Page 64 of The Counterfeit Scoundrel
It was incredibly intimate, what was happening between them. She knew how his muscles bunched with his movements. He knew how her body strained to be closer to him. Even the parts of her that weren’t touching him felt as though they were. With each stroke of his tongue or glide of his finger, unheralded pleasure spiraled through her and she wanted to shout with the absolute joy of it.
She couldn’t take her eyes off his dark head, nestled between her legs. Even as the sight made her grow hot and struggle to breathe. Little tremors were swirling through her, increasing in size until she wasn’t certain she could contain them. Didn’t know if she wanted to contain them.
Reaching up, he cradled a breast, circled his thumb around her hardened nipple. Lightly skimmed over the straining tip. His tongue, velvet and silk, pressed harder against her nubbin, then lighter. Harder again. A stroke, a sweep, a swirl.
The sensations his attentions elicited ratcheted through her, increasing in intensity.
“Oh, my,” came out on a startled breath.
“Give in to it,” he ordered.
Against his mouth, that secret part of her throbbed. Her feet pressed more firmly against him. Her fingers clutched at his hair because it was all becoming too much. Much more than it had been in the carriage, so much more. It was glorious and frightening and compelling.
Then her entire body unfurled as exquisite pleasure burst through her, and she knew what it was to blossom beautifully, perfect and rare.
Moving up, he gently nudged his cock against her opening. But she didn’t want gentle. She wanted him.She wanted him sharing this wonder with her, wanted to give to him as he’d given to her.
Placing her hands on his firm backside, she squeezed his buttocks as he pushed his hard length into her. The wonder of him spreading her, filling her. The discomfort was minimal, and then he was seated to the hilt. He growled low with satisfaction.
“You’re still throbbing,” he croaked. “You feel so damned good.”
He withdrew slightly and then pushed back in. And again. Slowly at first, and she knew he was giving her time to grow accustomed to the sensation of their bodies joined. Resting on his elbows, he looked down at her, their gazes holding. She watched as his eyes darkened and smoldered while his movements quickened, while he thrust and pumped into her.
With a roar, he pulled out of her, and she felt his hot seed coat her thigh. Breathing heavily, he lowered his head and placed a kiss where the curve of her shoulder met her neck. “You’ve ruined me for all other women.”
He hadn’t meant to give voice to those words, but they’d been rumbling around his head, and he’d accepted the truth of them, and they’d spilled out.
Afterward, he’d cleaned her up, hating the spots of blood that indicated he’d caused her some pain. How could there be blood with no pain? He’d intended to go slowly, carefully, but when she’d dug her fingers into his arse, urging him on, he’d catered to her desires, grateful for the aftermath of her pleasure pulsing around his cock. It had served to heighten his awareness of her as well as his own pleasure.
Now she lounged against his side, her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder, her fingers toying with the hairs on his chest as though she was fascinated by them. He couldn’t recall ever experiencing such contentment. Even if the possibility of a hangman’s noose threatened his future. At present, she was all that mattered. Being here with her, enjoying her.
“Well, that was rather... splendid,” she said dreamily, as though she hadn’t fully broken free of the lethargy that lingered after lovemaking.
He chuckled low. “I’m glad you approved.”
“However, I can’t imagine being so intimate with a stranger. Is that the reason you told me to spend time in the shadows before going up those stairs at the Fair and Spare?”
“I didn’t want you going up those stairs.”
“I’m glad you’re the one I had my dalliance with.”
He didn’t know why it bothered him that she viewed what had passed between them as adalliance. The word made what had transpired seem trivial, inconsequential. Yet for him, it had eclipsed anything he’d ever experienced with anyone else. Somehow, it had been grander and more significant.
Cupping the back of her head, he tilted it until he could look into her eyes. “Why have you chosen the path of an inquiry agent rather than a wife?”
She sighed. “The law is not kind to women. Husbands still have control over a majority of their wives’ financial life, but more, women are seldom allowed to keep their identity. They’re absorbed into their husbands’ lives as though they have no interests or dreams of their own. My aunt never married, and I’ve never known a more content woman in my life.”
“Perhaps you’re also influenced by your mother’s experience.”
“She loved my father, but he was weak in character. How does one avoid making such a grave mistake?”
“By getting to know the man before you marry him.”
She shook her head. “But that’s no guarantee, is it? Otherwise, women wouldn’t have come to you.”
“I don’t know how well they knew their husbands before they married. I don’t pry into their reasons or the particulars of their marriage. What they liked, what they didn’t. What finally was the last straw.”
“Pity. If you’d gathered enough information perhaps you could have written a book with tips on how to have a successful marriage. Tip one would be to take your mouth on a journey between your wife’s legs.”
