The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(81)
Only pausing the wandering touch of his fingers when he reached the point where her legs curled over the garden bench, he rubbed small circles against the insides of her knees with his thumbs until she relaxed into him. He traced his hands up her thighs as he gave her breast one last kiss. Shifting her arms to rest her weight upon and leaning back on the bench, she watched him, curiosity burning bright in her eyes. It was a position of complete trust and openness. And he wouldn’t betray that trust—not tonight, not ever.
Dipping his head, he followed the path his hands had made up her thighs, trailing his lips over her sensitive skin. Her breathing grew harsh in the still of the evening.
“What are you…” she began, but her words slipped away as he brushed the backs of his knuckles over the apex of her thighs. He glanced up at her. If she wanted him to stop, he would mourn the lost pleasure of touching her like this, but he would do as she wished. But when he saw the wide-eyed look of amazement on her face, he almost chuckled. Isabelle seemed to have no concerns about “being sensible,” and this moment was no different. He continued to tease her with touches of his fingers until she exhaled a harsh breath and opened farther to him.
Continuing the caresses, he moved closer, allowing her to learn his touch as much as he was learning from her body. Unrushed, no matter his own slamming heartbeat or her harsh breathing, he drew his thumb in closer to the bud above her core. Drawing slow circles around the sensitive skin there, he pulled a choked oh from her lips.
She tilted her hips toward him and grabbed his forearm in the next second, and this time he did chuckle. Only she would be this eager when other sheltered ladies would faint or some such at the very idea. He slowly slid his tongue first up one side of the silken skin of her lips, then down the other. And he watched her, wanting to understand every nuance of her body and what brought her pleasure. After traveling the same path with his tongue for another moment, he drew her outer lips into his mouth, sucking on her until her breath caught and she arched into him for more. He grinned at her show of enjoyment.
Dragging his teeth gently along the folds on the other side, he flicked his tongue over the sensitive bud. She almost arched off the bench, but he held her steady. Pulling the most delicate part of her into his mouth, he sucked on her, alternating with teasing flicks of his tongue. She might have come apart right there if he’d continued to do just that, but she deserved more. She should have it all. Not to mention he wanted to feel her, to have her mad for him. He waited a moment, a heartbeat, then as she relaxed he drove into her, tugging her closer to the edge of her own desire. She was wet, beautiful, wild, and pushing into his hand for more. And he was in awe of her.
Licking and sucking at the very heart of her while he pushed his fingers deep inside, he looked up to see her brows draw together. Her head fell back, and she let loose a scream that could be heard across London. She was amazing. He pulled back as she began to shake. He would give her anything in the world, and tonight he’d given her pleasure. A swell of pride bloomed in his chest as he ran his hands over her body once more.
Pushing himself up from the mossy ground, he shifted to the bench beside her and dragged her bare legs up to drape across his own. Holding her close to his body, he listened to her racing heartbeat, relished every shiver of her body as she came back down from the peak where he’d taken her. She leaned her head against his shoulder and squirmed even closer into his embrace, and he wrapped her tighter in his arms.
His beautiful Isabelle.
There were no words that could do justice to what he felt for her in this moment. The entire garden glinted in the fragile, cool light of this magical night. She was his, and he was hers, and for now nothing could break the spell that had been cast between them.
Sometime later, leaves rustled around them in the breeze, but all he heard now was his own heartbeat.
He wasn’t certain how long he’d sat here with Isabelle in his arms—not long enough for his liking. For the first time in years, he wasn’t rushing to his next destination. There was no agenda for them tonight, no meeting to hurry away to or operation to oversee. He pulled her closer to his body, not wanting to let her go. If he were to be honest—and he clearly had trouble with such a notion—he must admit he didn’t want to ever watch her walk away. It was unrealistic to think that he could keep Isabelle in his life forever though. Even if he could balance his work with marriage, there was so much about his life that she didn’t know.
Would she stay curled in his arms as she was now if she knew the truth?
He couldn’t bring himself to tell her about the Spare Heirs Society. Not with ongoing operations taking place just downstairs from where they sat. He’d done too much wrong already, led men into too much danger. And he would be risking too much to tell her the truth—he would be risking the loss of another evening like this one. Dipping his chin, he pressed his lips to the top of her head, and she sighed and wiggled closer to him.
He had to hold on to her, not just tonight but forever. There must be a path forward from this place in which he didn’t lose her in the end. It was perhaps the most important operational plan he’d ever attempted to make, yet he had no idea how to proceed. All he knew was he didn’t want to let her go.
This isn’t logical behavior, you know that. You’ll have to allow her to return home soon. But he couldn’t hand her over to her father. She’d be gone, beyond his reach forever. He needed the light that she brought into his life, the laughter, the freedom she pushed him to take from his tasks even if for only a few minutes. He needed to protect her and cherish her. Who would listen to her fantasies if not him?