Page 63 of The Counterfeit Scoundrel
Then he was climbing onto the bed and into her arms.
If heaven existed on earth, he’d just ascended to it. Here, with his body pressed against hers, exchanging heat, creating sensations. She wasn’t shy. He’d give her that. Although he hadn’t truly expected her to be.
From their very first encounter, he’d judged her to be a woman who knew her own mind and wasn’t afraid to go after what she wanted. It was part of the reason that he’d had difficulty reconciling her as being a servant. She was bold, daring, and fearless.
Hovering behind hedges and chasing after carriages in the middle of the night.
Then setting up rules to a game he couldn’t let her win.
Did you kiss your solicitor as well?
If it was what she’d required in order to welcome his mouth playing over hers, he’d have gone directly tohis solicitor’s residence, stirred him from his slumber, and kissed him in front of her. He’d wanted her that desperately. He still did. And he had the uncomfortable feeling that, even after they’d reached completion, he still would.
He’d had women aplenty through the years, but he’d never felt soinvolvedwith one. As though every aspect of her complemented every aspect of him. She challenged him. She made him consider the possibility that he’d finally encountered an opponent he might not be able to win out over. That with her, the usual strategies didn’t apply.
She was exciting. Interesting. And beautiful. Every inch of her.
And she’d given his fingers the luxury of exploring those inches. He’d offered her the same, and she took advantage of his willingness to let her put her investigative skills to the test to learn all the various ways his body differed from hers.
She seemed particularly enamored of his chest and abdomen, skimming her hands over them repeatedly. Once she’d rubbed her hand over his backside and given it a quick squeeze while he nibbled on her neck. She tangled her fingers in his hair, rubbed his shoulders, his back. He enjoyed it all, relished it.
But sensed a hesitancy in her. In this brave woman.
Her hand drifted down to his hip, began drawing little circles that expanded ever wider.
“Do you know you’re driving me mad?” he asked, as he lowered his hand to the springy curls between her thighs and began creating his own circles over the silk of her skin, softer than any petal he’d ever known.
“Am I?”
They were on their sides, facing each other. He looked deeply into her eyes. “Do you want to see me in torment? Wrap your hand around my cock.”
“Will it hurt?”
“No, it’ll be exquisite.”
Her fingers closed around him, and a bolt of pure pleasure shot through him, eliciting a groan he couldn’t contain. Although she smiled, her eyes darkened, and he knew his reaction was fueling her desires, her own satisfaction. “Do you see how powerful you are? If I’d been standing, you’d have dropped me to my knees.”
“Drop me to mine. Like you did in the carriage after our visit to the brothel. I’ve not been able to stop thinking about it.”
“That experience is going to pale when compared with what I’m going to do to you now.”
She thought that perhaps she should have had the good sense to be frightened by the vow that sounded almost like a threat, by the hunger in his eyes that hinted he was on the verge of devouring her. Of the way his muscles bunched up and his cock jumped within her hand. It had been hard, but it grew more so.
He rolled her onto her back, balancing his weight on one arm while his other hand came up to knead her breast. Lowering his head, he took the taut pearl into his mouth and sucked, drawing pleasure all the way up from the soles of her feet.
She was struck by an odd thought. In the room where he worked with weights to increase his strength, did he also work to increase his prowess? Were there tools for that? Or routines to be done over and over? Or did knowing exactly what to do and how to do itwith the right amount of pressure require a partner to give directions?
He’d asked that night in the carriage, to tell him what she needed, how she needed it. Firm, soft. Fast, slow.
But now it was as though he knew her so well that he could intuit it. Was it the way her body was moving beneath his? Squirming. Tightening. Loosening. Surely, he could feel all those little movements, just as she could feel the tensing of his muscles beneath her hands whenever she moaned or whimpered. He seemed to like both sounds equally and appeared intent on doing whatever necessary to elicit them.
While she loved his growls and his groans.
Shifting his weight, he settled between her thighs and began to move down the length of her body, leaving little love bites in his wake. Along each rib and then the expanse of her stomach. He gave attention to one hip and then the other.
His hands, folded around her sides, moved down to her hips, to the insides of her thighs. He spread her legs wide, parted the folds that hid a tiny bud. She felt as though he was unfurling petals, going straight to the heart of the bloom.
He lowered his head and with a sweep of his tongue, he caused her to gasp and blossom. He was the sun that nudged nature into awakening. Bringing up her knees, she squeezed her feet against his firm sides, creating butterfly wings with her legs while he licked and suckled. And groaned. A tortured sound as though he couldn’t get enough of her, yet what he possessed provided sustenance and refuge and dreams.
