Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners #2)(78)

“I’ll teach you, then.” His gaze traveled from her head to her toes in a single hot sweep. And then he astonished her by murmuring, “Take off your gown.”

“What?” She shook her head, bemused. “Here? Now?”

“Here and now,” he affirmed softly. He relaxed back in the chair, propping one foot on the stepping board. The wicked challenge in his eyes was unmistakable.

Sophia regarded him uncertainly. Although she was by no means inhibited, she was hesitant to remove her clothes in a strange house in the middle of the day, with sunlight streaming through the uncurtained windows. Cautious but amenable, she started at the fastening at the neck of her gown. “What if we are interrupted?”

“The house is empty.”

“Yes, but what if one of the footmen comes in here to ask something?”

“They know better.” He watched her hands alertly as she fumbled with her bodice. “Do you need help with that?”

Sophia shook her head, feeling excruciatingly self-conscious as she stepped out of her shoes. She unfastened her dress, let it fall to the floor, and unhooked the front of her light corset. When that, too, was discarded, she was left in her knee-length chemise, cotton drawers, and stockings. A brilliant blush spread up to her hairline as she reached for the hem of the chemise and pulled it up to her waist. Pausing, she glanced at Ross’s intent face.

“Go on,” he encouraged.

She felt like a wanton, standing before him like one of the women who were paid to assume seductive poses at some of London’s choice brothels. “If you were not my husband, I wouldn’t do this,” she said, and stripped off the chemise in a sudden decisive motion.

A smile played on his lips. “If you were not my wife, I wouldn’t ask you to.” His gaze moved over her na**d upper body, lingering on the curves of her br**sts and the rosy peaks of her ni**les. His breathing changed noticeably, and his fingers twitched as they rested on the arm of the chamber horse. “Walk to me—no, don’t cover yourself.”

Sophia came to stand before him, gooseflesh rising on her skin as he touched her shoulder with a feathery stroke of his fingertips. His warm hand moved downward, tracing the shape of her breast, his thumb brushing over the nipple. She felt him pull at the tapes of her drawers, and they slid over her h*ps and down to the floor. Stepping out of them, she reached for her garters and stockings, but he caught her wrist.

“No,” he said, his voice slightly raspy. “I like the way you look in your stockings.”

Her gaze stole to the obvious bulge in his trousers. “Apparently so.”

He grinned and exerted more tension on her wrist, pulling her forward. “Climb onto my lap.”

Carefully she placed her stockinged foot on the stepping board; his hands clamped on her waist and lifted. She collapsed onto his lap in a giggling heap, her arms linking around his neck. The chair creaked loudly, and they sank downward several inches. “This isn’t going to work,” Sophia exclaimed, laughing uncontrollably.

“Cooperate,” he said sternly, his eyes smiling.

“Yes, sir.” Feigning meek obedience, she let him arrange her legs on either side of his lap, until her thighs were spread wide and she was left utterly vulnerable.

Gradually the giggles died in her throat. “Are you going to remove your clothes?” she asked, jumping a little as his hands slid to her bare bottom.

He cupped her and lifted her body upward. “No.”

“But I want—”

“Shhh.” He took her nipple into his mouth, drawing with sweet, hot suction. At the same time his fingers wandered high inside her thigh, until the backs of his knuckles brushed across the patch of protective curls. Every time she moved, the chamber horse bounced gently, forcing her to wrap her arms around his neck for balance.

His finger slipped inside her and stroked until she was wet and throbbing. Closing her eyes against the dazzle of sunlight from the window, Sophia rested her cheek on his thick hair. As he suckled her breast, the scratch of his beard abraded her moist flesh.

Too impassioned to wait, she reached down and tugged at the fastenings of his trousers. He caught her fumbling fingers and pushed them away. “Let me do it,” he said with a soft laugh, “before you tear off the buttons.”

Panting, she pressed closer to him as he unfastened the row of buttons and freed his swollen erection. With a soothing murmur, Ross positioned her over his hips, canting them to just the right angle. She sank down eagerly, gasping as he filled her completely. Her hands clutched at the fabric of his coat, fingertips digging into the smooth broadcloth.

“Hold onto me,” he whispered. When she had wrapped herself around him, he picked his feet up from the stepping board and let the chamber-horse seat drop several inches in a sudden electrifying jolt. The movement forced Sophia harder onto the hilt of his shaft, and she whimpered in pleasure.

Ross smiled as he stared into her wide, unfocused eyes. Color burnished the edges of his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, and sweat misted his skin. His thighs went taut as he braced his feet on the board once more, then let them drop again. “Is this all right?” he murmured. “Is it too much?”

“No,” she gulped. “Do it again.”

Obligingly he began a bouncing motion that elicited a rhythmic squeak from the chamber horse. Air rushed from the contraction and expansion of the cushions like the sighing of fireplace bellows. Sophia held on tightly, her body gripping his intimately. Each drop of the seat caused the stiff, thick shaft to push harder inside her, again, again, until the stroking, grinding motion caused her to convulse in a release that had no end.