Page 81 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

“I know.” Then the two clasped hands before Lord Rimbury walked away. Which left her finally alone with Peter.

He handed her into the hackney, then sat beside her. His expression was unreadable in the darkness. And she was filled with the things she had just learned from Madame Ille. She heard him start and stop speaking. Breaths abruptly cut off, followed by a sigh of frustration. Hers as well as his.

In the end, she did the one thing that always worked between them. She kissed him. From now on, kissing would be Mari’s first choice when she had no idea what else to do.

Excited from a barroom brawl? Kiss Lord Whitly.

Surprised by Lord Rimbury’s sudden devotion? Say good-bye to the man and kiss Peter.

Too frustrated, too angry, too confused by everything? Kiss Peter until her thoughts stopped whirling and an entirely different maelstrom built inside her.

Perfect.

Especially with the way he pulled her roughly against him while he devoured her mouth. Damn her skirts and her too-tight stays. She wanted to wrap herself around him and do things she’d never ever imagined before. Wayward things. Except he was trying to hold her back. His arms were tight, but his mouth was suddenly absent. He pressed his forehead to hers while their breaths heated the air between them.

“Mari,” he gasped out. “What are you doing?”

She didn’t answer at first. It was too bold—even for her—to say what she wanted out loud. Besides, she couldn’t catch her breath or clear her thoughts. Thankfully, the driver thumped on the top of the carriage.

“’Ey now! Where to?”

“Not home,” she said quickly. “Not until you’ve explained.”

“Do you know what you risk being private with me? Do you know what I want to do right now?” If she had any doubt, he grabbed her hand and pressed it against the hard, hot center between his thighs. It pulsed under her hand, and she squeezed it as much out of curiosity as anything else. But when he groaned and shuddered against her hand, she knew she wanted to do more. A great deal more.

“Not home,” she repeated firmly.

She heard him swallow. “We are going to marry, you and I.”

He was stating it firmly, and she saw no reason to argue. She wanted this time with him, and she would risk her reputation for it. A quiet part of her said she was risking a great deal more, but she ignored it. The voice was too small to defeat the hard beat of her heart.

Peter called out a direction. She guessed it was to his rooms. She swallowed and touched his face. Only now did she realize that she sat on his lap and that her pins were scattered all over the floor. But it was his face she explored. The rough texture of his cheek, the hard cut of his jaw, and the full delight of his lips.

He pressed a kiss to her fingertips. Then he nipped them. And then, he sucked her index finger into his mouth. The feel of his wet tongue stroking her had her belly quivering in delight. His arms were tight about her body, but whereas his left arm wrapped her hips, the right was free to stroke across her thighs and up her waist.

She ached for him to touch her breasts again. Her nipples were tight enough to hurt, but her mind was focused on the slide of his tongue over her finger. The scrape of his teeth against her skin. And the way her heart just kept beating, a thousand tiny throbs throughout her body.

Then he turned away.

“I have to tell you about India, Mari,” he rasped. “You want me to explain. I have to… You have to understand what happened there.”

“Yes,” she said as she dropped her head against his shoulder. His neck was right there, and this close, she could make out the pulse point beating as rapidly as hers. She pressed her lips there. Then when that was not enough, she licked the skin, tasting salt and smelling bay rum.

He groaned and let his head drop against hers. “This is too fast,” he said. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Is it the same thing I feel? The same…” How to describe it? Wetness? Aching? Breathless desperation? “I’ve never felt this way before.”

His hands tightened. A quick grip, hard enough to make her gasp. And then he loosened his hold. “Yes,” he said, his voice thick. “Yes, but more.”

She didn’t think it was possible.

“You’re a virgin. You don’t underst—”

She kissed him. She didn’t want to hear anything about what she lacked as a woman. She knew he didn’t mean to insult her. She was a virgin. But his words made her think of all the exotic women he’d been with. Beautiful courtesans who knew what to do. What was she compared to them? Nothing. So rather than face that, she kissed him and did everything she could to erase them from his mind.

She felt him resist. Was she not doing this right? Then a moment later, he surrendered. He leaned back, taking her with him until she sprawled against his chest and straddled his hips. Then he kissed her a thousand different ways. Slow and teasing, then she was startled by a hard, hot thrust of his tongue. Tiny nips accented by a slow suck on her lower lip.

And while she was lost in his kisses, his hands did a slow sweep of her back and bottom. He caressed her body and squeezed her bum. She lay fully atop him, pressed against the hot, hard length that so fascinated her. Especially when he began to thrust. Not demanding, not even big movements. Just a slow, rhythmic press.