Page 78 of My Rogue, My Ruin
“No one is there, Brynn. You are safe.” Archer had pulled from their kiss long enough to counsel her and now returned to her mouth, his teeth gently nipping her lower lip. She sighed into the kiss, her tongue touching his and retreating shyly. Archer coaxed it back as his fingers brushed lower.
“Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you,” he whispered as his hand finally settled over the most private part of her. She caught her breath, her body again turning rigid at the shocking contact of his palm.
“I don’t think I—”
One of his strong fingers slipped between her legs, dipping into her most secret place. The rest of Brynn’s sentence dissolved into a hushed moan. She froze against him, clamping her legs together, a pulsing sensation streaking through her.
“Don’t, darling.” His lips moved against hers as he spoke. “Trust me, Brynn.”
She nodded as he caressed her, parting her thighs, his palm brushing past the soft thatch of curls. Archer drew his finger along her sensitive flesh, the feathery stroking making her giddy with longing. “I’ll stop if you ask,” he murmured against her. “But tell me you want my touch, and I promise you will feel nothing but pleasure.”
Brynn knew he was telling the truth. He would stop—ifshe insisted he do so. But his promise felt too divine, too glorious to deny. And his words, the sound of his whispered voice, his breath hot in her ear, made her more inflamed than his hands did. Filled with unfathomable yearnings, Brynn parted her lips.
“Yes.Yes.”
With a groan of relief, Archer slid his finger deeply into her. Brynn gasped at the sudden pressure, her eyes going wide. His finger stroked and teased, filling her for a moment, but then drew out. She had just gathered a breath when he sank into her again. Her pulse hitched at the gathering tension between her thighs, a stunned moan escaping her lips.
“You consume my thoughts,” he whispered in her ear, his teeth taking the lobe and tugging it gently. “Day. And night.”
He nipped across her jawline to find her mouth, sucking her lower lip in between his. He flicked it lazily with the tip of his tongue, while his thumb skillfully teased the delicate bud at the apex of her thighs, building a hot, swollen pressure inside of her. As he stroked into her again, a second finger joined the first, and she arched her back, straining to get closer to him. The sensations coming to life between her legs and rippling through her body were so maddening that she cried out with the sinful pleasure of it.
“What have you done to me?” she whispered. “Archer, I can’t…”
“Soon, sweet.” His mouth took hers in a ravenous kiss. His tongue mimicked the sensuous slide of his fingers, driving her into a near frenzy.
With shameless greed, Brynn closed her eyes and instinctively thrust her hips against his hand. She almost sobbed at the relentless urgency of his fingers as liquid fire raced unheeded along her limbs, building and building.
“I’ve wanted to touch you like this since that night on the lane to Worthington Abbey,” he said, his expert strokes bringing her higher on that swell of hot pleasure. It threatened to incinerate her. “You were so beautiful in the moonlight, so fearless. Had we been alone, I would have taken you then.”
Had her head not been thrown back in pure ecstasy, her ability to speak utterly lost, she would have told him how she had felt the attraction, too, and how every night since she had drifted to sleep with shamefully erotic dreams of him. Dreams just like this reality. Only she had never imagined it could feel this sensual and frustrating at the same time. It wasn’t just her body reaching for him, wanting more of his touch, it felt like her soul was craving him as well. Pleasured with one breath, unfulfilled with the next.
Archer’s fingers quickened, teasing and toying. His thumb rubbed the little nub at her entrance until her body strained against him. “Please,” she begged, not knowing in the least what she was pleading for.
“You’re intoxicating.” He nipped her bottom lip with his teeth before laving it with his tongue. “I want to drink you, Brynn. Consume you. I want to taste every warm, wet part of your body.”
Brynn moaned at the picture he’d just painted.Everypart of her body? Did men do such things? He smiled as if knowing her thoughts.
“You’re imagining how it will feel when I take you with my mouth instead of my hand,” he whispered.
“You…your…” was all Brynn could gasp with the sweet burden inside her swelling high and hot.
“Yes. Like this,” he murmured before driving his tongue inside her mouth. He curled it around hers, tugging and stroking, promising her something she had never before fathomed.
Brynn could no longer breathe, and surprisingly, she found she didn’t need air. Just his sliding tongue and plunging fingers, and with Archer’s rapid breathing hot in her throat, pleasure broke through her. She cried out at the shockwaves of bliss and then whimpered as she rode Archer’s hand shamelessly, thrusting to claim the last ebbs of satisfaction.
As they flattened out inside of her, she exhaled. She felt as if her body had splintered into a thousand hot fragments that were now slowly piecing themselves back together. She’d never experienced anything so shattering in her life.
Archer kissed her softly, removing his hand from the damp crux of her body and pulling her bloomers back into place. Her leg, rid of all muscle and strength, fell from his hip, and Archer smiled knowingly as he straightened her skirts. She breathed heavily, though for once, being breathless felt absolutely divine.
“I cannot believe I allowed you to do that,” she whispered after a long moment.
Archer parted his lips to reply, his raffish grin promising a witty—and lewd—reply, but a knock on the study’s door smothered his grin and sent him whipping around and away from the desk. Brynn pushed off the desk and lunged toward one wall of bookshelves, a trembling hand reaching to her hair to smooth whatever damage had been done to it.
“Enter,” she said in a voice far more composed than she felt.
Braxton cracked the study door to find Archer near the hearth and Brynn at the shelves. If he sensed anything amiss, his emotionless face did not betray it.
“Lord Northridge has returned, my lady, if His Grace still wishes for an audience.”
