Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(51)

He glanced through the peephole and turned to her, drawing her close. “No. Take a look.”

She shook her head, but her resistance was weak as he guided her to the wall. He knew the moment she saw what was within, for her whole body went taut. She faced the wall, away from him, and he moved behind her.

He bent his head close to her ear. “What do you see?”

She trembled but was mute.

Not that he needed her words to know what was in the room beyond. He’d seen it all when he’d looked: a man and a woman, the man entirely naked, the woman still wearing a chemise. The woman knelt at the man’s feet, his tool between her lips.

“Do you like it?” he whispered. “Does it arouse you?”

He felt her tremble against him, a hare within the hawk’s grasp. She was so proper on the surface, but he knew, in a part of him beyond mind and spirit, that she had carnal depths that she struggled to hide. He wanted to explore those depths. Bring them to the light of day and revel in them. They were as much a part of her as the gold flecks in her eyes, and he longed to feast upon her cravings.

“Come, let us see what else there is to see.” He took her hand, less resisting now, and led her to the second peephole. A quick glance proved the room was empty.

But the next certainly was not.

“Look,” he murmured, pressing her to the wall with his body. “What do you see?”

She shook her head, but she whispered nonetheless, “He’s… taking her from behind.”

“Like a stallion covering a mare,” he said low, his body hard against hers.

She nodded jerkily.

“Do you like it?”

But she refused to reply to that.

He drew her away, checking at the next little hole, the one Mistress Pansy had sent them to view. The sight within made him swallow convulsively. He turned and guided Mrs. Dews to the hole without a word. He knew the moment she understood. Her body stilled and the hand clutching his squeezed hard.

He moved behind her, covering and pressing her to the wall so that there was no escape possible. She was warm and soft beneath his larger body.

“What do you see?” he breathed against her ear.

She shook her head, but he took both her hands, spreading them wide against the wall, his own hands covering hers. He felt his cock, thick and throbbing, pressing against the fall of his breeches, pressing into her soft backside.

“Tell me,” he demanded.

Her swallow was audible in the quiet of the dark passage. “The woman is beautiful. She has red hair and white skin.”

“And?”

“And she’s naked and tied to the bed.”

“How?” He smoothed his mouth against her neck. Her scent was strong this close, the scent of a woman. He wished he could cast off the plain white cap she wore, tear the pins from her hair, and bury his face in her tresses. “Tell me how.”

“Her hands are above her head, tied together to the top of the bed.” Her voice was throaty, low and sensuous. “Her legs are spread apart, her ankles tied to the posts at the end of the bed. She’s quite naked and her… her…” She gulped, unable to voice the word.

“Her cunny?” he drawled against her cheek. His hips surged instinctively against her at the word, as if seeking out that part of her.

“Yes, that. She’s completely exposed.” She whimpered as he licked the side of her throat.

“And?” he prompted.

“Oh!” She took a breath as if to steady herself. “She has a scarf tied over her eyes.”

“The man?”

“He’s tall and dark, and he’s completely dressed; even his wig is still in place.”

He smiled against her skin, grinding his hips into her bottom. He would raise her skirt right now, seek that soft, wet place at her center, if he was not sure it would draw her from her trance.

“What is he doing?” He bit gently on her ear.

She gasped. “He’s kneeling between her legs and he’s—Oh, God!”

He chuckled darkly. “He’s worshipping her cunny, isn’t he? He’s tonguing her, kissing her, licking right through her pink lips, tasting her essence.”

She moaned and pressed back against him—but not in escape. Her bottom rubbed his hard cock, and triumph leapt within him.

He tongued her ear, licking around the delicate outer edge. “Would you like that? Would you like my mouth against your center, my tongue against your bud? I’d lick you there, tasting you, savoring you, until you bucked beneath me, but I wouldn’t let you go. I’d hold you down, your thighs widespread, your cunny open to me, and I’d lick you until you came over and over.”

She struggled against him then, half turning in his grasp, and he bent and kissed her hard, his mouth grinding hers open, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as savagely as he wanted to thrust his cock into her body. God! He was in danger of coming in his breeches, and he didn’t give a damn. She was finally breaking, his little martyr, and her surrender was sweeter than any honey.

He jammed his leg between hers, high so that she was forced to ride him. He caught at her skirts, yanking them up, his entire being on but one goal. He no longer cared where they were, who she was, and who he was and his own damnable past. All he wanted was her warm, wet flesh around him. Now.