Page 107 of A Scot Is Not Enough
Alexander grabbed her hips. “You’d better hold on.”
The box scraped the floor. His cock pulsed against her. Rubbing, stroking, her wetness coating him. Hispenis was hard, teasing, teasing, couched between her thighs, sliding the length of her cleft. A new rhythm sprang, this one as tender as it was steamy. His body glued to her back, his kisses scorching her neck. Sweat sheened her arms. The fire was hot to her legs. She couldn’t get any hotter.
Until his cock nudged her entrance.
“Ohhhh...” she moaned. “Please, you must...”
Her bottom twitched with pleasure.
“What must I do?” His voice was sensual and textured—a man who knew what he was about.
Smooth and round, his penis tantalized her. An inch, no more. Her balance faltered. She had to grip the mantel with both hands.
“Should I do this?” Hands on her hips slid to the front of her thighs. To her mons.
Fingers riffled through her damp curls. The nub between her legs ached fiercely. His fingertips flirted around it.
“Or should I touch here?” he whispered, drawing a faint line on the nub.
Delicate quivers rippled through her. Her legs were shaking and her emotions spun like windmills in a storm. Talking seemed impossible. She rocked with him, against him, striving. Words slurred to unfeminine grunts. When his intelligent, seeking fingers stroked her nub, she cried out and rammed her bottom against him.
Explosive lust charged her spine. He was seated deep inside her, the shock eye-opening. His exhale gusted her neck. Everything was heavier. The air heaving in and out of her lungs, the blood coursing her veins, her braid dangling like a rope. She was burning. Flesh slapped flesh. She was on her toes,straining, straining, finding a rhythm. One of his hands covered her breast. The other made messy circles on her sloppy wet nub. Pleasure licked her thighs. She closed her eyes, needing the privacy because a horrible truth consumed her. Alexander owned her.
She was utterly possessed by him. Body, heart, and soul.
An insatiable hunger came with his possession. A desperation which climbed brighter than the sun, hotter than fire, her emotions soaring with it. Theirs was a savage, wordless joining, but no less elevating. Alexander was holding her. She was safe.
His hardness moved inside her, a glorious grounding force until lights shattered behind her closed eyes. She cried out his name, the pleasure within stunning. The world was cataclysmic.
Bliss rippled everywhere.
Alexander’s release came a second later, his body shuddering.
“Cecelia...”
His voice was a raw scrape, ruining her.
Panting hard, she looked down. She was on her toes like a seasoned bare-knuckle brawler. He was too, his body pressing hers from behind, his seed sticky on her bottom. His arm curved around her waist as if he’d never let go.
Drunk with intimacy and emotions, she wanted him in every sense of the word.
But instinct was her weathervane; it warned her, she and Mr. Alexander Sloane were in the fight of their lives.
Chapter Thirty-One
Cecelia was not entirely put back together. It had been hours since her interlude with Alexander, but her body still wasn’t her own. Their connection was too raw and her nerves too sensitive. She stared out the hack’s window, trying to get her bearings. Soul-quenching sexual congress was one thing. Every woman needed a good coupling now and then to set things right.
But the earthquake in her heart was quite unfair.
Her handsome barrister was rearranging her otherwise orderly existence. Light from passing street lamps slanted on his mouth soft with satisfaction. Alexander had been ardent about not leaving her side. Her silly wondering, would he stay or wouldn’t he, had been a waste of time, especially when other worries encroached.
Thesgian-dubh. The countess and Mr. Wortley and the Marquess of Swynford’s costume ball.
She crammed them away and lived for Alexander’s thumb caressing the back of her hand. They’d worn gloves but they both took one off to hold hands, skinto skin. She fed on his warmth. He was a good man, his sense of justice a beautiful revelation.
Where would their adventure take them?
For now, it led them to White Cross Street, the genesis of their cat and mouse game. The hack rolled to a stop and the door opened.
