Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)

She would hold together. She could take whatever he gave. But she also had needs of her own, and truth be told, Lily was growing a bit weary of being the object of concern. If it was proof of her strength he desired …


On his next deep thrust, Lily cinched her legs around his and rolled over, reversing their positions and coming to rest atop him. The pantaloons tangling about his knees restricted his ability to retaliate. Even if he wished to, and from the look on his face, she would wager that he didn’t. She had her captive well and happily pinned.

She sat tall, straddling his hips and centering herself on his monumental erection. With a little smile, she told him, “Be still. I’ll take matters from here.”

Obviously bewildered but not at all displeased, he reached to stroke her thigh. “Lily …”

“Now, now.” She flicked his touch away. “I said, be still.”

Placing her hands flat atop his chest, she lifted herself in a slow, torturous glide before sinking onto him again. His resonant groan tickled her palms.

He clutched her hips, nudging himself even deeper.

“Naughty.” Lily tsked, stopping midstroke to remove his hands from her backside. “Don’t you want to see that I’m strong? That I can manage without you?”

His eyes flared with lust, and she knew he’d finally understood.

A thrill of power surged through her. “Hands out to the sides,” she demanded. “Flat against the bed.”

He complied, stretching his arms to either side.

“You won’t move?”

“I won’t move.”

“Promise. Or I shall have to tie you down.”

Oh. Part of him leapt at that idea. How very interesting. Well, perhaps another time.

“I promise,” he said, arching his back. “Anything. Just hurry.”

She grinned. This posture gave her a beautiful view of his chest and arms. His muscles and tendons were taut with the effort of restraint. A sculpture of sensual agony.

Devouring him with her eyes, she began to ride him once more, rolling her hips in a steady rhythm. Each downstroke sent delicious friction just where she needed it. His deep moans of pleasure resonated in her bones.

“Do you see?” she said coyly. “I know what you need. And I know how to take what I need, too.”

With a curse, he squeezed his eyes shut.

As her arousal gathered and built, she increased her pace. She let her hands wander over his chest, tweaking his flat ni**les and sinking her fingernails into his skin.

He gritted his teeth. “Lily,” he said, lifting his head just a bit. His gaze dropped to the place where their bodies joined. “I want to touch you. Let me touch you.”

“No.” Then with a sweet smile, “I’ll do it.”

She raised her hands to her br**sts, long since popped free of her stays, cupping and lifting the globes through the thin covering of her chemise. They were tender and swollen, no doubt because she was with child. Her ni**les were so sensitive, just the chafing of the thin muslin shift sent sharp ripples of pleasure to her core. She gave the dark, turgid peaks an experimental pinch.

“God.” Julian bucked beneath her. “You’ll kill me.”

His desperation pleased her beyond measure. Yes, this was what she wanted. To tower over him, rounded and feminine and merciless as a heathen fertility goddess. She was creating a new life inside her. What could be more powerful than that? Never mind protected. She deserved to be worshipped, feared.

Flattening her hands, she slid her palms down her belly, down to where their bodies joined, sending her fingers to burrow beneath the gathered fabric of her chemise. She found that swollen, sensitive nub, covered it with a fingertip.

Then she stilled, resting her pelvis to his, savoring the feeling of having him so deep inside her as she touched herself, circling her finger over her needy pearl. The joy spiraled and spread, and again she began to move her hips, moving up and down on his hard length. She couldn’t look away from his face. And his gaze was riveted to her hand where she pleasured herself. If he’d ever been more transported by lust, she had not witnessed it. His fingers twisted the bed linens as he thrashed beneath her.

Close as she was, she held back. She wanted more. She wanted him to acknowledge her control, beg for his own release.

“Lily,” he pleaded. “God, Lily. I can’t—I’m going to—”

“Yes. Yes.” Her peak came in a hot, dizzy rush. It came, and it stayed, going on and on as he broke form, reaching to clutch her hips and pump his release into her depths.

In the aftermath, she collapsed atop him, panting and shivering with bliss. His arms wrapped her snug against his chest.

“We’ll be fine,” she told him, blanketing him with her body and pressing a kiss to his parted lips. “Just fine. Believe me, Julian. Trust in this. I love you, and you love me. All the hurting is in the past. We have our whole future ahead of us, and it will be wonderful.”

Never had she believed her own words more.

And never had she been more wrong.

Chapter Twenty-two

She found the letter in the morning.