He gave another chuckle. “I will need several hours to recover first,” he apologized ruefully.
“And then we will do it all again?” It was impossible for Jocey to keep the eagerness from her voice.
“Then we shall do whatever you wish again,” Jericho promised before he moved to lie on his back on the rug, pulling Jocey down beside him until her head rested on his shoulder and she felt the warmth of the fire against her bare back.
Neither of them spoke again for some time, only the crackling of the logs on the fire to break the silence.
Jocey, because she suddenly felt too shy to engage Jericho in conversation after the intimacies they had just shared, and Jericho—
Jericho had fallen asleep, Jocey realized as she heard the deep and even tenure of his breathing and felt how relaxed his body was beside her own, his heart a slow and steady beat beneath her ear.
She reached around on the floor above her for several seconds before her fingers brushed against the silk robe, lifting it to pull it over both of them before relaxing against Jericho’s shoulder and falling asleep herself.
Chapter 11
Jericho woke to the wondrous feeling of his cock in a hot mouth and the rasp of a moist tongue along its length. A demanding mouth and tongue that could only belong to Jocelyn, he realized, as she began to squeeze and massage the fullness of the sac beneath his rapidly hardening rod.
A woman, any woman, taking the initiative with his body in this way had never been allowed to happen before. Firstly, he never actually slept with the women he bedded. Secondly, in the past, women had to wait permission before touching him. If Jericho allowed them to touch him at all. Jocelyn had shown him time and time again she would do exactly as she pleased with his body.
And he liked it.
No, he loved it.
As he was falling in love with her?
Jericho had no idea what being in love felt like. He knew that he wanted this intimacy, wanted this command and daring from Jocelyn and no other woman.
At the same time, he knew that it might just be the sheer novelty of having a woman take possession of his pleasure in this forward manner.
Besides, he had not forgotten the problem of whether or not Jocelyn was guilty of treason and now murder. His pleasure had been such the previous evening, he had not been able to think of anything else but Jocelyn. He was having that same trouble now. But until the matter of Jocelyn’s innocence or guilt was settled, he could not, in all conscience—
“I know you are awake, Jericho, and it is now more than several hours later.”
He groaned as his cock immediately felt the loss of her mouth and caressing tongue before he opened his lids enough to see that she was now sitting back on her heels, completely unabashed by her nakedness. Her breasts were pert, the nipples engorged, between her thighs showed a slight redness, probably from the ministration of his mouth and tongue. A teasing smile curved lips that were slightly puffy. Her hair was in disarray about her shoulders, and her eyes glowed with the same mischief he could hear in her voice.
The weak sun shining in the widows showed it was early morning, the candles about the room having gutted and gone out. “Did we sleep on the floor all night?” He could not remember sleeping so deeply in years. Or, he quickly realized, being so satiated he had fallen asleep with his cock still hanging out the front of his pantaloons!
“Ah-ah, no changing the subject.” Her fingers tightened about his now fully erect cock. “You promised.” She pouted endearingly.
“I did not exactly promise,” he reasoned.
She raised dark brows. “So you do not want this?” She removed her fingers from about his cock.
A loss Jericho felt as deeply as he had the removal of her mouth just minutes ago.
Did he want it?
Now that he’d taken Jocelyn’s mouth once, he knew he craved taking it again.
The reality, the truth of their situation, would come soon enough. For now, Jericho felt a desperate need to pleasure her again and to have her pleasure him. Once that reality hit, it might never happen again.
Jericho sat up to grasp Jocelyn’s shoulders before turning her until she lay with her back on the rug. “It is not wise to tease an aroused man,” he growled as he moved to lie fully on top of her. “Unless this is what you wished for all along,” he realized as a satisfied smile curved her red and slightly swollen lips.
Her smile became even more that of a cat that had lapped the cream, as indication that was indeed the case.
The analogy made Jericho groan as he recalled that was exactly how he had instructed her to behave the night before. An instruction she had taken very much to heart—or, more accurately, to wicked lips and tongue.
He could resist no longer as he lowered his head to claim those pouting lips with his own, sipping, tasting, devouring, as Jocelyn’s arms came about his neck to pull him closer still.
Those kisses fired the desire in both of them, and very soon, Jericho was sliding down Jocelyn’s body so that he could claim her already wet and welcoming pussy to the caress of his hands, lips, and tongue.
Within minutes, he felt the throb and spasm of her clit against his delving tongue, her crying out as she came.
Jericho’s tongue became merciless, taking her to those heights again and again. Jocelyn lay limp and completely satiated beneath him as he straddled and then moved up her body, his burgeoning cock jutting out in front of him.
He placed his knees beneath her armpits, the tip of his cock pressing against Jocelyn’s moist and parted lips. “I want to fuck your mouth now,” he stated so she had no doubt regarding his intention.
Jocey had no thought of refusing Jericho as she parted her lips wider and took the length of his cock inside, groaning as she immediately tasted his addictive salty-sweet nectar.
She reached up to push his pantaloons and drawers down to his thighs, Jericho shifting slightly above her until he was leaning forward to take the weight of his chest onto his hands and wrists. Jocey’s hands were now able to grasp the muscular globes of his bare bottom as he began to thrust his cock slowly in and out of her mouth.
Jericho’s position above her meant his cock went deep, so much so that Jocey initially gagged when the thick head of his cock slid completely down the back of her throat. But she soon learned to relax the muscles there and allow that penetration without discomfort.
Jocey loved every minute of it.
That deep and claiming penetration. The throaty groans Jericho gave as she licked along the length of his cock every time he withdrew before thrusting back down her throat. The steady release of that delicious nectar into her mouth. Surprisingly, she even loved the feeling of being used as nothing more than a vessel for Jericho’s cock to ravage and attain his release.
Quite what that meant, she had no idea, only that she liked it, wanted it, craved giving Jericho whatever pleasure he demanded of her.
Jericho felt almost bestial as he pumped and thrust his cock into Jocelyn’s mouth, deep to the back of her throat and further still once she had relaxed those muscles. Those steady thrusts, the feel of her hands on his bare ass, her fingers digging into his flesh and urging him forward, caused him to thrust harder and deeper still.
His head dropped down between his shoulders, allowing him to watch as he buried his cock in and then out of Jocelyn’s eagerly waiting mouth. Allowing him to see that thickness buried in the slender arch of her throat. The thick, long length of his rod was moist with her saliva when he drew his hips back, before that hard dampness disappeared and was swallowed into the heat again as he thrust forward.
Jericho never wanted this to end, gritting his teeth as he deliberately made his strokes slow and measured, shallower, so as to prolong his pleasure and ward off his release for as long as possible.
It was too good, too erotic an experience, for him to want it to end yet. If ever. And he could, he knew from experience, delay his release indefinitely.
Not this time.
He felt it now, though, the intensity of pleasure such that he began to thrust and pump his cock fiercely between Jocelyn’s lips, taking her mouth again and again. He possessed that silky cavern until nothing else existed.
He groaned long and loudly, minutes later, as the hot cum shot down the length of his cock and exploded into her eagerly waiting mouth.
“We are leaving this morning.”
Jocey’s stomach seemed to drop as she looked up from where she and Jericho sat opposite each other at the kitchen table, eating more of the stew for their breakfast. Until this moment, both of them had seemed to have a healthy appetite, no doubt from their lovemaking last night and this morning.
She had felt a little awkward afterward, an awkwardness that was added to by Jericho hastily withdrawing his cock from her mouth before rising to his feet to adjust his clothing. All without so much as glancing her way again.
Jocey had been upstairs since, to wash in hot water from the top of the range, and was now once again dressed in the gown Jericho had returned to her. Her undergarments were still wet, unfortunately, but as she now had her gown to wear, she had not bothered putting on the wet undergarments before coming back downstairs.
Now she knew the reason Jericho had returned the gown to her; she could hardly travel about the countryside clothed only in her chemise and drawers. “We are returning to Wessex Manor?”
Jericho’s expression was austere and remote as he gave a shake of his head. He appeared nothing like the rakishly disheveled man who had given her such pleasure earlier and whom she had pleasured in return. “We are going to London.”
Jocey placed her spoon carefully down in the bowl before answering. “Why?”
His brow lowered in a scowl. “We are in the wilds of Hampshire, and I have decided I cannot prove your innocence, or guilt,” he added as she frowned, “merely sitting here.”
To Jocey’s knowledge, they had not done much sitting at all, but rather had spent most of their stay here in a horizontal position. “You still do not believe my claim of innocence?”
He rose abruptly to his feet. “Still?” he repeated scathingly. “Did you imagine your behavior these past twelve hours might have convinced me otherwise?”
Jocelyn had thought…had assumed…Jericho’s scornful expression told her it would be unwise of her to assume anything.
She lowered her lashes. “Perhaps I was wrong, but I did not think you would make love to a woman you believed to be complicit in the death of your friend.”
He gave a derisive snort. “I have never made love to a woman in my life.”
Jocey felt those words of rejection as if they were a knife piercing her flesh. Was Jericho being deliberately hurtful as a means of keeping her at an emotional distance? Or did he really believe what he was saying?
Their lovemaking—and Jocey refused to call it anything else—had been raw and primal, yes. Intense, even. But she had not believed, nor did she still believe, Jericho’s actions to have been unemotional. He had devoured her with his kisses. Claimed her with his mouth and hands. Owned her with the strength of his body. Had ensured she was now addicted to the taste of him.
Deliberately so? With the intent, perhaps, of seducing the truth out of her.
If that was the case, then he was even more despicable than she had thought he was when he had carried her off into the night and brought her here.
Whatever Jericho’s reasons had been for last night and again this morning, his rejection of her now ensured there was that barrier between the two of them once again.
“Am I to be your captive in London too?” she challenged.
“Yes.”
“What time are we leaving?” The thought of going to London, where Jericho stated he intended to continue in his effort to prove her innocent or guilty of treason, did not exactly warm her. But at least once she was in London, she might have opportunity to steal away and visit Prudence Germaine and assure herself of her friend’s well-being.
Jericho’s nostrils flared as he looked down at Jocelyn’s bent head. He’d had time to consider his actions whilst Jocelyn was upstairs washing and dressing. To realize he was allowing himself to be seduced into believing her innocent of treason as well as any involvement in Worthington’s death. His opinion of her was no longer objective but was becoming subjective, whether by Jocelyn’s deliberate design or otherwise.
The only answer to that dilemma seemed to be to remove both of them from remaining alone together in the privacy of Pomeroy Cottage. Besides, he would be able to visit Romney once they were in the capital and assure himself the other man would, as he had been told, make a full recovery. Losing one friend was bad enough; he could not bear to lose another.
His jaw clenched. “We will leave as soon as you have cleared away in here and I have harnessed the horses.”
Jocelyn kept her gaze averted from looking at him directly. “I will be ready to leave whenever you are.”
Jericho gave her one last narrow-eyed glance before turning on his heel and leaving the house to go to the stable.
He could not stop the tumble of his thoughts as he fed and then brought out the horses ready to hitch to the carriage.
Last night, and again this morning, he had broken every one of his rules in regard to the taking of physical pleasure.
He had kissed Jocelyn.
Had pleasured every inch of her body.
Had slept the night with her in her arms.
Had allowed her to take the initiative last night, and again this morning, in arousing and pleasuring him.
To touch him more intimately than any woman ever had.
Jocelyn and his responses to her were a weakness Jericho could not and would not allow.
He had never, nor would he now, ever become a slave to his desire for any woman.
Least of all one whom he still had every reason to distrust.
Chapter 12
“Jeremiah was killed before the carriage caught fire,” Romney stated flatly in answer to Jericho’s query. The two men sat in the viscount’s study at his London home. “He was thrown across the carriage when it turned over. I heard his neck break,” he added bleakly.
Jericho had wasted little time once he reached Pomeroy House, only taking the time to bathe and change his clothing before leaving the house to visit Romney.
To say he was shocked by his friend’s appearance would be an understatement. Romney’s previously long dark hair was now shaved close to his head. No doubt much of it had been burnt away as result of the fire, giving him a much harsher appearance than before. He had suffered serious burns to one side of his face and neck, resulting in livid red and still-healing welts. Jericho believed those physical scars would remain with Titus for the rest of his lifetime.
It was the inner emotional scars, not visible but revealed by the bleakness of his friend’s previously lively blue eyes, that concerned Jericho the most.
“Stonewell’s letter gave me the impression it was not an accident,” he prompted.
Romney nodded. “I doubt the fire could have been predicted, but examination of what was left of the carriage showed one of the back wheel fastenings had been tampered with. I was also shot at as I attempted to leave the burning carriage to check on Lady Prudence. I could do nothing for Jeremiah.”
Worthington’s death was a personal blow to all The Sinners. More so for Romney, who had been at Worthington’s side when he’d died.
“There was no hope of apprehending the person who shot at you?”
Romney shook his head. “There was only the one shot fired, and I had enough on my hands trying to prevent Lady Prudence from entering the burning carriage in search of her sister.”
“Was she aware you had been shot at?�
� At this point, the less people aware they were looking for a traitor the better.
Romney winced. “She was too distraught about her twin to think of anything else.” His eyes narrowed. “Why are you back in London?”
“I wanted to see you,” Jericho responded heavily.
“And Lady Jocelyn?”
“Safely ensconced at Pomeroy House.” He had instructed Soames, his butler there, to ensure Jocelyn did not leave the house while he was gone.
Jocelyn had been very quiet on the two-day journey to London and their overnight stay at a coaching inn, her conversation when she did speak kept to a polite minimum.
As was Jericho’s own. There seemed to be nothing more to say between them, on any subject, that would not lead to further disagreement and accusations.
“Is she guilty?” Romney’s voice was harsh.
Jericho grimaced. “I still have no positive proof either way.”
“Your gut feeling?”
It was a feeling, an instinct, all The Sinners had developed to a high degree as agents for the Crown. But in Jocelyn’s case, Jericho admitted his instinct, and his opinion, was no longer impartial in regard to the person under his investigation.
If it ever had been.
He had been reluctant to carry out investigating Jocelyn from the start and had put it off for as long as he possibly could, because he had an affection for his ward, if nothing else. His actions at Pomeroy Cottage meant he no longer had a shred of impartiality left where she was concerned.
Only the suspicion that had been her objective all along.
He breathed in heavily. “Jocelyn is my ward.”
Temper glittered in the other man’s eyes. “That is no answer, and you know it.”
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