She dropped her head. “I don’t care.”
Thank all that was holy, the sound he’d been waiting for met his ears. No more need for restraint. He plunged into her, watching her arse shake with each hard thrust. “You don’t care if everyone knows what a little wanton you are? If they hear how you beg for it?”
Her sex tightened about him like a vise. “No,” she breathed out. “Please.”
She was close. The base of his spine tingled. So was he.
He pulled her upright, pounding into her through the change in angle. He gripped her jaw and turned her head. “I’m glad to hear it since we have an audience.”
An audience was an exaggeration. The elderly woman shuffling beside the house had her gaze fixed on the garden path. But Netta still stiffened in his arms. “Oh God,” she whispered.
He pressed his hand to her mons, grinding the heel against her clit. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” she whispered. “Please.” She reached back and dug her fingers into his hair.
“Then beg.” He pinched her nipple, slowly rolling the bud with increasing pressure. “Let her know who’s cock you’re desperate for.”
She moaned. “I”—she panted—“can’t.”
“Then I should stop.” He slowed but had no intention of ending this.
She tugged his hair until his scalp burned. “Don’t you dare.”
His ballocks ached, the need to release overwhelming. “Then beg. Tell me to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow. Tell me, and no whispering it.”
If she didn’t break, he would. Sweat rolled down his spine. The planks of the gazebo creaked. He wasn’t going to make it. She wasn’t going to crack. She—
“Fuck me! Fuck me so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.” Her neck arched. She looked back at him, her eyes wild. Need warred with fear, confusion with titillation. He could read each and every beautiful emotion as they crossed her face. “Just don’t stop, John.”
He slammed into her, holding nothing back. Cupping her cheek, he took her mouth with his own. He swallowed her moans as he fucked her, increasing the pressure against her sensitive nub.
Her body jerked. She bit his lower lip. And with a muffled scream, she spasmed around him.
Her channel drew him deeper, milking his length, begging for his release. With every ounce of discipline he possessed, he pulled from her body. His hand had just clenched about his cock when his seed spurted against her lower back.
He ground himself against her bum, dragging out each shudder of pleasure until his muscles went limp. He dropped his forehead to her shoulder and sucked down shallow breaths.
Netta sagged against him. “Who was that?” she whispered. “Oh God, did she hear?”
John looked up, but the servant was gone. “My washerwoman. She cuts through the garden on her way home each night.”
Netta spun and planted her hands on her hips. The outraged expression on her face didn’t have the same effect when set over a naked body.
Without thought, John reached for her breast. She slapped his hand away.
“You had me remove all my clothes and bent me over a railing knowing someone was going to come along?” Her voice rose with each word until John worried that shewouldrouse the household. “What if she’d heard us?”
“That would have been a miracle.” He wrapped his hand in her hair and tugged her close. She stood stiffly in his arms but she didn’t push him away. “Mrs. Wapner hasn’t heard anything for the past ten years. She’s deaf.” And half-blind. The perfect person to cause Netta alarm without any true threat of discovery.
She slapped his chest. “You tricked me!”
He caught her hand and brought it to his mouth. Gently, he kissed each of her fingers. “Of course. It’s what I do.” And how sweet it had been. The cleverer a woman was, the more satisfying a successful illusion.
He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. Toying with Netta was going to be very, very satisfying.
She curled her body against his and clasped her hands behind his neck. “I will grant you that your ruse was moderately adept.”
“Moderately?” He arched an eyebrow. “I seem to remember you saying you could accept defeat with grace.”
