Page 62 of Innocent in the Prince's Bed

She gave a coy smile. ‘I had a very good teacher.’ She’d kissed him the way he kissed her, with everything he had, as if that kiss was the most important thing in the world. ‘Let’s see, what else do you like? How about this?’ Her mouth moved to his ear, her teeth sinking delicately into the tender piece of his lobe. She pressed him back against the carriage seat, straddling him, her hand moving between them to his trousers. She found him roused and ready, her hand slipping over the shape of his erection. She moulded him, shaped him. His hips slid down the seat to grant her better access. But it wasn’t enough for her, not tonight. Tonight she wanted to touch him, no holds barred.

‘Shall I put my mouth on you, Illarion?’ she whispered, already slipping down to kneel in front of him, watching his eyes go dark at her words. ‘It’s what you want, isn’t it? For me to put my mouth on you like do for me.’

‘Yes.’ He gave her the word in a hoarse rasp.

Her hands trembled as she worked the fastenings of his trousers, her pulse beating fast with vodka and arousal. She had him free, hot, hard and long in her hand, the heat of him astonishing to hold. With a last wicked glance upwards, she braced his legs apart and bent to him, taking him inch by hot inch and then retreating, her mouth approximating what he’d done with her, to her. She tasted him with her tongue. She licked him then, a long flickering caress across his tender head, gratified when his hips twitched, his body wriggling down in his seat as he let the sweet decadence of the moment take him, thrill him. His response emboldened her, it fed the excitement of what she could do to him. That excitement overrode any sense of decorum. Her mouth closed over him fully and a moan escaped him—a sound part pleasure, and part pain. Through lidded eyes, she saw his hands dig into the seat for balance. She licked him as he shuddered. Her hand found the flesh hidden behind his straining phallus and she squeezed gently, provocatively, until his moans became bays. She felt his body gather and clench, reaching its limits, driving itself towards release.

He cried out, perhaps in warning, just before he spent and she caught him in her hand, warm and pulsing and alive. The sight of him, head thrown back, the cords of his neck taut, eyes shut against pleasure, was a primal one of man undone. He was at his best, at his most vulnerable, in these moments and she’d brought him to it. The intensity of the moment awed her. This was intimacy at its finest; to watch a man come apart, to see the pleasure rack him.

‘Do you see what you do to me?’ Illarion’s voice was a hoarse rasp.

She did see. Illarion Kutejnikov climaxed with his blue eyes open, perhaps specifically for that purpose. He wanted her to see the pleasure take him, wanted her to see what they did together mattered to him. In seeing that, she also saw him exposed. She was his weakness, odd thought though it was, that this man of strength and confidence, this man who had the ton at his feet, should have any vulnerabilities. A sense of pride surged through her as she rested her head against his thigh. She was breathing hard, too. This had taken a toll on her as well. His hand played softly in her hair. ‘My dear girl, you do know how to play with fire.’ She smiled up at him and took the handkerchief he offered.

Something flickered in his eyes. ‘We were talking about tonight before we got distracted.’

She took the seat across from him. ‘I think you were about to tell me what I was supposed to learn from tonight.’ She’d learned quite a lot, about herself and about him. She’d learned that she could enjoy life beyond the ballrooms of Mayfair. She could, in fact, enjoy many things as long as he was with her. Perhaps enjoy them enough to stand up to her parents if the need arose.

‘I wanted you to see the life between,’ Illarion said bluntly. ‘Nikolay and Klara have her father’s connections but they are not necessarily received on their own. They are not recruited into the higher echelons of society. Klara gave all those aspirations up when she married Nik.’ Illarion paused. ‘She was promised to a duke, just as you are.’

‘What are you trying to tell me, Illarion? If tonight was supposed to be a warning to scare me off, it failed miserably.’ As did Klara’s story. If living ‘between’ was good enough for Klara, it was good enough for her. ‘Do you think I am so silly as to crave society’s attention? To care what society thinks?’

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