Goddess of the Hunt (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #1)(48)

She was draped over his thigh and writhing in his arms, her fingernails biting into the flesh of his back as he plundered her mouth. Her br**sts rubbed against his chest through the single layer of linen. His hands wandered over the smooth skin of her back, pulling her closer, crushing her deliciously soft body against his hard chest and aching groin. He reached down to cup the firm swell of her backside with both hands and pulled her hips against his.

She gasped, startled. Then she arched against him again, and the gasp became a moan. Jeremy was on fire, and her breathy moan threw brandy on the blaze. He held her to him, kissing her neck and the delectable curve of her bare shoulder. She rocked her hips against him over and over, until her breath came in little pants.

She sought his lips and covered them with her own, and he tasted the desperate question in her kiss. She was racing toward an unknown destination, and she needed him to show her the way. And God, did he want to show her. He would show her just what it was she craved. He would bring her to that peak of pleasure, where no other man had taken her. She would be his and no other’s, and she would know which man had taken her there.

She would say his name.

“Lucy,” he groaned against her mouth. He let one hand slide down her leg.

Mine, he thought, gripping her thigh as she arched against him again. He fisted his hand in the fabric of her skirt, rucking it up to her knee. His hand snaked under the folds of skirt and chemise, curving around her stockinged leg.Mine , he vowed, sliding his fingers up her thigh, to where the rough stocking ended and smooth, supple paradise began. Her flesh quivered under his fingers. She broke away from their kiss and let her head fall against his chest.

“Lucy.” His voice was low and hoarse. “Lucy, look at me.”

She lifted her head, but shadow obscured her face. He couldn’t see her. She couldn’t see him. They were two strangers huddled together in the dark.

He wrapped his hand under her bare thigh and lifted her against him, rolling out from the wardrobe’s dark corner. In one swift move, he reversed their positions, pinning her against the back panel of ebony. Shards of light decorated her face and danced over the tops of her br**sts. She stared into his face, her pupils wide, the green of her eyes nearly eclipsed by black. Her lips were swollen and dusky red.Mine , he thought, taking her mouth in a greedy kiss. She welcomed his tongue with her own, but he pulled away. He wanted to see her face, to watch those beautiful lips as they shaped the syllables of his name.

He slowly lowered her, letting her sink back onto his thigh. She arched against him with a little moan. Then she melted back against the ebony panel, and her eyes fluttered shut. Jeremy moved his hand under her skirt, skimming his fingers over the smooth crest of her thigh. She bit her lip as his fingers traveled slowly up, into moist heat and tight curls. Then his fingers brushed over her mound, and her eyes flew open.

“Yes,” he said, rubbing lightly again. She shuddered, and her breath caught in her throat, but she held his gaze.Yes .

Dear God, it would be so easy. A few buttons, one quick thrust, and she would be his. All his. But as badly as he wanted her—as much as his loins ached and his heart pounded and his whole body shook with desire—he didn’t want her that way. She had to come to him.

She had to come for him.

He worked his fingers against her slowly. “Oh,” she sighed. “Oh, God.”

Mine, he willed silently, sliding a finger into her molten core. Her mouth fell open. Her gaze was pleading.Call my name. Not God’s, or the devil’s, or any man’s in between. Mine .

Through the thick, musky fog of desire, Jeremy was vaguely aware of noises. Muffled noises from without the wardrobe. Footfalls. Voices. But he slid his finger further into her hot, slick sheath, and her little strangled cry was the only noise in the world. She clutched his shoulders tight.

Call my name, he thought.

“Toby,” she squeaked.

He froze. Her fingers dug into his flesh. His finger slid out of hers.

“He’s coming,” she whispered, wriggling out of his embrace. She flattened herself against the back of the wardrobe and hugged her arms over her naked br**sts.

The footsteps came to a halt directly outside the wardrobe.

“And Lucy must be here.” Toby’s voice was muffled by thick panels of ebony, but unmistakable. As was Sophia’s voice asking,

“How do you know?”

“She always hides here,” came the reply. “Come out, Lucy,” Toby called.

Lucy looked to Jeremy, her expression panicked. “Do something!”

Do something. How Jeremy longed to do something. Many things. The first thing was to send his fist crashing through the ebony door, grab Toby by the throat, and strangle him. The second thing was to gather Lucy into his arms and find the hot, slick place where he’d left off. And then the third thing … oh dear Lord, the third thing.

The ebony doors began to swing apart, and a thin crease of light shone through. Jeremy grabbed the bolts that held the door handles in place and yanked the doors shut. He held the bolts in white-knuckled grasps while unseen hands tried again, rattling the doors in their frame.

“That’s odd,” Toby said. “It must be locked.”

The doors stilled, and Jeremy’s grip on the bolts relaxed. Then the crease of light rent the darkness again, and he clutched at the bolts once more. This time, he didn’t dare let go. Not until the footfalls resumed and the voices faded. Not for several moments after that.