Page 59 of A Lady Most Wayward
‘Don’t worry about me. I’m perfectly content.’ Olivia trailed her fingers to the wet silk, roughly pulling down the material and feasting her eyes on Philippa’s naked breasts. She brushed her thumbs over the reddened tips and revelled in Philippa’s gasp. ‘So sweet. You are so beautiful.’
Philippa bit her lip as a flush covered her pale skin. If Olivia wasn’t already falling, this moment would have sealed her fate.
The duchess is shy. And no one gets to see her like this except me.
It was a gift she would always treasure.
Pressing soft kisses against each nipple, she continued her journey south, knowing one day, she would strip Philippa bare and worship every inch of her naked skin. But today, she would be content with this. Gathering Philippa’s skirts, she pulled them up her long legs, loving the contrast of black leather boots against pale, muscled calves. When they were bunched around her waist, Olivia let her gaze take in the glory. A dagger was tied high on Philippa’s thigh, and Olivia’s clitoris pulsed at the contrast of deadly steel pressed against such vulnerable skin. She flicked her thumb over the sharp edge. ‘I suppose I shall have to be careful.’
‘Very careful indeed.’ But Philippa wasn’t talking about her dagger, and Olivia’s heart cracked even wider.
‘People sometimes forget how delicate a strong woman can be. I won’t forget. Ever.’
Philippa tipped her chin, granting Olivia permission.
Olivia held Philippa’s heavy-lidded gaze for a moment, acknowledging her submission before dropping her view between Philippa’s thighs to the dark thatch of hair covering her vulnerable centre. Pink lips peeked from their secret cove, glistening with Philippa’s sweet essence. Olivia’s nipples tightened as her channel clenched. She pulled up her own skirts, exposing herself to Philippa’s gaze as she boldly rubbed the aching bud demanding friction. Philippa’s eyes widened, her pupils blown.
‘My God, Olivia.’ Her husky voice spurred Olivia onward. She worked herself with one hand while the other stroked Philippa’s inner thigh until she found her slit, wet and waiting. Slipping a finger into her tight opening, she coated herself with Philippa’s nectar and lifted her finger to her lips, savouring the taste as she continued to stroke herself, knowing the sight was only fuelling Philippa’s need.
Philippa started to move her hand, but Olivia’s sharp look stopped her.
She shook her head and tsked. ‘Naughty girl. Put your hands back or I shall stop.’ Adding weight to her threat, she started to let her skirts fall back into place, but Philippa immediately returned her hands over her head.
To wield such power over a woman whom no one controlled was exhilarating. Olivia pulled her dress up again and continued her decadent task of self-pleasure. ‘Well done.’ She traced back along Philippa’s silky skin, dipping one finger into the duchess’ channel, then another, finally a third. As she swirled her middle finger around her own clitoris, she pressed her thumb against Philippa’s, sliding in a slippery circle. Curling the fingers embedded in Philippa’s body, she coaxed the duchess higher. When she found a rhythm that made Philippa’s breath come in halting moans, Olivia nearly lost control of her own pleasure, but she clenched her teeth and held off as her fingers plunged and plundered, her thumb continuing its unrelenting circles. Philippa held her breath and Olivia knew she was close. She curled her fingers harder, pressing down with her thumb as her own climax rippled through her. Philippa cried out as Olivia let herself shatter, knowing she wasn’t alone. They broke together, fragments of their hearts fusing into each other until Olivia couldn’t determine where she ended and Philippa began.
* * *
Philippa came back to herself in slow degrees. As she did, certain truths crystallised. She was irrevocably in love with Olivia. She was also completely at a loss as to what she should do about this. With Liza, it had been so easy. They had been friends since childhood, and their deep affection seamlessly transitioned into romance with no risk of rejection. But her love for Olivia was nothing like her love for Liza. Which was a revelation.
Damnation. Edward was right. Love is not a pie. Remarkable.
Because she wasn’t taking her love from Liza and giving it to Olivia. This was something entirely new. Something only Olivia could inspire within Philippa. It was uniquely theirs.
Olivia had righted her clothes. She wore the smile of someone who knew their own power, and Philippa found herself warming all over again. Nothing was more desirable than a confident woman.
‘You look quite proud of yourself.’ She refocused on her own clothing, rebuttoning her gown over her still-wet shift. The memory of what Olivia had done to her breasts was enough to make her fingers stall and her nipples tingle.
‘I am. I believe this bout goes to me.’ Olivia lifted her hands over her head in an exaggerated stretch. ‘I think I’m finally starting to get the hang of physical combat.’
Not able to stop the snort of laughter, Philippa regained her feet and brushed out her irrevocably wrinkled skirt. ‘I certainly hope you don’t plan on engaging the enemy quite like that.’
Olivia’s face grew serious. ‘No. Just you.’
Before Philippa could think of a response, a smart knock sounded, followed immediately by Stokes opening the door. The insufferable man didn’t wait to be called in, and Philippa arched her brow at him, wishing for a rapier.
‘Has your senility reached a level where you’ve forgotten a servant waits to be admitted into a room? What if we were engaged in something scandalous?’ She glanced at Olivia and fought a smile.
Stokes exhaled through his nose. ‘Your Grace has yet to shock me, despite the many scandals I’ve seen, swordplay and fisticuffs notwithstanding. I doubt that will change now.’
Philippa blinked.
Surely he’s not giving me permission to engage in scandal. As if I need his approval. A duchess does not seek the permission of her butler.
Stokes straightened his military spine even further. She was certain she heard it crick in the quiet room. ‘I thought you might wish to see this rather urgently.’ He stepped closer, holding a silver tray in front of him bearing an envelope with the seal displayed. Philippa didn’t need to look at the writing to know who sent the missive.
This letter didn’t carry the distinctive head of a crow, body of a wolf, and tail of a snake. Instead, it bore the crest of the Lord High Chancellor. Yet they both knew the leader of the Devil’s Sons was sending a message.
Philippa plucked the note from the tray as one might pick up a dirty sock. ‘Ah. A letter from your brother. How lovely.’
