Liar.
“Good.” Suddenly, the flannel draped along my shoulders drops to the ground with a thud.
With a feather-light touch, Jack brushes my hair over my shoulder. His rough cheek scratches against my skin, before he places a warm kiss on the nape of my neck. In a tortuous and meticulous manner, his mouth moves down my neck, claiming every millimeter of skin with care. “Do you know how fucking wild this dress has driven me tonight?” he asks. His left hand grazes my bare legs and the pressure between them grows as he plays dangerously close to the hem of my mid-thigh dress. “Between this bare shoulder and your damn legs, I swear you wore it just to torture me.”
With every light trail of his finger and brush of his mouth over my skin, lightning licks my nerves alive.
If I cared an ounce for myself, I wouldn’t let this continue, but the fair is too important. It’s possible I’m using Lydia as an excuse, but I don’t care. Lydia Bennet would relish this kind of attention.
So instead of calling a timeout like I probably should, I let the fool out to play.
“I mean—” I giggle, putting on the sweetest, flirty airs I can muster. “You told me to put my sweater dress on. I was just following orders.”
“Next time, I’ll tell you to wear a potato sack out,” he snarls.
“I look that good in it, huh? Maybe I’ll wear it to the club with Emy, then.”
His hand grips my hip, and he turns me around. I lose a breath as his chest presses against mine, his body caging me in.
His eyes have turned wild and dark, and his lips are swollen from the kisses he pressed into my skin. “Maybe I’ll tear it off tonight, so no one else will ever see you in it.”
Images of Jack ripping my sweater off in one swift, hungry motion, flash through my mind and desire pools between my thighs.
“I’d like to see you try.”
His gaze devours me as he leans in closer, pressing a tender kiss to the corner of my mouth.
I whimper, completely unsatisfied. It’s been so long since I’ve felt the softness of someone else’s lips or the heat of another’s skin against mine, and the desire, now, is overwhelming. “Something tells me you’d willingly take part in the destruction.” He grins, wide and dangerous. “I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out what motive I would have here, and I think I’ve finally got it. Do you want to know or should I keep it a secret?”
“Tell me, please.” I slide my hand to his lower back and under his shirt. His skin scorches my fingertips and I pull his hips in tight against mine.
“This, Aulie. I want you—you out of your mind for me. I want you begging for me, like I’m the key to your relief.”
I nervously bite down on my bottom lip, hoping the pressure of the action will ease the growing tension everywhere else.
It doesn’t help. I’m seconds from becoming exactly what Jack wants, desperate and begging.
Gently, he cups my face with his hand, his rough palm sliding against my cheek, and I nuzzle into it. If he searches my gaze, I’m sure he’ll see how much of my heart he’s stolen tonight.
“Then kiss me already.” It comes out more breathy than I’d like.
He tsks. The pad of his thumb runs over my mouth which grows slack under his gentle touch. “Now Aurelie. I know those aren’t the manners your Memere taught you.”
The sensible part of me jerks against this, wanting to roll my eyes and tell him to quit his teasing and kiss me already, but she’s no longer in control. Foolish, foolish, Aulie, the girl who’d wear her heart on the sleeve for the taking if it wasn’t his already is captain of this ship now.
“Please,” I beg.
“There you go. Good girl.”
Finally, Jack tilts his head. Anticipation courses through my body, making my limbs heavy as lead. I exhale as his lips press against mine, as if a world of unrealized tension is escaping my body with his touch. I deepen the kiss, savoring the taste of his lips, malt, cinnamon, and nutmeg dancing along my tongue.
“Dessy—” he says, the words low and hush. Almost a moan, as if he’s making sure I understand this kiss isn’t being shared between Lydia and Wickham, but it’s a real one just for us.
That’s all I need to adjust the angle of the kiss, ride the thrashing waves, and let go.
“Dessy—I’m shit—” This time when he speaks, it isn’t as soft but much more desperate. The dark hunger in his eyes fades to one of alarm. Suddenly, two hands fall on my shoulders, and he gently pushes himself off of me.
I blink back to reality just in time to see Jack bolt for the men’s bathroom.
