Lady Wallflower (Notorious Ladies of London Book 2)

by Scarlett Scott

“Fuck, Josie,” he groaned.

  She released him slowly, leaving his cock glistening with the combination of her saliva and his own mettle. Gripping him in her small fist, she laved her tongue over his tip. When she flicked over the slit, pressing there, and licking up another drop that seeped from him, he knew he could not bear any more torture.

  He hauled her up his body. “Sit on my face,” he ordered, intending to make her good and slick before he impaled her. He wanted her as wet as the ocean.

  “Like in the picture, the naughty letters?” she asked.

  She had remembered, his beloved wife.

  Decker suppressed another groan. “Precisely like that.”

  She shifted with his help. He planted his hands on her waist and guided her so that her knees were on either side of his head and his waiting mouth was perfectly aligned with her cunny. He buried his tongue deep, then licked his way to her pearl.

  “Oh, Decker.” Her throaty moan was all the reward he needed, but he would take the cream she gave him too.

  She rode his face with a wild abandon, rocking into him again and again while he filled her and licked her. She came again while he fucked her cunny with his tongue and rubbed her pearl. She moaned, her body stiffening as her climax overtook her, and then he had her where he wanted her.

  He rolled her to her back and settled himself between her legs. Grasping his cock, he rubbed himself up and down her slit, until he was wet with her juices and nearly out of his mind with need.

  They both sighed as he sank inside her to the hilt. One thrust, and she was gripping him in her tight, welcoming heat. And she was drenched. And perfect. He pinned her to the bed with his cock, giving himself a minute to stay the frantic roaring in his head. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her fingernails raking down his back.

  “Go on, Josie,” he urged, barely finding his voice, words. “Tell me what you want.”

  Everything inside him screamed with the need to move.

  Her eyes were glossy and dark with desire as they seared into him. “I want you to make love to me, Decker. I want you to spend inside me.”

  Ah, those words. They were everything he needed to hear.

  His ballocks tightened and he started moving, in and out. Though he tried to go slowly, to prolong their mutual pleasure, Jo was thrusting with him, their bodies moving in a frantic rush, seeking relief. He kissed her throat, losing control. Faster and faster he went, thrusting deep and then withdrawing, his strokes harder. He fucked her all the way up the bed until her head was smacking into the ornately carved headboard. And then he cradled her in his hands to blunt the thumps and fucked her some more, until she tightened on him like a vise, bathing his cock in another torrent of sweet release.

  He came too, so hard little black stars appeared before him. And he emptied himself inside her, filling his wife with his seed. He felt as if he came more than he ever had. She milked him, draining his ballocks, caressing his back, his shoulders, kissing his collarbone, his neck.

  When it was over, he collapsed against her, breathing heavy, inhaling the scent of her unbound hair, savoring the softness of her beneath him, the pulsing heat of her cunny stretched around him.

  “I love you,” he whispered again.

  And he knew then that the bonds of the past had finally been severed.

  He was whole again.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jo and Lila had just returned from a visit to the orphanage, during which Lila played piano and sang for the children and Jo read them stories, when Rhees announced Jo had a caller.

  Or to be more precise, three callers.

  The sight of her brother, sister-in-law, and nephew in the salon surprised a happy squeal out of Jo.

  “Julian, Clara, and little Arthur!” She could not contain her excitement as she rushed forward.

  Julian caught her in a brotherly embrace, whilst Clara gave her a half embrace as she cradled little Arthur in her arms. Jo’s heart surged as she gazed down at her nephew’s sweet, cherubic face, dropping a kiss upon his smooth, velvet-soft forehead.

  “Oh, my sweet baby nephew,” she crooned to him, before glancing up at Clara. “May I hold him?”

  “I was hoping you would,” Clara drawled in her thick American accent, smiling warmly. “The little darling was putting my arm to sleep. He is such a large baby already. I can scarcely countenance how much he has grown.”

  “Nor can I.” Jo took her nephew in her arms and gazed down at his adorable, round face. “He is lovely, Clara. I do believe he has your nose now. At first, I thought he had Julian’s, but yours is ever so much better.”

  She slanted a glance in her brother’s direction. He was watching her with a bemused expression. She had missed him, she realized. He was a good brother, one who was protective and caring and all the things a brother ought to be. Even if he had been an utter bear over her being ruined by Decker.

  Jo could see now that it had been because he loved her and because he wore the heavy weight of responsibility upon his shoulders.

  “I thought I had failed you,” Julian told her, as if reading her thoughts. “But you look happy, Jo. I do not think I have ever seen you so pleased. Your husband is behaving himself, I trust?”

  Jo tempered her smile at her brother’s protective question. “He is behaving admirably. And I could not be happier.”

  In the fortnight since their return to London, she, Decker, and Lila had settled into a comfortable routine. Lila’s nightmares were growing more infrequent. Decker had moved all his erotic art to his club, where Lila would never see it. And Jo? She had found her place as Decker’s wife, the keeper of his heart, and the wicked wife in his bed. Or study. Or music room. Or carriage. Office. Library…

  She forced her mind to more prudent thoughts as her cheeks flared with heat. She was hopelessly in love with her husband and more content than she had ever imagined possible. That was all.

  Actually, that was everything.

  Lila appeared in the salon then, offering a shy curtsy for Julian and Clara. She had gone off for a snack upon their return—cream ice was a favorite of hers, and Chef always kept some on hand for her.

  “May I hold the babe?” she asked tentatively.

  “Of course you may,” Jo said. “Have you ever held a baby before, my dear?”

  Lila shook her head, eyes wide with wonder as she gazed down at the little lord in Jo’s arms.

  “Come and have a seat in this chair and then hold out your arms,” Jo instructed. “You must take care with his head and neck. Be very gentle. I will place him in your lap.”

  Her nephew gurgled happily as he was settled in Lila’s arms.

  “Oh, what a darling he is.” Lila smiled down at him. “He is so small!”

  “He is, isn’t he?” Jo gazed down at her nephew, wondering what it would be like to have her own child one day with Decker.

  A little boy with his bright-blue eyes. Or a girl with his soft, wavy hair. He was no longer holding any part of himself back from her, and she was heartily glad. Thankful, too, for how far they had come.

  Jo tore herself away from her nephew, a new eagerness for a child of her own fluttering to life inside her, and seated herself. They settled into a comfortable chat, Lila cooing over Arthur, and Julian and Clara politely inquiring after Jo, Decker, and Lila.

  “How do you care for London, Miss Decker?” Clara asked Lila.

  “I like it far better than I expected to,” the girl said, smiling at Jo. “I am fortunate indeed to have a new sister to help me find my footing here.”

  “And I consider myself fortunate as well,” Jo told her with a wink. “It was dreadfully boring here with no one to keep me company save your brother.”

  “Our Jo is one of the very best sorts,” Julian said, giving Jo a tender, brotherly smile.

  Jo smiled right back at him, yet another weight removed from her shoulders now that he seemed to have finally accepted her marriage to Decker. “I learned from one of the best himself.”
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br />   “Do I know the fellow?” Julian asked with his signature wit, his smile turning into a grin.

  “I would like to offer my opinion on the matter.” Decker strode into the room abruptly, handsome as ever. His gaze met Jo’s as he crossed the Axminster, and she felt an answering tug low in her belly. “I think our Josie is the best.”

  Jo’s heart gave a pang at the sight of her husband, his expression filled with so much love, she felt her cheeks heat anew. She rather thought he was, too.

  “You are home early again,” she observed, pleased.

  His work days no longer began so early nor ended as late as they once had. It was yet another of the changes which had been slowly wrought over the last few weeks.

  He raised a dark brow at her. “Are you displeased, Mrs. Decker?”

  “On the contrary.” She could hardly contain her contentment. She was fairly certain she glowed. “I could not be more pleased.”

  “Ah, young love,” Julian drawled wryly.

  Jo’s cheeks flushed deeper, she was sure of it. But she could not take her eyes from the man she loved. Her husband, her heart, her other half. To think, all she had needed to do to find him was pen a wicked list and unintentionally deliver it to him.

  Decker seated himself at her side. “You look happy, darling wife,” he murmured to her, sotto voce.

  “That is because I am,” she said.

  Clara sighed.

  Julian snorted.

  Lila continued to coo at baby Arthur.

  At her side, her husband’s hand found hers hidden in the voluminous fall of her skirts. Their fingers tangled and held.

  “Mrs. Decker is here tae see ye, sir,” Macfie announced, waggling his brows in a fashion that made them appear extra bushy this afternoon. “And she has yer sister with her again. May I say, sir, she is a wee adorable thing, Miss Lila. I cannae see any resemblance at all tae ye. Probably best, considering yer one of the—”

  “That is quite enough, Macfie,” Decker interrupted his impudent aide-de-camp before he finished insulting Decker’s appearance.

  Macfie raised a meaty hand to his heart, affecting an indignant pose that was rendered all the more hilarious by the fact that he was as massive as an old oak tree. “Always with the interruptions, sir. I was going tae say considering yer one of the most handsome men in all London. Wee Miss Decker cannae be looking handsome now, can she?”

  “You had better stop lest I think you fancy me yourself.” Decker suppressed his smile. “And whilst I could not blame you in the slightest, I am already a picked apple, as they say. See them in, Macfie.”

  “And a happily picked apple at that, sir.” Macfie grinned. “I am happy tae see ye so contented, Mr. Decker. And if I may say so, it is about damned time. All it took was a lady with a pair of—”

  “Bloody hell, man, send my wife and sister in,” he bellowed.

  “I was going tae say a pair of hands strong enough fer the task of bringing ye tae heel.” Rolling his eyes heavenward as if in supplication, Macfie turned to leave his office.

  “I am not a hound,” Decker muttered, scowling at his infernal man’s broad back.

  He was reasonably sure he and Macfie would spend the rest of their days bickering like a pair of dowagers, and he would not have it any other way.

  The door slammed shut, and he did not flinch.

  When it opened again, all thoughts of Macfie were swept easily aside at his wife entering his office, Lila at her side. Decker drank in the sight of Jo, from her upsweep of dark hair to her perfect mouth to her thoroughly feminine form, draped in black. She made mourning weeds look glorious.

  Right, of course she did.

  Decker stood at their entrance, bowing to both of them before skirting his desk and moving toward them. “My darling Josie, my sweet Miss Lila. You are one quarter hour early.”

  “Mr. Macfie advised us to arrive at this time,” his wife told him, smiling in that way she had that made him long to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless. “He suggested the traffic would be too thick otherwise, and judging from the snarl of carriages out there already, I should think he was right.”

  There Macfie went again, thinking of everything. How the devil did the man do it?

  “Mayhap I will give the Scottish oaf an increase in pay,” he said, grinning.

  “Mr. Macfie is hardly an oaf,” Jo said. “I have become rather fond of him.”

  “He gives me peppermint candies whenever I visit,” Lila added. “I have three in my reticule now. I have been saving them.”

  “Peppermint candies, hmm?” Decker repeated. Well, at least he now knew the way to his sister’s heart. The way to his wife’s was paved with cream ice.

  “We should be on our way,” Jo added. “The ceremony will be starting soon enough, and we dare not miss it.”

  No, they dare not indeed. The Children’s Hospital he had already endowed before his mother’s death—before, even, his marriage to Jo—was opening this afternoon. There was to be a grand ceremony. Not the sort of thing Decker ordinarily troubled himself with, as he abhorred taking a bow for his philanthropic endeavors. But in this instance, the ceremony was special.

  As was the dedication of a memorial cot in his mother’s name.

  Seraphina Decker would never be forgotten. Her legacy would live on, and on, and hopefully over time, the children’s hospital would give thousands of children a second chance at life.

  “Let us go then,” he told the two most important ladies in his life, offering each an arm.

  Together, they left his offices, making their way to the waiting carriage.

  It was the sort of day when he needed them at his side.

  Right. When was it not that sort of day?

  Jo was brushing out her hair, seated at her looking glass, when Decker came to her. He was clad in a dark-maroon banyan of fine silk, his feet bare, his hair tousled so that the same rakish lock she loved fell over his brow. She did not rise, merely watched him approach her in the mirror. Their gazes met and held.

  A frisson of awareness jolted through her, as always.

  “Good evening, Mr. Decker,” she said softly, stroking the brush through her hair again because she knew how the act never failed to inspire an answering surge of desire in him.

  She was still learning him. Each day, she discovered more, and each day, he showed her how much he loved her just as she strove to do the same for him. He was becoming better at keeping his walls lowered. And for her part, Jo fell in love with the man she had married a bit more, it seemed, with every passing moment.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Decker.” He reached her, settled his hands on her shoulder, and then pressed a kiss to the side of her throat. “You smell good enough to devour, woman.”

  She could not suppress her smile. Decker loved the scent of her perfume on her throat. The moment she had made that particular discovery, she had made certain to add a bit of scent behind each of her ears, and then another drop at the hollow where her pulse pounded.

  “Mmm,” she hummed her approval. “Perhaps you ought to devour me then, my love.”

  “In time,” he agreed, kissing her throat, her ear, nibbling the sensitive place where her neck joined her shoulder. “May I?”

  She relinquished her brush to him, sitting still as he worked the bristles through her hair in slow, gentle strokes. “If you ever decide to cease being a businessman, you would have excellent work as a lady’s maid.”

  Jo could not help teasing him. But she loved the attention he lavished upon her.

  “Only yours, my love,” he said, kissing her crown. “Only ever yours.”

  She studied his countenance then, taking in the stark angles and planes, the tense manner in which he held his jaw. Today had been an emotional one for him, even if he did not often wear his heart upon his sleeve. The ceremony at the children’s hospital he had endowed had been lovely. Of course, the most emotional moment had been the dedication of the cot in his mother’s name. Both Decker and Lila h
ad been overwhelmed, Lila’s nose going red in her effort to quell her tears.

  “Your mother would have been proud of you and Lila today, Decker.” She sought his gaze in the glass. “The Children’s Hospital is a wonderful and worthy endeavor, and to have her name forever upon it…”

  A surge of emotion prevented her from finishing her sentence. The day had been filled with tears enough. She had no wish to once more descend into sobs and sadness.

  “She would have been pleased, I think,” he said, still brushing her hair. “She always loved children.”

  “Is that why you patronize so many orphanages?” she asked. “Why you endowed the Children’s Hospital?”

  “In part.” He ran the bristles through her locks once more. “I also feel for those who find themselves in situations that were not of their own making. For the littlest ones. The urchins, the beggars, the helpless. If I can aid them somehow…make them feel less helpless, I will.”

  Of course he would, as the bastard son of an earl, who was ineligible to claim his title or his lands. Yet another way he proved he was a man worthy of her admiration, her loyalty, her love.

  “I was proud of you today too,” she murmured. “Proud to stand at your side. Proud to be your wife.”

  He stilled, his gaze searching hers, his expression pained. “I will never have a title, Josie. I can never make you a countess.”

  “That is not what I want.” She shook her head. “You know that, Decker. All I have ever wanted is you, from the moment I truly learned what sort of man you are.”

  “And what sort of man is that?” He swept her hair over her left shoulder, baring her skin before nuzzling her nape. “Hmm? Tell me.”

  “The best sort.” She reached behind her, sinking her fingers into his thick, wavy hair. “The sort who is honorable and handsome and thoughtful and kind and witty and wonderful.”

  He kissed the side of her throat, and she felt his smile on her skin. “I like the sound of that. It is fitting, then, that all I have ever wanted is you, my love. The sort of woman who is also honorable and beautiful and compassionate and intelligent and fierce and just a little bit wicked and altogether wonderful, too. A goddess, in fact.”