“Then you haven’t been properly made love to before.” Wicked challenge smoldered in his earth-brown eyes. “Never fear. There is a first time for everything.”
Her retort was lost in his playful devouring. His mouth was everywhere: on her mouth, her ear, her neck. He cupped her breasts, squeezing the aching mounds, rubbing her nipples against her bodice until they throbbed like twin heartbeats. Her breath pushed against the cage of her corset, her skin itching with need. She was restrained when what she wanted—what she craved—was to feel Cull, skin to skin.
He seemed to read her mind. He fisted her skirts, raising the voluminous mass, swearing as some of the layers eluded his grasp.
“You ladies wear too many damned clothes,” he muttered.
Pippa wasn’t only a lady; she was an Angel. And being an Angel had its advantages.
Feeling rather smug, she reached for the hidden fasteners that Mrs. Quinton, the Angels’ genius modiste, had placed beneath the ruffle at her waist. A few deft tugs were all it took to detach the skirts and petticoats from her bodice. They pooled on the floor, leaving her in her drawers and black silk stockings.
“Designed for the physical demands of investigating…and practical for lovemaking as well,” she said impishly.
“Nowthatis a dress,” Cull rasped.
Then he got onto his knees in front of her. He ran his palms up her stockinged calves, his touch reverent and possessive. And the look on his face…
Pure, raw hunger.
He shoved her thighs apart with arousing roughness. The heat of his palms burned through the thin linen of her drawers. Her back slid into the cushioned corner of the carriage as he pulled her closer, spread her wider. So wide that the slit in her undergarment gaped, revealing her sex to his burning gaze.
“There’s that pretty pussy,” he murmured. “Sunshine down here as well as on top.”
She squirmed, embarrassed and unbearably stimulated. The gleam in his eyes told her that he knew exactly how she felt. That he enjoyed her discomfiture.
“Are you going to just talk”—her attempt at haughtiness was foiled by her breathlessness—“or are you going to do something?”
“What would you like me to do?”
She refused to be embarrassed by her desires any longer. Not with Cull, who’d exposed his own vulnerability to her. Who made her feel beautiful and wanted…just as she was.
“Touch me,” she said.
His eyes glinting with approval, he ran a thumb lightly down her intimate seam. “Like this?”
She had to bite back a moan. “More.”
He stroked her again, up and down, his nostrils flaring. “I love how wet you get, Pippa. How these lips are as pretty, pink, and pouting as the ones you use to argue with me.”
“I don’t argue…oh.”
Her words dissolved into a whimper as he found the peak of her pleasure. As he rubbed and circled that throbbing bud, his gaze never left her face. The slick sounds of him fingering her filled the cabin, and she gasped as he slid a long, thick finger inside.
“Wetandtight,” he growled. “Keep moving, Pippa. Fuck that sweet quim on my hand until you come for me.”
His filthy words unleashed her primal instincts. Panting, she did as he instructed, moving, taking that fullness. He stretched her with another finger, stirring those thick digits, and her rhythm became desperate. When he curled his fingers, dragging the callused tips against a place high inside, a quickening started at her core. She cried out as bliss exploded, aftershocks cascading through her.
He murmured sweet nothings, still stroking her, gently easing her back to reality. Meeting his gaze, she saw banked flames that set off more tremors.
And that was before he withdrew his fingers, saying with male pride, “Everything appears to be in working order.”
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry that he had remembered what she said. That he’d filed away that piece of information to use at an opportune time. Her witty rejoinder went up in smoke when he brought his fingers to his lips…and licked them.
Her quim quivered.
“Delectable,” he said. “The perfect appetizer before the main course.”
“M-main course?” she breathed.
