Brandon traced her seam to her entrance, sinking a lone finger deep. The velvet grip of her cunny was almost enough to make him spend in her hand. All the while, he fed her kisses, long and slow and demanding, their tongues tangling, their ragged breaths and sounds of frustrated need blending to become one. His thumb fluttered over her pearl as he worked in and out of her. He needed to make her lose control, to make her come here pinned against this door while just beyond,a ballroom laden with people danced and laughed and made merry.
And he wanted, with sudden, possessive need, to know that his seed was inside her. For her to return to the ballroom filled with his spend. He didn’t know where this urge was coming from, only that it was. Foolish. A risk he couldn’t take. He didn’t need another bastard child in the world, particularly when he was trying to find a wife.
But he couldn’t excise the thought from his mind, from his blood, and when she reached her pinnacle, her cunny tightening on his finger as she moaned into his kiss, he knew he couldn’t resist. He had to be inside her, to claim her. To make this woman his.
She was still pulsing around him when he withdrew and shifted their positioning, hooking her leg around his hip so that he could have her as he wanted. She was open to him, ready and waiting, soaked. No words were exchanged. There was nothing left to say, their lips and bodies communicating for them.
Lottie guided his cock to her center, slicking him up and down the wet petals of her sex before bringing him to her entrance. He gave them what they both needed, sliding into her in one deep thrust, the door at her back making a small creak of protest at the sudden motion. Sensation flooded him. He was intensely, almost violently aware of the place they were joined, his cock clenched in the silken hold of her cunny. Aside from this, they were fully clothed, adding to the erotic, forbidden nature of the moment.
Despite his rakish reputation, he could honestly say that he had never, in all his years, fucked a woman against a door in a secluded little salon at a ball. Taking Lottie like this was perilous—she had not been wrong in her earlier assessment that he needed a wife. Impressing debutantes was not achieved by clandestinely shagging one’s lover.
But nothing else mattered. He was inside her, where he belonged, and every single second that had passed between them had led them here, to this inevitable moment of utter sensual abandon.
Lottie was impatient as he held himself still, buried within her, reveling in the feeling of her wrapped snugly around him. Her hips swiveled against him, her head falling back against the door with a soft thud as she broke the kiss.
“More,” she demanded.
And he gave it to her, losing all restraint. He took her mouth as he withdrew and then plunged into her again and again. He scarcely had the presence of mind to reach between them and stroke her clitoris until she was crying out into his kiss, her body trembling from the force of her release, the clamp of her cunny on his cock nothing short of exquisite.
He pumped in and out of her, riding the ripples of her orgasm. Thethump,thump,thumpof him driving her into the door rose to rival their ragged breaths and the faint din of the orchestra from the ballroom. If anyone were to pass on the other side, there would be no doubt of what was happening within. Somehow, that only made him harder, more frenzied. He wanted all of London to know this woman was his, to carry her out of this room and take her away with him. To strip her naked and tie her to his bed and fuck her a hundred different ways.
For now, he had to settle for this one way. Part of him knew he ought to exercise caution. To withdraw from her. But the other part of him, the primal part of him, didn’t want to stop. One more thrust, the angle of her hips nothing short of exquisite, and white-hot bliss rolled up his spine, pouring out of him. Brandon surrendered himself to the beautiful oblivion of release, filling her with his cock, with his seed, with everything he had, giving her some intangible part of himself he hadn’t known existed.
Filling her until he collapsed against Lottie and the door, his heart racing hers.
CHAPTER 10
“You have callers, my lady.”
Her butler’s report startled Lottie from the book she’d been halfheartedly reading. It was a dreary, rainy day, and she had overslept this morning, having spent most of the night at the Abernathy ball, much of which had passed in a champagne-soaked blur following her mad coupling with Brandon in the salon.
She wasn’t expecting visitors.
“Did you tell them I’m not at home?” she asked patiently, closing the volume and setting it aside.
For she had made it clear this morning—or perhaps, rather, this afternoon—when she had risen, that she was in no mood for callers. Everything yet felt far too raw and jagged within her, after her second encounter with Brandon. Twice in one day. And once in public, no less. Her body ached in strange places thanks to the creative nature of their couplings.
How had she managed to find herself in such a delicious, foolish predicament?
“Er, yes, madam,” said her butler with politic parsimony of phrase. “I did indeed say that you are not at home.”
A muffled bark drew her attention then, sounding from somewhere in the hall beyond.
Cat?
It couldn’t be. Could it?
Another bark, and she had to believe that it could.
Lottie frowned. “Does the caller have a young girl with him and a spaniel, by any chance?”
“He does.”
Brandon was here. With his daughter and her willful little dog. Her heart leapt, and she couldn’t say why.
“See them in, if you please.”
“Of course, madam.” With a bow, the butler disappeared.
