A Week to Be Wicked (Spindle Cove #2)(92)

“Well, we must have some distraction in the meantime.” She perked. “I know. Let’s list naughty-sounding mathematical terms.” In her most tarty, breathy voice, she whispered, “Parabola.”

After a pause, his fingers squeezed hers. “Tessellation.”

“Binomial.”

“Why stop there? Trinomial.”

“Now that’s just wicked.”

“That’s nothing. I’ve been saving this one.” He leaned close to whisper in her ear. “Annulus.”

Laughing, she crawled into his lap. “Oh, Colin. This is why I love you.”

His hands went to her waist. “For God’s sake. Because my adolescent mind always wandered to ribald places when I should have been attending my studies?”

She shrugged. “Did I need a better reason?”

“I should think so. Yes.” His brow met hers, and his voice dropped to a raw whisper. “That’s why I’m here, Min. You must know that’s why. You need a much better reason to love me, and I’m trying like hell to give you one.”

Dear, foolish man. By shifting her weight and pulling at her skirts, she managed to straddle his lap. “Just kiss me.”

Framing his face in her hands, she brushed her lips against his. Then he kissed her back, fierce and deep. Their tongues tangled and played.

She guided his hand to her breast. He moaned into her mouth as he cupped and kneaded, smoothing his palm over the fabric-cloaked bud of her nipple. Their kisses became greedy, urgent. He ravaged her mouth with his lips and tongue, and she gave back as good as he gave.

The firm ridge of his arousal announced itself, thrusting against her inner thigh. His free hand found her backside and grabbed tight, grinding her pelvis against his.

“Yes.” She sat back to loosen her bodice. “Yes. Make love to me.”

“Min, I want . . .” He worked for breath as he pushed up her skirts. “Jesus, I can’t be gentle right now. I can’t make love to you. I can’t.”

She whimpered with disappointment, pressing her body to his. She needed him so badly, and she could feel the significant proportions of his need for her. He couldn’t say no.

His sweaty brow pressed against her neck. He licked, then nipped the top of her breast. “You deserve sweet, tender love. A man who’ll give you anything you desire. But right now, what I want is to take. To take you hard and fast and wild enough to light up the whole damn night.”

His fingers delved under her petticoats and found her sex, plunging deep without preliminary.

She gasped. She was so ready for him, his fingers slipped right in.

“Can I . . .” He pushed deeper, grunting. “Will you . . .”

“Yes,” she managed. “Yes.”

He withdrew his fingers and began fumbling with the buttons of his breeches falls. “Say it. I need to know you understand, that you’re fully willing.”

She wasn’t merely willing. She was wanting, desperately.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Take me.”

Arousal rushed through her. She actually felt herself go damp and pink.

“Take me,” she said louder, this time owning the words. Owning the wildness that was a part of her, too. “Take me. Now.”

He positioned himself and entered her on a hard, almost painful thrust. She cried out with the joy of it. With fierce digs of his hips, he worked deeper still. Her pelvis banged his, and the entire post-chaise jounced and rattled on its springs.

“Oh, God. Minerva. I don’t deserve you. You’re so good. So hot and so wet and so very, very good to me. Clever, foolish, lovely thing.”

Good Lord, did the man never stop talking? Minerva didn’t want to converse right now. She just wanted . . . deeper. Harder. More.

She caught his earlobe between her teeth and growled, spreading her legs to draw him closer still. He clutched her hips and pumped wildly, guiding her up and down his length. She rode his thrusts with abandon, bracing one arm against the carriage roof for better leverage. They clung to each other with teeth and nails, making harsh, snarling, animal sounds.

The whole coach bucked and swayed with their frantic rhythm. The square windowpane fogged over with the heat of their passion.

Her eyelids fluttered closed, blocking out what daylight remained. His arousing words became inarticulate grunts. Their rhythm took on a power of its own, became a force unto itself.

In his arms, she was speechless, helpless, heedless, mindless. She knew nothing but sensation. Nothing but him.

When the climax hit her, she gave a helpless, keening cry of joy. Pleasure racked her body. He withdrew from her all too soon, growling curses and blessings and spurting warmth against her thigh.

“Min.” His hot, openmouthed kisses covered her face and throat. His voice was raw with emotion. “Min, don’t ever leave me.”

She laced her arms around his neck. “Colin, I—”

A loud, brittle snap interrupted her. Followed by a creak of metal and a shivering, shuddering moan.

And then they were falling. Falling in each other’s arms, as the whole post-chaise toppled to the side.

“Oh no.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

Together, they slid to the end of the bench, slamming against the wall of the post-chaise. Then the wall became the floor, as the whole business tipped on its side.