Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)(61)

“Yes,” she said. “Julian, yes. Don’t stop.”

He moaned. She could feel the sound, humming tight around her nipple. The vibrations sent joy shimmering through her veins. Then he pursed his lips and suckled hard, tugging on a cord that seemed to start at her nipple and end right between her thighs. Little bursts of pleasure detonated with every flickering swipe of his tongue. Oh, it was true what everyone said. He was wicked with that mouth. Depraved, and she loved it.

The firm ridge of his manhood pressed against her inner thigh, and she wriggled in his lap to center herself. Now when she ground her hips, his hard length rubbed against her sex—there. Just there, in the perfect place. That perfect, beautiful, necessary place.

His hand tightened on her backside, and he guided her into a rhythm. His hips rode the swaying motions of the cab, lifting and thrusting against her as the wheels rumbled over cobbled streets.

Lily was soaring. Rocketing higher and higher with every wave of delicious sensation.

Oh, dear. Oh, God. She was going to—Right here in the hack, she was going to—

“Julian—”

He gave her no escape. He bucked faster, pressed tighter, suckled harder. Pleasure consumed her. It was too much, too much. Then not quite enough.

And then suddenly, it was everything.

She did not come softly. The climax hit with a spectacular crash of pleasure, receded, then returned with greater power than before. Through it all, he moved against her, relentless, wringing pulse after pulse of ecstasy from her body. For long moments afterward she shuddered with pleasure, then finally went soft with bliss, slumping against his chest.

“Julian, that was …” The mental search for superlatives exhausted her. “I have no words.” She felt certain she must have cried out something as she’d reached her peak, but she couldn’t even muster the energy to blush.

He gathered her in his arms, kissing his way from her breast to her throat. His lips covered hers, and he took her mouth hungrily, thrusting deep with his tongue. Reminding her that while her needs had been satisfied, his had not.

One strong, deft hand went to her thigh, rucking up the heavy folds of her skirts and sliding beneath to skim her stockinged leg and then her bared, still-quivering thigh. She rose up on her knees a little bit, giving him better access. His fingers went straight to her sex. He cupped her mound, petting lightly. His thumb stroked over her engorged, still-sensitive bud, and she trembled with a delicious aftershock. She was flushed with heat and oh-so-damp down there, and his fingers slipped easily between her folds. He slid a finger inside her.

This time, he was the one shuddering. Her intimate muscles embraced the tender invasion, clasping eagerly and drawing him deeper still. The thought flitted across her mind to be embarrassed, but from the increased vigor of his kisses and the throbbing pulse of his arousal against her thigh, she could tell he liked what he felt.

She wanted to feel him, too. She tugged off her gloves and let them fall where they would. Scooting back on his thigh, she reached for the thick bulge tenting his trousers. She stroked him through the fabric with one hand while she sought the buttons of his fall with the other, eager to touch and explore. He’d given her such indescribable pleasure. She wasn’t certain she had the expertise to return the favor in any commensurate magnitude, but she was determined to try. If it took several go-rounds, so be it. It would be no sacrifice.

He kissed her feverishly, delving deeper with his fingers while she set her own shaking hands to the task of working loose buttons. She managed two, then three. Enough to slide her fingers into the gap. Her first impression was that of scorching heat, radiating from his body. She pushed aside the wadded fabric of his tucked shirt. Beneath, she found only skin, sleek and taut. Did he always go without smallclothes? So very naughty. She nipped at his bottom lip, smiling in the dark.

He flinched a little—ticklish, perhaps—when she traced the crease between his thigh and torso. She followed that vulnerable curve to a springy thatch of hair, which felt much like hers. And then a thick, ridged column of heat that was completely different from anything she’d ever touched. She skimmed one fingertip along his length. So curious, how the skin moved with her touch. Like a swatch of rumpled velvet, stretched over steel. She marveled at the idea that this belonged inside her, this hot, intriguing combination of softness and strength.

Suddenly, he tore his mouth from hers. His head dropped back against the seat. His breath came as great clouds of vapor that caught what meager light filtered into the cab.

Yes, this was strength. Not just the quite-evident potency beneath her fingertips, but her feminine power over him. With the restrictive cut of his trouser fall and the fact that she hadn’t loosed all the closures, she couldn’t quite curl her hand around his girth. But she stroked up and down, just lightly, and leaned forward to kiss his neck. And he simply lay there, helpless to resist.

Until the coach stopped, calling a halt to everything.

Lily pressed her forehead to his chest, laughing a little. Well, perhaps it was best they continued from here inside. In a bed.

He withdrew his fingers from her cleft and re-draped the folds of her skirts down over her legs. Then he pulled her hand from his trousers and brought it to his lips for a kiss.

There was a little light now, filtering in from the street lamps. She could just make out her name on his lips, and a few mystery words besides. Sliding off his lap, she fixed her gown as best she could, tucking her well-loved breast back into the cup of her stays. She plucked a hairpin from her upsweep and used it to gather the torn edges of her bodice before Julian alighted and handed her down.