“You are too good for me,” he said, kissing her softly. “I don’t deserve you. But as it happens, I’m a selfish and greedy chap. I’m not about to challenge the fate that brought me into your path.”
She smiled against his mouth. “It was my cream ice that brought you. Hardly fate.”
“Your cream ice is bloody delicious,” he agreed, his voice low and silken as he pressed kisses to the corner of her lips, then her jaw, alternating words with decadent brushes of his mouth. “But not nearly as delicious as you are. Have I told you how much I missed you, kitten? I could devour you here and now.”
And she wanted him to, wanton that she was. Miranda chased his lips with hers, kissing him, their tongues tangling. A moan stole from her. His hand was moving, gliding under her voluminous skirts, trailing past her knee.
She had ridden him on their carriage ride back to London the day before. The memory of how wonderful it had been, rocking in time to the swaying conveyance, brought the need between her legs to an aching throb. The sinful, forbidden nature of their frantic coupling had imbued the act with an eroticism that had made her climax even more potent than usual. He was turning her into a voluptuary as well, and she didn’t even mind.
She had been missing more than she could have comprehended in her frigid, unhappy marriage. And she knew that regardless of how devastated she would be to part ways with Rhys at the conclusion of this month, she would be forever grateful to him for showing her the pleasure that could exist between a man and woman.
Miranda sucked on his tongue as his fingers skated up her inner thigh, and although she was somewhat hampered by the cumbersome fabric of her petticoat and gown, she was able to part her legs just enough for him to breach the slit in her drawers. The first stroke over her aching sex made her gasp.
“You’re already drenched, darling,” he murmured, kissing down her throat, sucking on her pulse, making her burn. “Have you been this soaked for me all day?”
Miranda was beyond shame. “Yes.”
Concentrating on her ledgers had been nearly impossible. She had been restless on her chair, wishing for a release she knew she couldn’t have until the evening.
He cupped her mound then, his touch possessive but tender. “Who does this wet, wicked pussy belong to?”
His sinful words wrung another moan from her. “You.”
“You’re damned right it does,” he growled with satisfaction, his fingers parting her folds to find the seat of her desire hidden within.
He strummed over her swollen clitoris, sending sparks of pure bliss radiating from her core. He had distracted her withhis concern over his sister, but now, all the need that had been eating her alive through the hours they had been apart returned tenfold. His thumb swirled in knowing circles, the pressure he applied increasing, as he sank two fingers deep inside her.
She grasped his hair as he tongued the hollow behind her ear. Oh dear heavens, it felt so good. So wrong. The second day she had surrendered to her desires and allowed him to pleasure her in a carriage. But she didn’t care. No one could see what was happening within the haven of the brougham. Everything else ceased to exist but for the two of them.
“Rhys,” she whispered, his name torn from her as she rocked against his touch, seeking more. “Please.”
“Please what, kitten?”
She ought to have objected to the silly pet name. But she was beyond rational thought. There was only sensation, her body spurring her on, the need for completion supplanting all else.
“You know what,” she murmured, grasping a handful of his hair and pulling his lips back to hers for a drugging kiss.
He licked her lower lip, then gently nibbled there, his fingers gliding in slow torment in and out of her, whilst his thumb continued to gently tease. She was close, so close.
Miranda made a noise of frustrated yearning.
He withdrew his hand, resting his wet fingers on her inner thigh, stroking her there as his thumb, too, left her sex. “I’m afraid you’ll have to say the words, darling. I need to hear them.”
He brushed his lips over hers lightly once, twice. Thrice.
Her breaths were coming in ragged gasps. She so desperately needed to come. But he wanted to have the filthy words from her. He was pushing her once again, beyond the bounds of her comfort. And she both loved and hated him for it.
“Rhys,” she tried again, shifting on his lap. “Touch me. Please.”
“Iamtouching you,” he drawled, caressing her thigh again. “Is this not where you want it?”
She compressed her lips. “No.”
He raked his teeth along her jaw, then caught her earlobe between his teeth and bit, making a liquid rush of desire go straight to her center. “Where, kitten? Tell me.”
Miranda licked her lips as his hot breath coasted over her throat. She couldn’t say the word. Could she? It was scandalous. A word she had never uttered before, nor even heard until him.
She couldn’t.
