He drank her in, intoxicated by the honeyed taste of her mouth, the clean scent of her skin that was as pure and bright as spring sunshine. His senses reeled, desire burning inside him, hot and unpredictable.
He ran his hands over her body, seeking her breasts, only to find them hidden beneath their cloth binding. Frustrated, he moved on to fondle the lush curves of her bottom. Flexing his fingers, he lifted her up, high enough to fit the rigid length of his arousal against her soft mound. He swallowed her ragged moans of longing with his mouth as he rocked himself against her.
She quivered and kissed him harder, her tongue mating with his in a sleek, seductive dance that proved just how quick a learner she really was. His pulse beat in a crazy staccato, hunger pushing aside any sense of logic or caution. He reached for the buttons on her trousers and slid his hands inside, preparing to push them down.
Just then men’s voices sounded outside in the hallway, growing louder as their footfalls came near.
He and Rosamund froze, their lips growing slack, breathing ragged as they waited in a paroxysm of suspense. Yet as quickly as the men had arrived, they passed by, their voices fading as they moved out of earshot.
“That was close,” Lawrence whispered, his heart rate slowing but only slightly, given her continued intimate proximity—that and the fact that his hands were still inside her trousers, palms pressed over her hipbones.
She nodded and expelled a silent breath.
He fanned his thumbs across her satiny skin and dusted a kiss over her mouth. “So? Where were we?”
She pulled back as far as she could, considering he had her wedged between himself and the door. “Surely you can’t mean to go on? Not after that,” she said.
“They’re gone. We’re safe.”
“But what if they come back?” She shook her head. “We could get caught.”
“We won’t. This room belongs to old Hopkins. That’s why I chose it in the first place. He leaves every afternoon at three, so there’s no danger of anyone finding us in here.” He began kissing her again, dappling her chin and cheeks and forehead with softly scattered pecks.
“Even so, what if someone hears us? We had no difficulty hearing them just now.”
Catching her earlobe between his teeth, he sucked on it for a moment before giving it a quick nip. She whimpered and arched her pelvis against his.
“Almost everyone is gone for the day.” He traced the outline of her ear with his tongue. “We’ll just have to be extra quiet.”
“I don’t know, Lawrence.”
Controlling her hips, he circled her on his straining erection. “Don’t you want me?”
She shuddered. “Of course I do. But we can’t. Not here. There’s not even a bed.”
“We don’t need a bed. Although we might wreck Hopkins’s desk, since he’s not the tidiest broom in the closet.”
Almost in unison, he and Rosamund glanced toward the piece of furniture under discussion. He noticed the overflowing mounds of paper and books stacked on its surface, as well as around the room in general.
Inwardly he groaned, realizing she might have a point. He could always take her against the door—which he was randy enough to accomplish at the moment—but if he did that, there would most definitely be noise.
He closed his eyes briefly. “Christ, Rosamund, I can’t bear to wait until Thursday. Can you?”
“No,” she admitted. “But I don’t see that we have much choice.”
He concentrated, running options through his head until he suddenly hit on something. “What time do you have to be home?”
“Today?”
“Yes, today.”
“Five thirty. Six at the latest. Bertram’s rarely much later than that.”
He glanced at the clock that ticked quietly in one cluttered corner. “That gives us nearly an hour and a half. Not enough time to go to my town house and back, but this should work nonetheless.”
“What should work? Where are you taking me?”
“You’ll see.” Quickly, so as not to squander their time, he moved away enough to fasten the buttons on her trousers that he’d so recently undone, then reached up to smooth her hair. If only he could as easily do something about the obvious bulge in his own trousers, but he was a grown man, so it was hardly the first time he’d found himself with an inconvenient stiffy in public.
“You go back out and gather up your things, then wait for me near the entrance. I’ll follow after as soon as it seems prudent.”
Tiny lines creased her brow. “Are you certain about this? We won’t get caught wherever it is you’re taking me?”
He kissed her. “We won’t. Promise.”
Cracking open the door, he listened for a few seconds, then waved her into the hall. He waited, listening to her own quiet footsteps recede. Once they did, he counted down one minute, then two before listening again at the door. With everything silent, he let himself out.
Chapter 19
Rosamund loitered as inconspicuously as possible just inside the entrance to Number 2 Stone Buildings, wondering how much longer Lawrence was going to be and whether she wouldn’t be better off simply going home on her own rather than embarking on this crazy impromptu assignation.
Only she couldn’t quite make herself go, the thought of deserting him—and worse, not being able to see him again for nearly a week—nearly unendurable.
Besides, she wanted him.
Badly.
Heavens, what dark magic has he worked upon me that I’ve turned so wanton?
And so she waited, grateful there were so few barristers in the library building this afternoon.
Suddenly Lawrence was there, his face devoid of expression except for his eyes, which brimmed with a mixture of devilment and desire.
What is it exactly that he has planned?
But then she had no further opportunity to speculate as he stepped out onto the pavement and gestured for her to follow. They walked to the next street and turned a corner, where a private coach waited—his coach, apparently.
Lawrence motioned for the driver to retain his seat on the box while Rosamund opened the door and climbed inside. Lawrence spoke briefly to the coachman, though she couldn’t hear what was said before he got inside, shut the door and took a seat beside her.
“Where are we going?” she asked as the coach set off.
He looked at her. “To your house ultimately. For the time being, he’s going to drive around. I told him we had business to discuss.”
“Do we have business to discuss?” she asked uncertainly.
“We definitely have business.” He reached out and drew the curtains firmly closed over both windows before turning back to her. “As for the discussion, I suspect it will prove rather minimal.”
He pulled her into his arms and found her lips.
“Here?” she gasped between kisses, a ripple of astonishment running through her as the truth dawned.
“I told you there isn’t time to go to my town house, you vetoed old Hopkins’s room and obviously your house won’t do, so this seemed a good solution.” Locating the buttons on her waistcoat, he began to free them.
“But a coach? Where will we—” She glanced around at the finely upholstered, admittedly well-sprung seats that were generously sized but not enough for both of them to lie down flat—not comfortably at least.
“We’ll manage—you’ll see.” He tugged her shirt free of her trousers, his lips traveling seductively along her jaw, then onward to find a spot behind her ear that never failed to drive her mad. It didn’t fail this time either, her nails digging reflexively into his arms as tingles chased over her skin.
“Won’t the coachman hear us?” she murmured.
He found her mouth again, sucking on her lower lip for a moment before giving it a nip. “The city sounds should drown everything out so lo
ng as we don’t make too much noise.” His fingers slipped under her shirt and got to work untying the binding around her chest. “Though if you feel the urge to scream, I recommend using your cravat or mine to muffle the sound. The knot can make an excellent gag.”
Her eyes popped wide at the lurid suggestion, but then she forgot all about it as he crushed his mouth to hers and brazenly began to plunder.
Moaning, she kissed him back, weaving her fingers into his hair to draw him closer. He eagerly complied, ravishing her mouth with deep, silken strokes of his tongue that demonstrated in no uncertain terms what he planned to do to her body.
She shifted on the seat—restless yearning unfurling low in her belly and between her legs, demanding to be appeased.
Suddenly the binding around her chest loosened slightly. But rather than unwrapping her as he had done the last time, he reached up and hastily shoved it down so her breasts popped free. One hand covered her, fondling her breast with a practiced ease that made her realize yet again just how inexperienced she still was and how much she had yet to learn.
Shoving up her shirt, he bent to take her into his mouth, suckling gently at first and then harder as he pressed her hardened tip between his teeth and tongue. He lavished attention on one breast, then the other in a sizzling rhythm that made her senses whirl.
Abruptly he broke off. “We haven’t time for overindulgence.” His voice was husky with undisguised longing. “Let’s move on to the second course.”
Before she could imagine what he meant, he sat up and plucked her off the seat to stand her before him, careful to make certain she was in no danger of falling as the coach swayed along its path.
“Shoes off,” he said, his hands at her waist.
“What?”
“Kick your shoes off.”
Silently she did as he told her.
“Now put your hands on my shoulders.”
“Why?” she asked, even as she leaned forward to comply.
“So I can do this.” In a flash, he undid her trouser buttons, then shoved her trousers and drawers down so they puddled at her ankles.
“Step out,” he ordered.
“But, Lawrence,” she whispered, feeling extraordinarily exposed of a sudden.
He gave her a lascivious grin. “I’ve seen everything before, you know.”
“Yes, but not inside your coach.”
A rumbling laugh shook his chest as he lifted her stockinged feet free of the cloth one by one. Picking up the garments, he tossed them haphazardly onto the seat opposite, then turned his attention back to her. He brought his palms up to cup her naked buttocks, then slid them along the backs of her thighs, making whorls of heat burst over her flesh.
The coach swayed, rocking them both from side to side. She tightened her grip on his shoulders as he nudged her feet apart. He kept touching her, sliding his hands up and down and around but never where she most longed to be touched. Moisture collected between her legs, bedewing the dark curls that grew there.
Finally he slipped a finger into her, inserting it slowly, then circling it around. “Any tenderness?”
“No.” She panted, her thighs trembling.
He eased out, then pushed in two fingers, slowly again but deeper this time. “How about now?”
“N-no.”
“And now?” He scissored his fingers open, drawing a rough cry from her throat.
She shook her head, unable to speak.
“Good. You’ve healed quickly.”
Rather than continue to pleasure her, though, he eased his hand free. She whimpered with frustration.
But he wasn’t done surprising her as he took hold of her hips and sat her down on the seat, pausing for a moment to spread a handkerchief beneath her.
“Brace your hands and wiggle forward a little,” he said.
Too awash with need to question him, she complied. Even so, she gasped when he dropped to his knees, settled himself between her legs and lifted one so her calf was hooked over his shoulder.
Then he buried his head where she least expected it, his hands gripping her hips to hold her exactly where he wanted.
And he began to feast—she could think of no other way to describe it as he licked and kissed and suckled her most delicate flesh as if she were a rare delicacy of which he could not get enough.
She began to moan, softly at first, then louder, as each progressive wave of pleasure built higher, then higher still. Squirming against the overwhelming need, she tried to shift away, but he wouldn’t let her, holding her steady as he forced her to accept this most intimate touch.
Her cries grew louder, and she was unable to maintain even the least semblance of caution.
Abruptly he broke off, his eyes ablaze as he gazed upward at her. Reaching out, he yanked her cravat loose, just enough to gather up a wad of cloth. “Open your mouth.”
The moment she did, he stuffed the linen inside so it lay heavy against her tongue without smothering her. “Now you can be as loud as you want.”
He returned to his wicked ministrations, building her hunger back to where it had been, then driving her beyond that point. She squirmed again, only this time it was in an effort to press closer, needing him in a way she had never known she could need before.
But he held her, controlling her with his hands and mouth and tongue so that she claimed her release only when he allowed it. She shouted out her bliss, the sound mercifully silenced by the cloth in her mouth.
He gave her no time to recover, lifting her up, then rearranging the two of them so that he sat with her straddled across his lap, one hand caressing her naked buttocks.
“Open my falls,” he told her before he tugged the cravat end from her mouth, wrapped his other hand around the back of her head and brought her forward to accept his fervid, penetrating kiss.
Dazed and dizzy, she responded, having the curious experience of tasting herself on his tongue, even as she sought out the buttons that strained to contain his powerful erection.
The instant she freed them, his shaft sprang forth, heavy and hard. “Touch me,” he urged, his clever fingers gliding over the trembling flesh of her bottom in the most distracting of ways. As he did, he reached under her shirt to tease her breasts, pausing every now and again to flick and pinch her ultrasensitive nipples so that she shuddered inside his hold.
Obedient to his demands, she wrapped her hand around his thick shaft to caress its warm, sleek length. His flesh throbbed and twitched beneath her touch, almost as if it had a life of its own.
With a groan, he pumped himself inside her grip, silently showing her what he craved. She tightened her hold and stroked him harder, back and forth, pausing briefly to explore the sacs drawn up at the base before gliding back toward the tip. She rubbed her thumb over the bead of moisture that collected there, the movement seeming to drive him mad.
He kissed her harder, with a savage intensity that she did her utmost to match. A dark river of heat and pleasure washed through her veins, one that threatened to engulf her completely. He reached around from behind and pushed a pair of fingers inside her, stretching her anew so that she cried out against the combination of pressure and agonizing need.
But no pain. All that existed was pleasure.
With breath panting from his lips, he broke their kiss. “Are you taking the herbs I gave you?”
“What?” she mumbled, feeling glassy-eyed and drunk on a surfeit of passion.
“The herbs. Are you taking them?” His voice was hard.
“Y-yes,” she answered, as some still-lucid section of her brain managed to produce an answer. “Every evening.”
“Excellent.” Moving to take hold of her hips, he lifted her up so she was balanced on her knees above him. “Put me inside you.”
The coach swayed around them, bouncing slightly as she guided him into her. As soon as she d
id, he pulled back again, then brought her down harder, thrusting deep so that she was thoroughly impaled.
He established a rhythm, pumping in and out, the coach aiding him ironically when it hit a hole in the street that bounced her up, then down again at exactly the right moment. He groaned along with her as they both became viscerally aware just how far inside her he was lodged.
Wrapping her arms around him, she held on as he scooted forward a couple of inches on the seat and began pumping harder, lifting her up and down as he showed her how to use her own leverage to meet him halfway.
He worked her without mercy, penetrating her with heavy, powerful strokes that made her shake, enslaving her body as her mind spun away. She closed her eyes, the world fading so that nothing remained but they two as he enflamed her senses to the breaking point.
She shook harder, on the brink, as he thrust once, twice, then once more before ecstasy exploded inside her, showering her with a pleasure as bright and brilliant as fireworks lighting up a night sky.
Clasping a hand to the back of her head, he pressed her mouth against his just in time to quiet her scream of release. He smothered his own shout of completion seconds later, his warmth flooding her womb in a way that gave her another level of satisfaction.
She collapsed against him, cradled in his arms, wishing she never had to move again.
“What time is it?” she mumbled a short while later, her cheek resting on his shoulder.
He shifted beneath her, their bodies still joined, and drew out his pocket watch. She watched from the corner of her eye as he opened the gold face and gazed at the dial.
He groaned. “Time to get you dressed, that’s what time it is.”
He lifted her gently off his lap so she was seated beside him, then reached up and rapped his knuckles twice on the ceiling. The coach turned at the next corner in response to an apparently prearranged signal.
“What time is it actually?” she asked as she bent down to collect her drawers and trousers.
Bedchamber Games Page 18