and clarifying questions until we are certain we are both on the same page. I don’t care how many pages it takes to get us there, I’d read an entire book, if that is what it took.”

Georgiana had fought much of her life with nothing but a flicker of hope fueling her. Now that she had something truly worth fighting for? There was nothing in this world that could ever take it from her.

Georgiana’s husband sighed against her lips and pressed a soft kiss to them.

Finally, she had answers. Finally, they seemed to be making their way out of this muddle. There was one thing that still confused her, however. Her husband had just stormed into this room, snarling and spitting like an enraged mongoose. He looked poised to kill the Duke for possibly touching her, for her touching the Duke. Urghh, bloody delicious.

But at the Rutledge supper party when he quite clearly saw her talking—flirting—with the Duke and Lord Dunmore…he had turned his back. As though he didn’t care.

“You’ve gone quiet,” he murmured.

She leaned back and caught his amber gaze. “I…It is just… at the Rutledge’s,” she said, voicing her doubts. “I had been speaking with the Duke and Lord Dunmore…”

His jaw clenched.

“You hadn’t seemed to care that I was blatantly flirting with them. Not in the least bit jealous. You turned your back like it meant nothing to you.”

He watched her, saying nothing for a long time. And then finally, “I turned my back because I was so unbelievable consumed with jealousy, I feared I’d make a scene.” His words were pure gravel, repressed possessiveness thick in his tone. “There was a very real risk I would toss you over my shoulder; consequences be damned.”

“Oh,” she said breathlessly. She was getting quite warm again.

“You did it on purpose,” he said softly, eyes darkening.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled at his tone. She didn’t think he required an answer, but she nodded anyway. “I wanted your attention back on me. I wanted you to want me. Not that woman back in your study. I wanted you to know other men found me desirable.” She swallowed. “I wanted you to feel like you were lucky to have me,” she whispered.

For once in her life, she wanted to feel as though she, Georgiana, was what someone wanted. No. Not someone. Just Fitz.

His arms tightened around her, and his eyes cleared, earnest pools of burned amber. “I am the luckiest man on this earth, having you as my wife.” He gripped her chin and squeezed gently. “I’ve thought that many times since we married. Trust me, Gigi. I want you. I want you so badly I don’t even know what to do with it.” He released her and stepped away.

Georgiana shivered at the loss of heat. She needed it back. She reached for him.

“Though perhaps…” He cocked his head at her. “One of the things you desire is punishment, yes?”

Her arm dropped, and she blinked at the random question but dipped her chin in a nod.

Her husband took a bracing breath and then his hand went to his cravat, pulling at it until it loosened and came undone. He stretched his neck from side to side, the corded muscles flexing, then softening as he pulled it loose and dropped it to the floor.

He locked gazes with her. “Then get on your kn-knees, micetta cattiva. And show me how sorry you are for that little display at the Rutledge’s.”

She sucked in a breath. Her gaze darted around the chamber as though she would find the man who had absconded with her husband. Because her brain could not process that the man who had just uttered those wicked, demanding—albeit slightly wavering—words, the one who had just called her a bad kitty, was Fitz.

“Knees, Gigi. Now.”

There was nothing hesitant or wavering that time.

She dropped to the floor in front of her husband, the silk of her robe settling around her. Heart in her throat, pulse racing through her veins, she waited. Waited for her husband to bring one of her private fantasies to life.

His knuckles dusted over her cheekbone, trailing down her jaw before a finger settled under her chin. “I’ve been reading. Studying. For you.” His voice was dark, dangerous. “It’s been…enlightening. Do you want to be d-degraded, micetta? Is that on your list as well?”

Georgiana shivered at his velvet tone; she wanted to wrap herself in that voice, bathe in it. She dipped her chin slowly. God, she wanted him to stutter horrible things to her. She knew that probably wasn’t common. But she wanted to be used, punished, disparaged. It was that dark, sinful secret inside of her.

His hand left her and joined his other at his placket, making quick work of the buttons. He took out his half-hard cock and stroked slowly, teasingly. Her lips parted, and her gaze shot to his. But for no longer than a breath. She couldn’t help it. Her stare fell back to where his hand worked himself, where he grew thicker with every stroke. She licked her lips. She wanted it.

He chuckled, deep and strangled. “Desperate for it, are you, micetta? If you keep looking at it like that, this is going to end e-embarrassingly quick.”

Her eyes snapped back to his face, and she leaned forward, nodding eagerly. She rested her hands on his thighs, squeezing.

“Desperate, Fitz,” she whispered. “I need you so badly.”

He sucked in a breath through bared teeth, his cock twitching in his hand. “Well, what are you waiting for, then? Suck my cock like the needy whore you are.”

She froze.

He froze.

Both equally shocked by his words.

But as frozen as they were, between her thighs went up in flames, went liquid. Oh, my fucking heaven.

“Oh God. Was that too much? A-Apologies, Gigi. I d-don’t even know where that came from. It just flew out.”

“No!” She leaned forward, hands clawing up to clench his hips. “It was perfect, Fitz. More of that. Please, say any filthy, demeaning thing to me. Please .”

And like the needy whore she was, she batted his hand away, gripped his base, and wrapped her lips around the head of him. She needed him now. To show him what his words did to her. She flicked her tongue over him, a burst of salty flavor overwhelming her senses. The overwhelming flavor of lust. Her eyes closed, and she hummed, flattening her tongue and sliding down his length. She worked over him, the slickness from her mouth sliding him deeper with each pass.

His low groan filled the room, and she glanced up. Head tilted back, eyes shut tight, neck stretched and taut; he was the picture of pleasure. She slid up so just the head of him rested in her mouth and gave a strong suck. His breath hitched, and so did his hips. She took that cue, and with a slow breath, relaxed her jaw, and sank down on him, taking him almost to the back of her throat. His gaze flew to hers, a rough grunt rumbling from deep in his chest.

And then his hips gave an especially forceful jerk. His cock hit the back of her throat, and she gagged. An array of curses, some English, some Italian, flew from Fitz’s mouth; then his hand shot to her hair, pulling her off him. His face contorted as though in pain. And then he relaxed and let out a breath, slowly opening his eyes.

His lips curved, sheepish, bashful. And her heart fluttered like a leaf in the wind. The things this man did to her.

“You almost unmanned me with that one, micetta.”

She wanted to unman him. She wanted him mindless, out-of-his-head with lust because of her. Her fingertips dug into his thighs, her gaze darting between his eyes and his cock.

He released her, chuckling. “So needy for my cock. What a good little wife.”

She moaned, rubbing her wet lips over the head of him, but not taking him back inside. Instead, she traced down him, the tip of her tongue trailing down the underside and then back up. His entire body trembled, his breaths shuddering and jagged. God, the sound of him, the feel of him, the taste of him. She knew she was wanton because she loved the taste of man. It lit her core on fire, the taste of Fitz, the taste of sex.

Heaven, help her, she wanted everything he had to give her. She wanted to be covered in him—

She stilled. That thought has merit.

“Come on me,” she rushed out breathlessly.

“P-Pardon,” he squeaked.

Georgiana smiled softly. She’d shocked the stuttering right back into her husband. She sat back on her knees and shrugged out of her robe, the silk cascading over her skin like the softest of caresses. Her husband’s gaze shot to her breasts, and his chest heaved. She bit her lip. Perhaps she would have a bit of fun with this. She trailed the back of her fingers over her thighs and up her stomach until she reached her breasts. She cupped them, her thumbs sliding over her nipples, sending a spark straight to her core. A soft moan fled her lips.

“Cazzo,” he swore. Breaths exploded from Fitz, his entire body rigid, as rigid as certain delicious parts of him.

His eyes locked on her hands. She squeezed harder. She liked a rough hand.

“Touch yourself, Fitz.” She pinched her nipples and gasped. “ P-please,” she begged.

His hand flew to his cock. “Fuck, cazzo, fuck. ” He groaned. “What am I to do with you, Gigi?” His breath stuttered, his hand stroking faster over his erection.

“Come on my tits, hopefully,” she managed between pants.

He huffed out a laugh that ended on a strangled groan.

God, she ached between her thighs. This was pure torture. Her eyes locked on his cock, glistening from the mettle that had leaked from him, because of how badly he wanted her. She wanted—needed—him inside her. Her core clenched, and she rolled her nipples in her fingers. Heat coiled tight, the pulsing growing to dangerous heights. She squeezed her thighs, and her body shuddered. Bloody hell, she thought she might be able to come like this.

“Fuck, Gigi. I can’t—” With a guttural moan, Fitz curled over her, his free hand landing on her shoulder, gripping her nape in a hold so tight she felt it like a shock to her core.

Her skin was met with the warmth of his release, coating her breasts, her fingers. She let out a soft cry, her body trembling at the feel of him on her skin. At the feel of being marked by him. Claimed.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, chest heaving, and buried his face in her neck. After a few struggling breaths, he pulled back, his gaze scouring over her. His lids, already heavy and languid, lowered further.

“Exquisite,” he whispered, his voice nothing but an out-of-breath rasp. “Look at you dripping in my cum.”

She whimpered. Blast and damn, was it possible for this anxious, awkward man to be any more of a surprise?

He slid his fingers through his seed, gathering it and swirling it around the pebbled peak of her nipple. She inhaled sharply, arching into his touch, a sharp pang arcing to her core with every pass of slick fingertips.

“You love it, don’t you? Love being covered in me. Being well-used by me.” He coated more cum on his fingers. “Show me how much.”

Oh, God. Yes, apparently, he could be more of a surprise.

He brought his fingers to her mouth and slowly spread himself over her lips.

“Assaggiami,” he commanded.

Taste me.

She licked them, sucked his fingers into her mouth. A muffled cry left her at the taste of him, her tongue tracing around his finger.

He groaned. And in a flurry of movement, his arms snaked around her, then he shot up, and Georgiana found herself thrown onto the massive four-poster bed.

Fitz crawled after her, gaze black, heady—hungry—from where he watched her beneath heavy lids. He aggressively pushed open her thighs and gave her mind no time to process what was happening. He dove straight between her thighs, his fingers sinking inside her. A sound of pure lust, pure appreciation, rumbled from him, and he buried his face further.

Her breath stuttered, her hips canting. Her body didn’t know what way was up. Her core tightened, an overwhelming pressure building to staggering heights. The pounding of her heart in her chest echoed between her thighs, where his tongue was flat and pulsing against her clitoris.

“God, I can feel you throbbing against my tongue, Gigi. Così disperata per me.” He gave a tortuously soft lick to her swollen flesh and then pierced her with his blackened amber gaze. “You love being covered in my cum? Rub me into your skin, Gigi. Cover those glorious breasts with my seed. Mine.”

She stopped breathing. Where had this sinful man come from? This devil who turned her into a puddle of wanton woman. She reached up and rubbed him over her chest, into her skin, moaning as she cupped and clenched her breasts, rolling her thumbs in a slick glide over her aching nipples.

“More, Gigi. Show me how you like those tits touched, how rough, how hard. Show me how good my cum feels coating your nipples.”

Georgiana was going to explode. The coiling pressure was going to combust just from the words flying from his tongue.

He dropped back between her thighs, his fingers and mouth working in tandem. She moaned, noises that were nothing but feral, ragged, broken, ripping from her throat. She almost couldn’t believe they came from her. But she could still taste him on her tongue, feel his seed on her skin, feel his lips, his tongue, his fingers between her legs. It set her afire.

“Oh, Go-od. God. Fitz. I…I…” She was incoherent, that was what she was. She was gone, brainless, nothing but molten liquid lust.

And then he sank his fingers deep, curling and pressing in a devastating rhythm. His tongue flattened against her clitoris, and the tight, swirling pressure inside her broke, shattered. She cried out, half-sob, half-moan, her body shaking violently against the bed linens. Pleasure shot through her, pulse after pulse surging through her body all the way to her toes. Her hands tightened on her breasts involuntarily as her muscles clenched tight, her back arching off the bed, sending more jolts of bliss reeling through her.

She shuddered and fell limp on the bed, breath bursting from her. Her eyes slid shut, entirely replete, satiated, small aftershocks quivering through her limbs. Slowly she came to, the languid haze of post-orgasmic bliss settling in.

The breath shot from her. She was unceremoniously yanked to the edge of the bed and pulled into her husband’s lap.

The blunt head of her husband’s cock notched at her entrance.

His hard cock.