“Not proper for Lady Madeleine.” He came closer still, and Maddie thought she felt his leg brush hers under the water. She looked down but saw only her own rapidly peddling legs. “But what you have failed to consider, my lady”—Jack reached out to her, his hand skimming the surface of the water—“is that you are no longer Lady Madeleine. Now you’re Lady Blackthorne. My wife.”
Maddie raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t thought of that. She was Lady Blackthorne. She was a marchioness. “And who is Lady Blackthorne?” she asked. “I don’t know anything about her.”
“She’s whoever you want her to be,” Jack said, his voice low and husky. “She’s part Lady Madeleine and part someone else entirely.”
“Who?”
He held his hand out again. “Come here and I’ll show you.”
Her heart was beating fast now as she put her hand in Jack’s and allowed him to pull her body into his. Even under the water she could feel the heat of him. His skin was warm and sleek and hard, and she rubbed wantonly against him. Without the constraints of gravity, he held her in his arms easily, and his hands were everywhere—cupping her behind, her breasts, her hips.
And she was just as liberal with her touches. She rubbed a hand against the light smattering of hair on his smooth chest, traced a finger down his hard abdomen, and brushed against the evidence of his desire for her.
“Put your legs around me,” he whispered into her ear, and her whole body quivered. “Put your legs around my waist.”
“Is that the kind of thing Lady Blackthorne would do?”
“God, I hope so,” he answered.
She moved forward, wrapping her legs around him, pressing against those sleek muscles and feeling his hands support her back and buttocks. Every inch of her was molded to every inch of him, and, between them, pressed his hard member.
“I want you, Maddie,” he whispered. “I want to slip inside you and make you my wife.”
“I want that, too,” she whispered.
“How much?” he asked, stroking her nipple until it peaked with need. “Enough to allow me to make you ready? Enough to do something truly wanton?”
Maddie felt the blood pound in her ears. She was excited, aroused—too far gone to make a sound decision. But maybe that had always been her problem. Maybe she needed someone to make her let go.
“What do you want me to do, Jack?”
“Float on your back, and let me give you pleasure.”
Maddie didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but that was not it. And wasn’t that what made being with Jack so exciting? He never said what one expected.
She released him and lay on her back, until she was floating comfortably. His hand was under her, supporting her. He looked down at her, and she kissed him, feeling all her need for him well up in that single exchange of mouth on mouth. “Let me pleasure you,” he said when they parted. “Let me have my way.”
She nodded her acquiescence, though she couldn’t have refused him anything by then. She wanted him so much, needed him to keep touching her, kissing her.
He kept his hand under her back to support her as he dove underneath the water, surfacing between her legs. Maddie jerked when she saw his head pop up between her knees. “What are you—”
“Shh,” he said, reaching one hand forward to stroke her inner thigh. She shivered and flailed her arms a bit, but he kept her afloat.
“Open your legs for me,” he whispered, his breath tickling the spot just above her knee. “I want to kiss you . . . here.” He touched her inner thigh a few inches above her knee. “And here.” He touched her higher, and Maddie inhaled sharply. “And here.” He touched her womanhood, and she jerked and moaned at the pleasant shock that went through her.
“I thought you’d like that. Now open for me.”
God help her, she obeyed him. You’re not Lady Madeleine, she told herself as he rained kisses on the inside of her leg all the way to her core. “You’re Lady Blackthorne,” she whispered as his tongue retraced the trail of kisses. And then his mouth was on that most sensitive part of her, and his fingers were spreading her gently, so that his tongue might taste more of her.
Maddie clenched her hands to keep from crying out. Oh, Lord. She rather liked being Lady Blackthorne.
She allowed herself to float freely as his tongue laved her, creating quick, sharp jolts of pleasure that made her jerk, followed by long, languorous strokes of bliss that buzzed through her body. He knew what he was doing, and the tension inside her grew with each touch. His tongue tapped and danced and swirled over her sensitive nub until she couldn’t stop herself from crying out.
“More!” she cried, too desperate to be ashamed of her gluttony. “Don’t stop.”
It seemed every muscle in her body clenched as the pleasure rose. She rose with it, feeling it twirl through her, take her captive, and bind her with its power. The pleasure became so acute it was almost pain, and her whole body shook with it.
And still she wanted more. “Harder!” she cried hoarsely.
