Sybil was kissing him still when suddenly he caught her around the waist with both hands and lifted her. Her slipper-clad feet hung above the polished floor, and she grappled with her hold on his shoulders, her world upended. On her shockedinhalation, he dipped his tongue into her mouth, claiming. He tasted like champagne and sin as he carried her across the ballroom to the nearest wall.
She barely had the chance to tear her mouth from his when she was pinned against the damask, his big body and sheer strength holding hers aloft. She shouldn’t want him this way. Shouldn’t like the possessive hold he had of her.
But she did anyway.
“What are you doing?” she asked, vexed with herself for the breathlessness she had allowed to steal into her voice.
His head angled toward hers, but he did not kiss her. He just held her there against the wall in the ballroom that had hours earlier been brimming with London’s finest.
“Testing my theory,” he said, his voice low and deep, sliding over her senses like melted butter.
He shifted slightly, holding her up with his body weight and the leverage of his leg between hers, before releasing her waist with one hand and grasping her dressing gown and night rail as one.
Her husband intended to touch her, she realized. He would find her shamelessly soaked for him, her flesh all too eager.
“Everett,” she protested. “Not here.”
It was scandalous, despite the lateness of the hour. Anyone could come upon them. The doors to the ballroom were open.
But he ignored her, dragging his fistful of fabric higher, sending cool night air to glide over her ankles and calves, all the way to her knees.
“Why not here?” he rasped, still dragging her hems upward. “There is no one about to see us.”
His hand had slid beneath her robe and nightgown now, gliding over her thigh.
Her breath caught. “But they could be.”
“But they aren’t.” That wicked hand of his traveled still, not stopping until it was between her legs. He slicked her wetness over her seam, humming with approval. “And you are deliciously wet, my love.”
He had discovered her secret. But it was the only one she would give him. The other—what lay in her heart—was hers alone. She bit her lip, jolting against him when he swirled the pad of his forefinger over her clitoris, sending white-hot desire unfurling.
She was almost painfully sensitive there already, and she knew that it would require hardly any effort on his part to wring a release from her.
“So wet,” he repeated, exerting a bit more pressure, his fingers twisting over her a little faster. “And ready for me.”
She was completely at his mercy, captured against the wall, held in place by his solid form, her feet still dangling above the floor. She was at his mercy, and she liked it. Wanted it, in fact. This wasn’t what she had sought him out for, but now that she was on the edge of losing control, Sybil could think of nothing she needed more.
“You want this, don’t you?” Everett whispered. “You want me to take you here, now.”
She did. God help her, she did.
She gasped as he caressed her clitoris, rubbing herself against him. “Don’t we require…a bed?”
Her mind couldn’t begin to fathom how he would possibly make love to her in their present position. Unless he intended to lower her to the floor…
He chuckled, nudging her lips with his as his fingers continued to play over her nub. “There are so many ways to fuck, darling wife. I can see I’ve been remiss in not providing you with proper edification.”
She wanted that mouth, that wicked, sinner’s mouth that was so oft stern and harsh and forbidding. So, she kissed him herself. Kissed him and rocked against his hand whilst he held her pinned to the wall. Kissed him and pushed her tongue into his mouth as the molten sparks of her release tore through her. She came hard and fast, the rush of being suspended heightening the pleasure.
Sybil had almost no time to recover from the ferocity of her pinnacle when he broke the kiss and took one of her hands in his, guiding it to the fall of his trousers where his cock strained, rigid and ready, against the placket there. She gave his length a firm caress, gratified when he hissed in a breath and kissed her again, harder this time, his mouth punishing, demanding as much as he gave.
“Take out my cock,” he told her. “Put me inside that gorgeous, wet cunny of yours.”
She reached for the buttons on his falls, obeying him, needing him inside her. Needing the finality of being stretched full, of him making love to her completely. Her fumbling efforts finally resulted in his cock springing free, thick and long and erect. She wrapped her fingers around him, stroking from base to tip, allowing her thumb to swirl the liquid seeping from the slit around his cock head. His groan rewarded her as he guided her leg to his hip, opening her to him.
“Go on,” he urged.
Sybil gave them what they both wanted, bringing his cock to her entrance and slicking him through her wetness. She panted, writhing against the wall, against him. How she wished they were naked. That his lips were latched on her breast. But this would have to suffice, coupling like two animals against a ballroom wall, because she wouldn’t last until they made it upstairs.
