to gaze at him, her honey-brown eyes twinkling. “Hoping to debauch me, are you, Mr. Decker?”
“Yes, Mrs. Decker. I am.” He kissed her again. “Number seven is happening.”
“Number seven?” Her eyes went wide. “Happening here? Now? But anyone could happen upon us.”
“Here,” he repeated. “Now.”
And if anyone did happen upon them…well, he did not give a damn. They were amongst friends. The sun was high, the day was warm, he was happier than any man had a right to be, and he had every intention of burying his cock in his wife.
Forthwith.
At the notion, his prick twitched to life, hard and ready.
Slow down, old chap. We have to woo her first.
“Are you certain?” she asked.
“Utterly.” He kissed her again, sucking on the fullness of her lower lip. “Damn, you are sweeter than strawberries.”
Her arms wound around his neck. “I could say the same of you.”
Their mouths connected. The air hung heavy all around them, redolent with the perfume of grass and blooming flora. His tongue slid past her lips. She tasted like summer and seduction. Sweet, ripe fruit.
His cockstand rebelled against his trousers, straining to break free.
Yes, he had learned his lesson. No matter how many times he made love to his wife, he still kept wanting her more. He loved her more, desired her more, needed her more. That was the way of it between them.
And he did not just accept it, he embraced it.
Never breaking their kiss, he lowered them both to the counterpane. Plates clinked. The bottle of wine they had brought for their picnic tipped over and spilled into the nearby grass with a rush. At least, he thought that was the source of the sound. The picnic hamper clattered to its side as he thrust it out of the way with an indelicate kick of his left leg.
Admittedly, he ought to have been a gentleman and removed all the remnants of their luncheon from the blanket before seducing his wife. But when had he ever claimed to be a gentleman?
Never, that was when.
And so, he kissed her thoroughly to the musical accompaniment of crashing crockery and tumbling wicker and clinking cutlery. At some point, he realized she was trembling beneath him.
Quite violently.
And then, he lifted his head to find her grinning at him, her eyes dancing with mirth. She had been laughing, the minx.
“What is so bloody humorous?” he demanded.
Surely not his kisses?
“I think there is a jar of jam beneath my back,” she said, giggling, her lips swollen and red and so damned kissable, his cock throbbed just to look at them.
Right. There was a decidedly unwanted jar of jam somewhere beneath her. Supposedly.
He slid a hand beneath her corseted back, sweeping the blanket, and discovered the jar in question. He plucked it from beneath her, tossing it over his shoulder. The sound of cracking glass met his unapologetic ears.
“Decker!” his wife gasped, sounding scandalized. “You have broken the jam.”
“To hell with the jam.” Decker rolled atop her and straddled her voluminous skirts. “Undoubtedly, the Duke and Duchess of Westmorland have hundreds more just like it. I want to make love to my wife.”
She pouted, her honey-brown gaze turning mischievous. “It was good jam.”
“I will give you good, madam,” he growled, lowering his head to take her lips again. “I will give you much, much better than good, in fact.”
Her hands settled on his shoulders, clutching him. “A man of confidence. I like that. Give me better than good, if you please. I am aching for it.”
She knew just what to say to make him crazed with lust. A wild thrill soared through him, landing in his ballocks. He was more than ready for her. He leveraged himself on an elbow and grabbed a fistful of fabric, intending to give her what she wanted.
Belatedly, he realized she was wearing a gown with a cumbersome tier of skirts and two dozen tiny pearl buttons running down the front.
“Why the devil are you wearing something so deuced difficult to get you out of?” he grumbled.
“It seemed an excellent idea at the time,” she said. “I am regretting the choice more and more by the moment. But how was I to know you intended to ravish me on a picnic luncheon in the midst of a country house weekend?”
Fair enough.
Still…
“When have I ever shied away from the opportunity to ravish you, bijou?” he asked, raising a brow. “Surely you ought to know me better than that by now.”
“I will remember it next time,” she promised, lips parted.