The tongue he used to flick against her inner knee was decidedly not.
She sucked in a sharp breath.The only rule is to not make a sound. So this was his game. A public seduction. Did he think she’d shy away from something so wanton? That she wouldn’t be able to control herself?
His teeth scraped above her knee, and her insides quivered. Could she control herself? This game might not be easy to win. She bit her lip and looked around the table. Two dukes sat at it, along with their duchesses. All of John’s friends. Five other earls that she had been introduced to. She could be humiliated in front of nigh on thirty people.
John bit her calf, the sting disappearing quickly although his teeth did not. He seemed to wait for her to make a decision. As though even he recognized the risks of this game.
Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure others must hear it. But no one paid her any mind. Everyone was either engrossed in their meal or in nearby conversation.
She felt as isolated as an island in the middle of the sea.
On an island alone with John.
This was her last night. Her last game.
She widened her knees, and John’s breath gusted across her skin. He pressed a swift kiss to her leg. The game was on.
Her chair skidded along the carpet, jerking her body flush to the table and jostling it.
The contessa shot her a curious glance.
“I just want to get closer to my plate.” She gave the Italian a wide smile and picked her fork up. Her words were useless to the Italian and waving the utensil about didn’t add to the explanation. But the heavy piece of silverware felt good in her hand. She might need it to stab John if he put her on the spot like that again.
Any irritation slipped away as he dragged her skirts up to her hips. The pads of his fingers danced so lightly across her skin they tickled.
She shifted in her seat and poked at the squab with her fork. She would not make a sound. She would not—
She muffled a gasp by shoving the roll in her mouth. John swept his finger up and down her crease, and the decadence of the situation clouded her head. She understood now why he’d asked her to wear the peach gown. The double layer of sheer chiffon didn’t allow for any undergarments beside her stays. It was but a trifling for John to lift her skirts and have full access to her most intimate bits.
Clever man. She’d have to think of a way to make him pay for that.
He nudged at her knees, trying to prod them wider, and with a glance round the table, she obliged.
Elizabeth, bucking tradition and sitting next to her husband, smiled and raised her wine glass to Netta.
She returned the greeting, then froze as something soft and moist licked along her outer lips.
Oh dear Lord, not that. She could take a slow finger-fucking and keep a calm exterior, but if John used his tongue…
He nuzzled her clit with his nose and sucked one of her labia into his mouth.
Netta melted back into her chair. Oh, she was going to make him pay. She hooked one leg over his shoulder. She’d make him pay, and pay, and pay…
With his hands on her upper thighs, John used his thumbs to peel her open, his breath a heated contrast to the cool air.
She gulped down a breath, bracing for what was coming. She would remain still and quiet. She had control. She—
He pressed his mouth to her most intimate flesh, and her body jolted.
She was completely lacking in discipline.
The man next to her turned. “I say, this bird is uncommonly juicy.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
She couldn’t get into a discussion on squab with a poet. She would break under the pressure. “It could be juicier.” She felt rather than heard John chuckle against her, the vibration making her twitch. She buried her face in her wine goblet, and the poet took the hint and turned back to the dining companion on his other side.
She’d have to think of some way to make recompense to the boy for her unbearable rudeness.
A long slide of John’s tongue, from her opening to her clit, had her eyes rolling back in her head.
