Also, Thomas thought darkly, he was going to kill Joubert. What could the boy have been thinking to send the officer back here? If Thomas hadn’t been quick on his feet—or his arse, as the case might be—a member of the gendarme might very well be getting a damn good look at Sabine’s face at this very moment.
These thoughts made it easy for Thomas to produce a suitably irritated glower to fix upon on the young officer. “What is France coming to that a man cannot teach his bride how to suck him off without interruption anymore?” he demanded querulously. “Hurry it up, then, man!”
The officer’s mouth worked open and shut several times, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously before he managed to squeak out, “It’s the road, sir. The rains last night washed out the bridge about a mile on. You will have to take another route, but your coachman did not know which alternative you would prefer.”
Thomas gritted his teeth. Sod that idiot boy. Could he not have got rid of the officer first and then consulted Thomas afterward?
And then his eyes nearly rolled back into his head because Sabine chose that moment to gently wrap her hand around his cock and…holy Mary, mother of God…lick the crown. He shuddered, his thoughts instantly scattered as his shaft stiffened and expanded in her palm so that her grasp became firmer and even more stimulating.
Christ, he was going to lose his mind. What was she thinking to touch him like this when he needed his wits about him?
He tried to refocus on the officer, who was watching him with a mixture of fascination and apprehension, and said, “Very well, then. What are the options?”
She slid her grip down to the base of his cock, and it was all he could do not to buck his hips against her hand in a silent entreaty for her to hand-fuck him. Instead, her tongue touched the underside briefly before her mouth closed over him.
Oh, sweet heaven, just like that.
What was he thinking? No, not like that.
But there was no way he could tell her to stop what she was doing without spoiling the show, so he fixed his gaze on the officer’s mouth as the poor young man explained the situation. Thomas only got bits and pieces of the actual words, but the gist was that they could either go back seven miles and take a different road to the north or they could turn east at the junction before the washed-out bridge. Either option would take them close to fifteen miles out of their way.
Which, coupled with the early stop last night due to the rain, would put them a full day off schedule to arrive in Le Havre, a thought he somehow managed to put together in spite of Sabine’s warm, wet mouth encompassing his swollen cock. Reflexively, he tilted his hips upward, pushing his shaft a little further between her lips, and then relaxed so that he slipped out again. She understood the unspoken direction—which he had certainly not intended to give but could hardly take back—and took over the effort for him. Her hot breath caressed his groin, an additional pleasure. An additional torment. The sweet tension of an impending orgasm coiled in his loins. If he didn’t stop her soon, he was going to explode in her mouth, and there was no way she would be ready for that.
He needed to get rid of the officer, for more than one reason.
“I will think it over,” he ground out. “Now, if you do not mind, close the door so my wife and I can complete our business.”
The young man—whose embarrassment had not remotely abated—nodded and backed his head out of the door, banging the top of his hat against the frame so that he had to reach up with one hand to steady it before shutting the door behind him.
As soon as he was gone, Thomas grabbed Sabine’s bonneted head and arrested her movements in a not-entirely-gentle fashion. “I am going to—” Damn it. He didn’t know if the word “come” had the same two meanings in French as it did in English. An English speaker of French would know what he meant, of course, but he wasn’t sure a native French speaker would or that Sabine would understand the second meaning even if it was the same. “I am going to spill my seed in your mouth if you do not stop.”
At the words, she released him and turned her face up to his. Her irises were thin shards of deep blue surrounding black, bottomless pupils. “Would that displease you?”
Hell no. He could only think of a few things that would please him more, and those were equally profane. “No,” he admitted, “but it would probably displease you, especially if you were not prepared for it.”
God, if he came in her mouth right now, he would probably choke her with the force of his eruption.
He hadn’t had anything but his own hand for company in almost a year, when the woman he’d been seeing in London—the young widow of an enlisted soldier who had died, not in battle, but of a mysterious stomach ailment—had announced she was moving back to Manchester to be closer to her family. Sarah Gardener was a beautiful woman and an enthusiastic bed partner, and he had liked her a great deal, but neither of them had held any illusions that they might fall in love and marry. That depth of emotion simply didn’t exist between them. Even so, he had initially felt rather heartless for missing the comforts of her body more than her companionship, but within months of her departure, he received a letter from her in which she announced she had met a lovely sheep farmer, fallen in love with him, and would be getting married by the end of the year. Apparently, she hadn’t missed his companionship terribly much, either. At least she had found a better replacement for his body than he had found for hers.
Still kneeling between his legs, Sabine looked up at him with those wide, desire-dilated eyes and said, “I don’t think it would displease me at all. I think I would like that as much as I liked the rest.”
Thomas’s breathing hitched, and it took all his willpower to deny her. To deny himself. “You know I need to talk to Joubert. Determine which route to take.” He slipped a hand under her arm and helped her up and back onto the bench beside him. “That was meant to be a ruse. I was not expecting you to actually do that.”
Her mouth—God, her mouth, so recently on him, looked plump and slightly swollen, and it was all he could do not to force her head back down to finish what she’d started—quirked up at the corners, and her eyes followed suit. “I know, but I was curious. When you asked me to pretend to suck you…well, I was surprised. I did not know that was something a woman might do for a man, let alone that he might like it.” She glanced down at her lap, her cheeks coloring. “Or that she might like it, too.”
Bloody hell. His cock, which had just begun to relax enough that he thought he could tuck himself back into his drawers and button his placket, leapt against his hand, swelled with renewed interest. He swallowed hard. “You should not say things like that at a time like this, or I might break my promise.” I might let you finish what you started.
She tilted her head, a thoughtful expression putting an adorable little crinkle between her eyebrows. “Would you be breaking your promise, though? I may be a maiden, but I breed horses. I understand what is required to get a mare with foal, and I cannot imagine it is any different for humans. This…sucking your penis…” She seemed to roll the words around on her tongue, as if tasting them—or perhaps quite literally tasting him—and Thomas stifled a groan. “It cannot get me with child. I feel quite certain of that.”
He forced his still-straining cock inside his drawers and began buttoning his fall with fingers that were none too steady. This talk was giving him ideas he knew he shouldn’t have.
But she was right, of course. Sucking him off wouldn’t lead to pregnancy. Neither would using her hand to bring him to completion. And there were ways he could pleasure her, too. So many ways. They all flashed through his mind, the images vivid and carnal. His fingers strumming the crest of her sex. His tongue between her legs, stroking her, his fingers inside her pussy or perhaps her arse. And if she liked that—having his fingers in her arse—then perhaps she would like being fucked that way, too.
The truth was, he could have her in every way but one without ruining her future.
It would still be wrong. You will
still be debauching the premiere’s daughter.
With a shudder that was half self-loathing, half anticipation, he got to his feet and pushed his way out of the carriage. “We will discuss this later,” he told her before he went to talk to Joubert.
16
Well, that had been…hmm…
Sabine searched for a word that could adequately describe the riot of emotions and sensations she had just experienced and concluded there was no single one in the French language. Which meant there certainly wouldn’t be one in English, a language where a person couldn’t even call a breast by its true name.
Her body vibrated with an electric combination of arousal and power and…yes, joy. Feeling Thomas’s penis stretch and stiffen in her hand and then in her mouth as though wakening from slumber had made her feel hotter, achier, and needier than their kiss had. She loved the way his skin there was soft and silky, like a newborn foal’s coat, but became thick and rigid as steel beneath that delicate exterior. The flesh between her own legs had swelled and throbbed in response until she thought she might go mad with the frustration of it, and yet, she would far rather experience that frustration than any other sensation in the world. Giving him pleasure—for there had been no mistaking the hitches in his respiration or the raggedness of his voice or the hardening of his shaft as anything other than signs of intense physical enjoyment—was, quite simply, fun. Also exciting, empowering, and so…wicked, but in the most glorious way.
She wanted more of that feeling. And she was damn well going to have it now that she knew she could without risking any of the dreadful outcomes Thomas feared. She was going to suck his penis every night from here to England, and no one was going to stop her.
Well, unless Thomas still refused. It would, of course, be wicked in an entirely inglorious way to force him to accept her attentions if he did not want them, but really, he had no good reason now that he had admitted such an activity could not result in pregnancy. Based on the way he had reacted when she put her hand and then her mouth on him, she thought she could bring him around to letting her have things her way if she was persistent enough. And Sabine was nothing if not persistent. Her Papa had always said she had a will of wrought iron.
The carriage swayed as Thomas opened the door and climbed back inside. “We are taking the easterly route,” he said gruffly as he sat down beside her. “Even though it is a bit farther, I could not bear the thought of going back to that inn and having to eat that abominable stew again for lunch.”
“I think that is…wise,” she agreed, remembering the stew with a grimace of distaste.
“No guarantee that what we will get at the next stop will be any better, of course,” he went on, his words seeming to trip over each other in his rush to fill the silence. “But in this case, I think it is better the devil we do not know than the one we do. We will be a day late to Paris, but that would be the case either way, and I think good nutrition is important to keeping up a journey like this.”
He went on in this fashion for several more sentences, remarking on the trivialities of the situation, and she realized with a start that he was…embarrassed. Well, that was curious, for she could not imagine what he had to be embarrassed about. She was certainly not embarrassed in the slightest. Not only had they managed to get rid of the gendarme officer quickly, which had been Thomas’s intention, but she had been gifted with a revelation of truly epic proportions. Men and women could pleasure one another in ways that had no repercussions.
When he finally subsided, she placed her hand gently on his knee and announced matter-of-factly, “I would very much like to suck you until you spend your seed in my mouth. As soon as possible.”
His leg twitched violently, and then he let out a short huff of laughter.
“What is funny?” she asked suspiciously as the coach lurched forward.
He shook his head. “I am, I suppose,” he said. With a sigh, he reached up and began untying her bonnet, his fingers moving with practiced care beneath her chin. When he pulled it off, he set it on the seat beside him and eased his body closer to hers so that the outside of their thighs touched. “I keep trying to do what I have been taught is right, instead of what I know will be good.”
Her heart accelerated slightly. “And what is that?”
Lifting her hand from his knee, he brought it to his mouth and laid his lips against her palm. “Letting you suck me until I spend. As long as you will allow me to do the same for you, of course.”
Every nerve ending between her thighs went taut. The idea of him putting his head between her legs, pressing his mouth to her there… It was intoxicating. And yes, a little embarrassing. Perhaps she understood him better now. “You would want to…do that?” she squeaked.
“Sweetheart—” he used the English word, but she caught its meaning despite her limited vocabulary, “—I would love to do that. I have been thinking of doing that, and a thousand other things just as wrong, since the day we met.”
She let out a shaky breath. Her cheeks felt a little hot. So did the rest of her, come to think of it. “I did not know there were a thousand things people could do to pleasure one another.”
“Perhaps I exaggerate,” he admitted with a shrug. “But there must be a hundred, at least. And I am sure I do not even know all of them. Some of those are things we cannot do, however.”
“Like mating,” she clarified.
He nodded. “You are correct. We cannot complete the act of love. And though I shudder to imagine the consequences if anyone ever found out what I am planning for us to do together—for if anyone did, you would be every bit as ruined and in need of marriage as if we had mated—what happens in France, in our room, in our bed, can stay in France and our room and our bed. If that is truly what you want, that is.”
Her mouth went dry, because the tone in which he asked the question was so deadly serious. He was still giving her the chance to beg off, to change her mind. She licked her lips and swallowed. “It is.”
His gaze met hers, and the heat in his eyes was so intense, it was almost frightening. Perhaps that was his intention. But he softened the threat-promise by saying, “If we try something you do not like, all you have to do is tell me to stop. I will never force you to do anything that does not give you pleasure.”
“All right,” she said, nodding. “But I find it difficult to believe anything we do together will not give me pleasure.”
“Good. Now, lean closer to me.” The command—there was no mistaking the tone—startled her a little, for Thomas had always up to now been unfailingly polite and undemanding, but she did as he asked.
With a suddenness that stole her breath, he cupped the back of her head with his palm and dragged her into a kiss that was instantly carnal in a way that both shocked and thrilled her. His lips and tongue did not do anything as gentle as caressing or teasing or tasting, but plundered as if he were a pirate and her mouth was buried treasure, devoured as if he were a hungry wolf and her lips were prey. With his free hand, he found the swell of her breast and molded its shape through her dress and stays. At the attention, both of her nipples stiffened and throbbed, an echo of the way his shaft had responded to her touch. That their bodies were so different, and yet so very much alike, was another revelation to her.
When he finally pulled away, they were both breathing hard, and his face was stern and flushed. “That is what it is going to be like in our room. In our bed. Fierce and passionate and very, very improper. Are you sure?”
She nodded. She had never been more certain of anything in her life.
Anticipation might have made the day seem improbably long, had Thomas not insisted on continuing with her English lessons. They worked their way through colors and the names for various articles of clothing so that she would be able to ask a lady’s maid for her green dress or her white gloves. When they had exhausted that topic, he opened his valise and extracted a leather-bound book called Robinson Crusoe, which he read aloud to her for several hours, stopping to tra
nslate into French the words and phrases that confused her. The story was entrancing, although her frequent requests for clarification made it slow-going.
When they finally arrived at that night’s coaching inn, which was located in a rather nicer village than the last one and certainly appeared better maintained, Sabine excused herself to care for the horses as she had the previous night. Just because she was anxious to experience all the pleasures being alone with Thomas promised, she could not neglect Gaston and Copine after another grueling day on the road. She quickly assured herself that both were holding up well under the strain—perhaps better than she was—and once she had finished grooming them to her satisfaction, she made her way via the back stairs to the room she would be sharing with Thomas tonight.
Truly sharing.
A frisson of arousal, tempered with a hint of trepidation, slithered through her midsection. She wasn’t…scared, exactly, but she was nervous. What if she did things wrong or didn’t like the things he thought she would like or wanted her to like? She had only the vaguest sense of what “things” he had in mind, although she could intuit that it would involve him touching the flesh between her thighs the way she sometimes did herself. She could bring herself an intense, if brief, burst of pleasure by rubbing a certain spot there just so, and he would probably do something similar. But with his mouth and tongue, not just his fingers.
Her knees wobbled a little at the image that thought brought to her mind: his tawny-brown head between her legs, his mouth on her there. She must be truly wanton, because the thought excited her far more than it shamed her, although she was fairly certain a proper lady was supposed to be ashamed at the thought of having a man’s mouth on her private parts.
Well, she had never claimed to be a proper lady, had she? Her uncle had certainly never mistaken her for one.
And if her father, the premiere of Great Britain, expected her to be a proper lady? Well, then he was in for rather an unpleasant surprise.
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