Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Phillip was one of his father’s best friends so he’d seen a lot of the man while he was growing up. Now, not so much since the man lived on an island with Aunt Frye. When he’d been younger their interactions, well, not all of it good, but his father hadn’t ever given up on him. These men were close and had taught him, Falcon and the others about long-lasting, true friendships.
Didn’t mean he wasn’t still suspicious. Not of his uncle. His mother and her aspirations. Because his mother was crafty and sneaky. And she’d suddenly stopped talking about him needing to find a wife. Which made him all the more suspicious.
Dunking his head, he wet his head and set to cleaning his hair.
Normally there were some subtle, and some not-so-subtle, hints about how she wanted him to settle down and stop carousing around town with Falcon. But that had stopped. Not gradually, but all of a sudden.
Bryn rinsed off his hair and leaned back, allowing the hot water to soothe his aching muscles. Rosamunde’s brother had gotten a good punch in today, and his side was sore from it, tender even.
His cock stiffened at the thought of Rosamunde. She’d not been with Lovell today and that had made Bryn surly. He wanted her there, where he could keep an eye on her. Where he knew she was safe. And warm.
Nothing he’d found out about this man her father was selling her to made him happy. At some point he needed to talk about all of it with Falcon, the calm head between them. Especially when it came to Rosamunde. Bryn scrubbed his hand over his chest and sighed. He may be the son of a marquess and an earl in his own right, but he still had connections with people in London’s underworld.
Ones his father wouldn’t be pleased with but ones who cared far more about the color of money over the hue of one’s skin. And that, he was more comfortable working with and around. There was no pretense, no saying one thing before his face and something different behind it. So long as he had the scratch, he could get the information he desired.
And there was a bit of a truce between him and Seamus “Jimmy Mac” MacGuire now as they respected each other for what they did and who they were at their core. He was sure it didn’t hurt that Jimmy had won a lot of money betting on Bryn.
When he’d asked his friend to do some digging, the man had. Without question. An older man, far older than a young woman should be married to.
Knees popping free of the water, he kept his shoulders under best he could, needing the heat to help resolve the issue of impeding stiffness. He did his best to ignore his cock, long and thick, right there, demanding attention.
And not attention from simply anyone. The one person it reared to life for was Miss Fletcher.
“Damn,” he muttered dipping his hand below the water and curving it around his shaft. Eyes drifting closed, he pulled up her image—it wasn’t hard, he did it multiple times a day—and stared at her full lips.
What he wouldn’t give to have those plump lips shiny with his kisses, parted as she resided on her knees, open to accept his cock as he fed it to her. Those incredible shamrock-colored eyes watching him with the same amount of lust he had for her. He pumped slowly, gripping hard as he pictured feeding his length to her, inch by inch until the swollen head knocked against the back of her throat.
To see the tears welling up in her eyes but knowing she was his good girl and wanted to please him. To watch her struggle but eventually take it all and refuse to let him pull out.
His balls tightened and lifted as he pumped faster, rotating his wrist, doing all he could to last. Would he release down her throat? Or would she allow him to pull free and mark her with his seed? He’d love to be able to see his mark on her creamy skin, sliding over the large breasts she had that he didn’t doubt would spill from her camisole.
Then again, perhaps they would be bare.
Hips driving his length deep into his hand, he came with a low growl, a curse of her name, barely getting his release into the rag he had in his other hand. Water had splashed over the side of the tub, but he didn’t care as he climbed out, adding more moisture to the floor.
His body still burned with a need to sink his length deep between her full thighs, to have those heels digging into his back as she accepted all of him.
Standing before the fire, he swore a stream of curses that he knew his mother wouldn’t be pleased if she heard. This was her fault. Inviting his unwanted temptation to the opera with them and bringing her to the country for the weekend.