Page 71 of No Mistress Of Mine

He groaned, tilting his head back, and she stroked him just as he’d shown her how to do so long ago. He was thick and hard and scorching hot, and she relished the velvety feel of him in her palm. But when she caressed the cleft at the tip with her thumb, he groaned again, and her enjoyment of this particular activity was abruptly stopped as he grasped her wrist and pulled her hand away. “Now, who’s teasing?”

His grip tightened around her wrist, and he leaned back, pulling her with him.

He didn’t say anything, but she knew what he wanted. Bunching up her skirts around her waist, she eased herself onto his seat, straddling his hips, her knees sinking into the cushion as he settled back against the roll and tuck leather behind him.

“Take me,” he ground out, grasping her hips. “Take me inside you.”

She smiled, savoring the order, for she knew it was also a plea. Holding her skirts up out of the way with one hand, she took his erect penis in the other and guided the tip through the slit of her drawers and between the folds of her opening. As the tip of his penis entered her, she slid her hand out from between their bodies, and the moment she did, he thrust his hips upward, his hands tightening as he entered her.

She cried out, her fingers grasping for the seat back on either side of his shoulders to steady herself as he pushed into her.

“Do you remember this, Lola?” he asked, going deeper, pushing harder.

Yes, she remembered this, the hot sweet fullness of him inside her. How could she ever have forgotten it? With him inside her this way, it was as if no time had passed, as if their last afternoon in the house on Circus Road had been only yesterday. She gave a frantic nod, rolling her hips, rocking to accommodate his shaft, working to take him fully.

But he seemed to want her to say it aloud, for his hips flexed, pulling back. “Do you?” he asked, and thrust again, harder, the head of his penis touching that exquisite place deep inside her, a place that she knew could bring even more intense pleasure than the one he’d caressed with his fingers moments ago.

“Yes,” she panted, her hips working as she felt the pleasure rising, thickening, and she knew she was close to climax. She widened her knees, pressing down, trying to work her hips and bring that completion.

But he didn’t let her have it. His hands tightened on her hips, pushing her back a little, making her groan in protest.

“Denys!”

“What about this?” he asked, his voice ragged. He flexed his hips, touching her deep, then he pulled back and flexed again in a teasing, tormenting caress. “Do you remember this?”

She began to sob, for she was hovering just on the edge, and this sweet, drawn-out pleasure was agonizing. “Yes, yes, I remember, Denys,” she sobbed. “Finish it. Oh, please, finish it.”

He kissed her mouth, hard, then he obeyed her frantic plea. His grip tightened, his fingers pressing hard against her buttocks as he brought her down to him, and he thrust upward.

She came in a rush so intense it made her dizzy, and her fingers clenched convulsively over the seat back as her body pulsed with wave after wave of pleasure.

Even awash in the sensations of her own climax, she knew he was close to his. “Come, Denys, come,” she begged, tightening her inner muscles around his shaft, working her hips to bring him to the peak. “Take your pleasure.”

With a hoarse cry, he let go of her hips, and his arms wrapped tight around her, as if even now, she wasn’t close enough. He buried his face against her neck, and his breathing was hot and quick against her exposed skin. A violent shudder rocked his body, he thrust into her twice more, and his body went rigid as the warmth of his climax pushed into her.

He relaxed against the seat, and she collapsed against his chest, her body still impaled, as she slid her arms around his neck.

His hand slid up her back, his fingertips caressed her neck. “I remember, too, Lola,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss to her hair. “I remember every moment.”

She closed her eyes, her cheek against the wet wool of his jacket, and she wished they could stay like this forever. The rain had stopped, and the only sound was the grating clatter of the growler’s wheels and the other carriages on the street. A moment later, the carriage turned, and Denys pulled back the curtain a bit to look out. “We’re on Charing Cross Road,” he told her. “Just past Soho Square. We’ll be at Trafalgar in a few minutes.”

Disappointment pierced her, for she knew they were almost out of time. She willed herself to pull back, easing away from him into the seat opposite, pulling down her skirts as he fastened his trousers, and she grimaced a little at the wetness between her legs, even as she longed to have him inside her again.

That, she told herself as she began refastening her garments, was a foolish thing to wish for. Everything that was true six years ago was still true and would always be true. This story, no matter how many times they relived it, would always have the same ending. And the same heartbreak.

Her hands began to shake, and when she tried to form the knot of her tie, she couldn’t seem to manage it. Her fingers fumbled, and she stopped, fighting back the sudden, stupid urge to cry.

“Allow me,” he said, and turned to kneel in front of her. Grasping the ends of her blue silk necktie, he began to form a four-in-hand knot.

He was so close that as he worked, she could feel his breath warm on her face. She lifted her gaze to his eyes, and though the light was dim, she could see their steady, dark brown depths. She wanted, so badly, to kiss him, but she couldn’t. That blissful moment had passed, and she knew it couldn’t come again.

“There,” he said. His fingers shifted the knot, settling it against her throat, but though his hands stilled, he did not pull away. He leaned forward, his forehead pressed to hers. “I want to stay with you tonight. Let me come to your room.”

“At the Savoy? Are you mad? It’s impossible to get you up to my room without being seen.”

He lifted his head, exhaling a sharp sigh, acknowledging the hazards of such a plan. “I suppose you’re right. Still...” He paused, toying with the lapels of her jacket, smiling a little. “There are other hotels. More discreet hotels.”

“And then what?” she choked, forcing out the words. “A discreet house? In a discreet neighborhood.”

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