Notorious Pleasures (Maiden Lane #2)(67)

She bit her lip.

He braced one hand on the door and lowered his head to whisper against her lips. “Now.”

And his cock breached her.

There was a tiny pinch, a stretching. She watched him swallow, his strong throat working. His mouth pulled in a slight grimace; there were white lines at the corners of his lips. He pushed again. She opened her mouth in a silent gasp as he invaded her another couple of inches.

The door thumped against her back.

Hero squeaked in alarm. Griffin slipped his palm over her mouth and leaned hard into the door. She looked at him, her eyes wide. He shook his head.

“I say, the door won’t open,” came a slurred male voice from outside.

A feminine giggle was the reply.

The door thumped again, which had the effect of driving Hero’s hips hard against Griffin. His cock slid exquisitely against her, seating him fully, his pelvis brushing hers.

“Shall I try again?” the male voice asked.

Griffin leaned his full weight on her and the door, his legs braced, his head beside hers, his forehead against the wood of the door. She was spread wide, helplessly open and impaled upon his strong flesh, waiting to see if they’d be discovered.

The door gave another shudder, actually opening a crack. Griffin lunged into her hard and slammed the door back shut. Hero closed her eyes, close, so close, to ecstasy.

“Damn me, we’ll find another room, shall we?” the man without said.

Footsteps tromped away.

He didn’t move, holding her up, still impaled, still arched against him. They breathed together, their chests moving as one. Slowly, so very slowly, his hand drifted down from the door. He brushed over the tops of her breasts, lightly, almost casually.

She waited, her hand on his neck, feeling the animal heat of him. He burrowed beneath her skirts and traced leisurely up her thigh, toward her center, toward that point where he was joined with her. She turned her head and took his earlobe between her teeth. He circled, delicately, almost too lightly, his fingers trailing through her folds stretched wide. He reached the apex of her sex and spread his hand, pressing down quite explicitly on her clitoris.

And she jerked, hard and hot, falling from a great height, the wind whistling past her ears, glorious in her descent.

He arched away from her and pulled his cock partway out, then slammed it back into her, rough and fast and relentless. He thrust in and out in short, jerky, controlled movements, never so hard as to rattle the door, never so soft as to let her down from her fall from on high.

She wanted to scream, wanted to shout aloud with joy. This rapid energy was too much, was not enough. She wanted him to continue forever. She bit, gently, precisely, on his earlobe and his mechanical rhythm stuttered. He jerked, arched, jerked again and then thrust one last time, holding himself deep within her.

She felt heat flood her insides.

His breath was loud and harsh in her ear, and she amused herself by licking his earlobe. Then, moving slowly, he unwrapped her legs from his waist and set them on the floor.

She leaned against the door, catching her breath, watching with half-closed eyes as he took out a handkerchief and cleaned himself. How had she become so wanton in the span of less than a day?

He glanced up and saw her watching him. Deliberately, he held out the handkerchief. “My lady?”

She should have felt shame or even degradation, but instead it seemed a curiously intimate gesture. She took his handkerchief and, reaching under her skirts, wiped his semen from her thighs. She let her skirts fall and stood holding the soiled cloth, unsure of what to do with it.

He finished buttoning his breeches and took the cloth from her fingers, folding it and slipping it into his coat pocket. He twitched at her skirts, straightening them carefully as she stood there, as complacent as a child. Griffin caught her eye, reaching gravely to push a lock of hair behind her ear.

“There,” he whispered almost sadly. “Your toilet is done, my Lady Perfect. No one will ever know how I’ve despoiled you. You are as lovely as ever.”

She swallowed and leaned her head back against the door. “You’ve never called me lovely before.”

“Haven’t I?” he asked lightly. He turned away, glancing about the room, presumably to make sure there was no evidence left behind. He looked back at her, his wide mouth curled at the corner. “Perhaps I never found the need with Thomas constantly praising your beauty.”

“He does it by rote,” she said. “Do you?”

“No,” he murmured, and touched her hair lightly. “Nothing I do with you is ever rote.”

Her heart gave a pang then. What was he telling her? She inhaled to say something—what she wasn’t sure—but his hand fell, and he stepped back, executing a graceful bow.

His face wore a polite mask when he said, “The usual thing in these instances is for the lady to leave first. I’ll wait an appropriate amount of time before following you so that we are not seen together.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling suddenly naive, “of course.”

Hero smoothed her skirts one last time and peeked out the door. The dim hallway was deserted. She looked over her shoulder at Griffin, feeling as if she should say something, wanting to say something.

He cocked an amused eyebrow at her.

Well, she could play the sophisticate, too. She inhaled and sailed forth, moving without hurry. She was new to this type of subterfuge, but it seemed sensible to appear unruffled. She walked to the end of the hall, took another breath, and slipped into the ballroom.