Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)

He gathered her in his arms, kissing his way from her breast to her throat. His lips covered hers, and he took her mouth hungrily, thrusting deep with his tongue. Reminding her that while her needs had been satisfied, his had not.

One strong, deft hand went to her thigh, rucking up the heavy folds of her skirts and sliding beneath to skim her stockinged leg and then her bared, still-quivering thigh. She rose up on her knees a little bit, giving him better access. His fingers went straight to her sex. He cupped her mound, petting lightly. His thumb stroked over her engorged, still-sensitive bud, and she trembled with a delicious aftershock. She was flushed with heat and oh-so-damp down there, and his fingers slipped easily between her folds. He slid a finger inside her.

This time, he was the one shuddering. Her intimate muscles embraced the tender invasion, clasping eagerly and drawing him deeper still. The thought flitted across her mind to be embarrassed, but from the increased vigor of his kisses and the throbbing pulse of his arousal against her thigh, she could tell he liked what he felt.

She wanted to feel him, too. She tugged off her gloves and let them fall where they would. Scooting back on his thigh, she reached for the thick bulge tenting his trousers. She stroked him through the fabric with one hand while she sought the buttons of his fall with the other, eager to touch and explore. He’d given her such indescribable pleasure. She wasn’t certain she had the expertise to return the favor in any commensurate magnitude, but she was determined to try. If it took several go-rounds, so be it. It would be no sacrifice.

He kissed her feverishly, delving deeper with his fingers while she set her own shaking hands to the task of working loose buttons. She managed two, then three. Enough to slide her fingers into the gap. Her first impression was that of scorching heat, radiating from his body. She pushed aside the wadded fabric of his tucked shirt. Beneath, she found only skin, sleek and taut. Did he always go without smallclothes? So very naughty. She nipped at his bottom lip, smiling in the dark.

He flinched a little—ticklish, perhaps—when she traced the crease between his thigh and torso. She followed that vulnerable curve to a springy thatch of hair, which felt much like hers. And then a thick, ridged column of heat that was completely different from anything she’d ever touched. She skimmed one fingertip along his length. So curious, how the skin moved with her touch. Like a swatch of rumpled velvet, stretched over steel. She marveled at the idea that this belonged inside her, this hot, intriguing combination of softness and strength.

Suddenly, he tore his mouth from hers. His head dropped back against the seat. His breath came as great clouds of vapor that caught what meager light filtered into the cab.

Yes, this was strength. Not just the quite-evident potency beneath her fingertips, but her feminine power over him. With the restrictive cut of his trouser fall and the fact that she hadn’t loosed all the closures, she couldn’t quite curl her hand around his girth. But she stroked up and down, just lightly, and leaned forward to kiss his neck. And he simply lay there, helpless to resist.

Until the coach stopped, calling a halt to everything.

Lily pressed her forehead to his chest, laughing a little. Well, perhaps it was best they continued from here inside. In a bed.

He withdrew his fingers from her cleft and re-draped the folds of her skirts down over her legs. Then he pulled her hand from his trousers and brought it to his lips for a kiss.

There was a little light now, filtering in from the street lamps. She could just make out her name on his lips, and a few mystery words besides. Sliding off his lap, she fixed her gown as best she could, tucking her well-loved breast back into the cup of her stays. She plucked a hairpin from her upsweep and used it to gather the torn edges of her bodice before Julian alighted and handed her down.

Arm in arm, they hurried up the steps. Lily floated, scarcely feeling the stone beneath her slippers. She couldn’t wait to get upstairs and continue where they’d left off.

When they reached the landing, she paused before rapping on the door. “Why doesn’t the hack driver leave?”

Julian held back. “He’s waiting for me. I asked him to stay.”

Suddenly, she wasn’t floating any longer, just … hollow inside. Surely those words were just a trick of the flickering lamplight. He couldn’t mean to leave her. Not considering what had just happened in that carriage—and more to the point, what hadn’t happened yet, for him.

“I have to go,” he said. “You don’t understand. Someone wants to kill me.”

“Someone wants to kill you?” she repeated. “Well, I want to make love to you. My goodness, Julian. With two such compelling alternatives, however will you choose?”