by Diana Quincy
“No.” He nuzzled her neck. “Now.”
Chapter Nine
“Impossible.” Yet her tingling body seemed to disagree.
“I thought you enjoy taking risks,” he murmured against her neck, “to sample a taste of the unknown.”
“You want to join here?” She tasted the tender flesh of his earlobe, her tongue following the sensitive curve. The shiver that coursed through him in response made her rejoice inside. “Now? Up in the air?”
He made a sound in his chest, something between a growl and a purr. “Absolutely.” He pulled her blouse from her breeches, his warm hands sliding up underneath to caress her breasts. Reaching the fabric that bound them, he froze. “Blast it all! What’s this?”
“Binding. It keeps them in place and out of my way. They are too large.”
“Let me assure you that is not possible.” Laughing softly, his hands slid to the knot in the binding. “You are not going to make this easy.”
Wrong. Urgency overtook her. Her hands moved to the placket of his breeches. He groaned when she ran a firm finger over the hard bulge. She began to undo him, working fast, eager to release him. “I want you now.”
His fingers shot down to help her. “I thought you’d never ask.” The words were raw, husky.
She finally had his breeches open, and impatiently tugged down them down along with his smallclothes. His exaggerated erection shot out, revealing an asset Cosmo had every right to be boastful of. Arousal burning through her, she wrapped her hand around the bold strength.
He hissed and undulated into her hand. “Devil take it, Angel.” His hands tugged at her breeches. “We’ve got to get these off you before I embarrass myself.”
Her fingers explored his erection. Closing her eyes, she licked her lips, wondering how it would feel to have something of its breadth and width rocking inside of her. Her sex pulsed at the thought. Pascal had not been so generously endowed.
Cosmo pulled her breeches open, and then paused in surprise. “Are those men’s smallclothes you’re wearing?”
She nodded. “It is necessary to wear them with men’s breeches.”
Shoving her breeches down to her knees in a swift motion, he released a shuddering breath at the sight of her in the small pants. “I do believe that is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. Promise me one day you will walk around in nothing but these drawers.”
Looking down at the plain linen drawers, she couldn’t discern what the fuss was about. The smallclothes were baggy in the crotch and seat, yet tight down her thighs to just above her knees. “Yes. I promise.” Desire shook her. “Must you talk so much?”
“No indeed.” He dropped to his knees, and the sudden movement jolted the basket, which quickly regained its tranquil equilibrium. “Let’s get you out of these.”
She gripped the side of the wicker basket for leverage while he pulled off her boots, one after the other. He tugged her breeches down to her ankles, a rough slide of fabric against tender skin, and then helped her step out of each leg. His fingers moving to the two buttons at the shaped waistband which kept her drawers in place, he looked up at her, his midnight eyes glittering with something more than desire.
She raked her free hand through the rumpled waves of his surprisingly soft hair, deep emotion surging within her. Before she had a chance to explore the feeling, he made quick work of the buttons, loosening her drawers. Using both hands, he pushed them down and carefully helped her step out of them. Her billowing shirt fell to her thighs, shielding her from complete exposure to his gaze.
He sat on his rump, his back against a bench at one end of the basket, and pulled off one leg of his own breeches and smallclothes. He gazed at her with legs splayed apart, his brawny frame crowding the six-foot length of the boat-shaped gondola, his prodigious arousal jutting up in an overt show of masculinity. Heat flushed through her at the primal display.
His gaze intense, he said, “Lift up your shirt so I can see you.”
She pulled the shirt up and over her head, unveiling the tuft of black curls shielding her feminine parts. The breeze floated over her bare skin, prompting gooseflesh to shiver across it.
His breathing was uneven. “Come here.”
Nude, except for the cloth that bound her breasts, she did as he asked. When she stepped between his legs, he ran a hand down the back of her thigh, stroking it while urging her closer. She inched forward, despite a moment’s discomfort, shyness perhaps, at the idea of her femininity so near his face. His fingers feathered up the back of her thigh and around to the front, reaching up to the place between her thighs. His touch skated over the triangle of fur there. “Come closer.”
A shot of excitement blasted through her. She did as he asked. He slid a finger into the moist folds between her thighs, rubbing back and forth deep along the length of them, his charcoal eyes intent on her face. A sensation somewhere between pleasure and pain whipped away the strength in her legs. She grasped the edges of the wicker basket behind and above Cosmo to steady herself.
His fingers passed over the knot of sensitized nerves at the top of her sex. “I’ve a mind to tip the velvet. Has any man ever done that to you?”
She gulped the air, which had never seemed so thin before. “I do not know what that means.” Almost mindless from the taut need gripping her body, she pushed herself against his fingers, aching for him to press harder.
His voice roughened. “It is when I thrust my tongue deep inside your muff,” he increased the pressure on the button of nerves, “as though you were the sweetest dessert.”
“Oh.” Moisture surged between her legs.
He chuckled. “I appear to have my answer.” Lifting one leg over his shoulder, he buried his mouth between her thighs.
She cried out when his tongue found her most sensitive spot. He lapped at it in languid movements, the cool-hot strokes making her belly tighten. Just as she got into the slow rhythm, he changed course, flicking his tongue over the knot of nerves in purposeful little movements, a merciless sensual assault unlike anything she’d experienced before. Frenzy quaked through her; her legs trembled. Pausing, he asked, “Is it good?”
Good did not even begin to describe it. “Oui,” she sighed.
He kissed her. There. “How good?”
She pushed herself against his lips, her need for him making her desperate. “Tu es le meilleur.”
“The best? Quite the compliment coming from you, Mademoiselle Lamarre.” His voice was like rough silk. “Would you like me to continue?”
“Zut. You really are the devil. Finish it.”
“With pleasure.” His lips vibrated against her sex as he spoke. “You really are most delicious.”
He sucked at her, the pulling sensation tugging deep into her belly, making her body tremble with yearning. Then he scraped her gently with his teeth. The shock rocketed through her, causing Mari to lose all control of her legs, bringing her tumbling down on top of him.
Catching her around the waist with a sure grip, he slowed her fall. The cedar scent of his shaving soap swept into her nostrils as he positioned her just above his lap, where she could feel him at her entrance. He thrust his hips upward, impaling her with his rigid flesh. She sank down eagerly, relishing the masculine energy swelling within her.
Wrapping one hand around the back of her head, Cosmo pulled her mouth to his lips, his tongue moving in long, demanding strokes. “Delicious. Such a tempting morsel.”
Cupping his smoothly shaven face with her hands, she kissed him back, her tongue insistent, devouring. Unrestrained sexual excitement coiled into a tight band within her. Relishing the delicious up-and-down slide, going deeper each time, she set a quick rhythm to satisfy her cravings.
“You are a goddess.” He ground out the words. Grasping her hips with long fingers, he pumped into her with hard, quick strokes. Nothing else existed but the press of his flesh on hers and the ratcheting excitement of racing toward her climax. Throwing his head back, Cosmo bared the strong cords o
f his neck. She leaned forward and ran her tongue along his throat, tasting the salty, male tang of him.
They moved with urgency. His lips and tongue roamed over the mounds of her breasts, which were still bound in the cloth, as he thrust forcefully into her. Slipping his fingers to where they were joined, he brought her to the edge. Tension gripped her before it snapped, careening her body out of control. Her climax hit her in waves of almost-violent pleasure. He drove into her one final time, a low roar shaking his body. Buried within her, he expelled his seed deep into her womb.
They collapsed against each other, their breaths coming in short spurts. Her heart thumped against her chest while a feeling of relaxed euphoria settled heavy in her limbs.
“That was—” he shook his head in a daze “—beyond anything.”
“Vraiment.” Smiling lazily, her body hummed with the residual sensations of extreme sexual pleasure. She peered up at the billowing clouds. “I have never had a flight quite like this.”
He touched a loose strand of her hair, twirling it around his finger. “You’re incredible.”
“As are you.” She pressed a languid kiss against the warmth of his temple. “It relieves me that not all of your boasts are empty ones.”
He nipped the swell of her breast. “Sexual congress is one skill at which I excel.”
Dark thoughts intruded at his words, reminding her that he coupled often, and with many women. She told herself that that was just as well. Joining with him had been nothing more than the mutual satisfying of a primordial urge. When her business at Langtry concluded, they would part ways. He might well hate her by then anyway.
He sensed the change in her. Pulling back, his rapt gaze traced the lines of her face and a crease formed between his heavy brows. “What is it, Angel?”
She scowled, taking in her state of undress, looking down to where they were still joined. “Hardly an angel.”
“Definitely an angel.” He ran his large hands down her arms, settling on the rounds of her bottom. “Who else could take a wicked scoundrel such as I this close to heaven?”
The following day, they went to Poole, a town about an hour’s ride from Langtry, to pick up supplies Mari needed for her parachute.
“You really should learn to ride,” Cosmo said as they rode in his phaeton. It continually surprised him that a woman as capable as the parachutist couldn’t mount a horse.
“A female who works for her bread hasn’t time to engage in frivolous activities,” Mari said, the blue ribbons of her straw bonnet streaming behind her in the wind. She’d dressed with a certain flair he hadn’t noted in her before. White braiding trimmed the neck and sleeves of her striped soft blue and white muslin dress, which was topped with a fitted robin’s-egg blue spencer. “Riding is for aristocrats. I am not a lady.”
“Thank God for that. Ladies are such a bore.” He gave her a warm look. “Perhaps if I pull over, you’ll show me again just how unladylike you can be.”
He noted the flash of interest on her face before she smoothed it away. “Are you of a mind to copulate in all modes of transportation?”
He barked a laugh. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but the idea does intrigue. Now that we’ve gotten the hot air balloon out of the way, we should try out the phaeton. Then, perhaps, a boat. It really is a pity you don’t ride. I’ve a fancy to make love to you on a horse.”
He watched her turn over the suggestion in her mind. “Is that possible?”
“I’ve no idea,” he said truthfully. “But it might be enjoyable to find out.”
“Perhaps you should keep your eyes on the road so that we do not run into a tree.”
Turning his attention back to the horses, he concentrated on the road ahead, wondering how to broach the subject that had weighed on his mind since the previous afternoon. He cleared his throat. “Mari, about yesterday.”
He watched the starch fill her spine. “You do not owe me anything. I am hardly one of your noble maidens.”
“Yes, well.” He fumbled over his words, uncertain how to handle the delicate topic. As he’d deduced, she hadn’t been a virgin. But while she might not be a lady, as she constantly reminded him, Mari was no strumpet and he didn’t care to offend her. “I’m afraid I did not, ah, pull out as I should have. There could be a child.”
“I don’t expect that to be a problem.”
“Why is that? Do you know for certain that you cannot beget a child?” When she didn’t reply, he forged ahead. “What I mean to say is, have your previous lovers taken precautions to prevent such an occurrence?”
She stiffened. “We used French letters to prevent it.”
“I see.” We. How many had there been? Uneasiness snaked through his gut. Did she take lovers often? Once she tired of him, would she dispatch him as she’d discarded the others? For all he knew, she bedded men often as part of her spy work.
Bugger.
Why did he even care? They’d indulged in a bit of good bed sport. Well, extraordinary bed sport, truth be told. And hopefully there’d be plenty more of it, but in the meantime, he would also keep an eye on her, because he still couldn’t trust anything she said or did. There could be nothing between them beyond the considerable physical enjoyment they took in each other. Sex for pleasure, the way it always was for him. To his logical mind, this made perfect sense. Yet somehow that bit of excellent reasoning sat in his stomach like spoilt food.
“So,” he said, casting her a sidelong glance, “an accident is possible.”
“It is nothing to concern yourself over.” She looked straight ahead, that cursed bonnet shielding her face from his gaze. “It is most unlikely I’ll get with child after one interlude.”
“It can happen.”
“I suppose you know this from experience.” Finally tilting her face upward, she cut a sharp look at him. “Are the fruits of your loins sprinkled all over Dorset?”
“No, not a one,” he said seriously. “Any child of mine will be born within the bounds of marriage.”
He couldn’t interpret the expression that settled over the high, smooth curves of her cheeks. “Why don’t we concern ourselves with it when, and if, it becomes an issue?” she said.
Soon she would leave this place. The same mysterious quest that had brought her into his life would yank her right back out of it again. She’d float away on that hot air balloon and he might never see her again, might never know if she carried his babe. “Do I have your word that you will inform me if there is a child?”
She fell silent for a moment before finally replying. “Yes.”
Relief flowed through him, but he couldn’t quite explain the other sensations assaulting his insides at the moment; anxiety in his belly, a fullness in his chest.
They arrived in Poole before luncheon. Cosmo followed Mari as she went about her errands, buying supplies for the balloon and parachute that couldn’t be found in Langtry. He kept a close eye on her interactions, on the chance her true reason for coming to Poole turned out to be other than what she’d told him; her visit might very well have a nefarious purpose.
They stopped in for a bit of refreshment at a shop in the center of town, where they ate fresh-baked breads and a variety of cheeses. The conversation flowed easily, with none of the awkwardness of their exchange on the ride over. Afterward, they strolled past the shops along the bustling main thoroughfare of Poole, and Cosmo reflected upon how much he enjoyed her company.
It was almost as pleasurable as swiving her. Perhaps the sexual congress had been so good because he actually liked and admired Mari. Not that he’d disliked his coterie of previous bed partners, but the females he usually bedded were easily forgotten once the tupping was done. He doubted that would happen with Mari. He’d never known a less forgettable woman.
She halted suddenly, peering across the busy street. “Isn’t that Lord Darling?”
“Darling?” He looked in the same general direction. “Where?”
“By the bakeshop across the way.”
>
A market cart slowed, blocking the establishment from his gaze. “I can’t imagine what business Darling would have in Poole. It’s rather far removed from Kenwood.”
“What is Kenwood?”
“His family seat.” The obscuring vehicle lurched forward, clearing his view of the tidy, brick-fronted establishment.
“I’m certain it’s him,” Mari said.
To be sure, there in front of the little shop stood Lord Darling, of the gleaming silver-blond hair and trim, immaculately clad form. Cosmo could have sworn their eyes met for a moment, but then Darling glanced away.
“I think he’s ignoring me,” he said, surprised. It was unlike Darling not to greet him, on account both of their long acquaintance and Darling’s excellent manners. Normally, Cosmo would be more than happy to avoid a tiresome encounter with the man. However, since Darling seemed to be studiously ignoring him, Cosmo felt a compelling urge to speak with him. He offered his arm to Mari. “Come, we should say our hellos.”
They weaved their way through oncoming coach and market cart traffic, and crossed over to Darling, who turned to them with friendly smile. “Cosmo, Miss Lamarre, what a delightful surprise.”
“Hello, Darling,” Cosmo said amiably. “You’re a long way from Kenwood.”
“I have some matters to attend to.” Darling adjusted a cuff, his gaze fluttering in the direction of the bakery and back to them. “What brings the two of you to Poole?”
“Miss Lamarre has need of some fripperies.”
Mari bristled with irritation. “I came for supplies for my parachute and the balloon. Items that cannot be found in Langtry.”
“Ah, of course,” Darling said. “The date of the exhibition nears, does it not?”
“Yes,” she said, “in just a few weeks.”
“I shall endeavor to attend.” Darling’s attention went to a little girl who walked out of the bakeshop, followed by an older woman who appeared to be her nurse.