Wild Lily (Those Notorious Americans Book 1)(54)

She let out a laugh. “I’ll be a scandal.”

“No, you won’t,” he promised as he took her lips over and over again. “No one will know. They’ll never see you. You’re not leaving our bed for at least that long.”

He left a trail of kisses down her long, graceful throat. She arched up against him, her hands clutching his lapels. “Could you find me that fascinating for that long?”

He snorted. Cupped one round breast and stroked her nipple. “At least.”

She sent her tongue along her lower lip and writhed as he stroked her to a hard point. “Yes, um. Yes. I think you’re right.”

“God, why do we bind women up in these contraptions? he muttered as he turned her around. “Let’s loosen your stays.”

She lifted her hair, her breathing hard. “Oh, let’s.”

He pulled her blouse up, found her stays and the bows, tugged at them and had her free of the monster with his hands sliding around her, inside the cups to treasure her glorious breasts. He let his eyes fall closed, the wealth of her in his hands making his cock stand like a warrior ready to take her.

But she turned in his arms. She stroked his cheeks and kissed him as if she were enthralled by him. “I’ve wanted this. More of you than I had that night in the stables.”

Adrift in her spell, he opened his eyes to see her as he would wish her to be evermore. Wistful and passionate, besotted with him, her blue eyes spoke of a future of bliss. Could he give it?

He looked down, her breasts free of the garments, the cotton and stays arrayed around her in her lap. He caught up one fabulous orb and put his mouth to her gossamer flesh. He sucked at her nipple, warm, firm and ready.

She groaned, curving up, giving him all she was.

He covered her nipple with one palm and lifted the other to receive the benediction of his lips and tongue and teeth.

She whimpered, hanging on to him with straining hands, her hair, waist length, hanging over her half naked body, as she reveled in his touch. If this is what she lived for, he’d take her every chance he got and never let her out of his sight. The prospect consumed him like an inferno.

He rucked up her skirts. Led her to straddle him. He couldn’t take her. Wouldn’t. That would be crude, ugly, but oh, he needed to give her something more to fill the urge she begged him for.

“Come here, just here,” he urged her, his voice a rasp of violent desire. He knew it might be too much to ask the gods for her to have worn no drawers and if she wore the horrid version with a flap in the back, he’d be stymied for certain in his quest to satisfy her. He slid his hands along her knees and she trembled, her gaze hot and fearful. “Shh. I won’t hurt you. But let me see what you’ve got here that we might dispense with.”

As his fingers caressed her thighs, she stilled. He pressed further and oh, yes, yes. She’d acquired—or someone with intelligence had persuaded her to buy the lingerie that had a long slit between the legs. He could touch her, tend her, massage her and pleasure her.

He slid a finger along her hot, wet passage. Her folds were heavy with desire and silky with need of him. He stroked along her seam easily, lightly. She moaned, her head falling forward to his shoulder. By her sighs, he understood he could claim this essential part of her as his own. “Darling Lily,” he gruffed as he caressed her back and forth over her plump lips, “you are so wonderfully made.”

She moved her hips, offering up her essence into the fullness of his palm.

“Sweet woman.” He swallowed, trying in desperation to quell his heartbeat and summon an expertise he feared had abandoned him. “Let me show you how it can be.”

With one finger, he stroked higher into her core. Flowing with fragrant juices, her body opened for him. He stopped breathing.

“And then there is this,” he whispered and kissed her cheek as he found her delicate nub, pinched it and made her buck. But she stilled and then sank over his fingers, surrendering to more. He kissed her ear, her throat. “Darling Lily, this is what awaits us both.”

And in seconds, she undulated, digging her nail into his shoulders, her body in an arc of sexual triumph while she throbbed around his fingers. This woman, his woman, was that rare beauty who could love and give and feel and never regret a moment’s loss of power.

As she calmed, she sank to him and nestled into the crook of his shoulder. He smoothed her skirts and helped her curl her legs over his lap. He held her, sated but ravenous for her. If he could tame his madness to unbutton his trousers, if he could persuade his cock to wait a few hours for his own fulfillment, he might make it home without becoming a lecherous fool.

Sighing, she stroked the edge of his jaw. “Lord Chelton, I think you lied to me.”

Alarmed he examined her. Had he hurt her? “About what?”

Her dark hair wild around her shoulders, her eyes filled with sensual blue fire, her magnificent breasts bare to him and glowing in the coach lamplight, she teased him, all mischief. “You said doing anything risqué in a coach would be uncomfortable.”

He hugged her tightly to his chest. Relief swam through him. “So, Lady Chelton, what is your assessment of making love in a coach?”

“Oh,” she said, met his gaze with seduction in her look and pressed her thighs together, “I must have another go at it. With you, of course.”

He hooted.