Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(75)

“Perhaps there’s nothing to tell,” he murmured, apparently unmoved. “Perhaps my actions are on a whim only. Perhaps I’ve never loved another human being in my life. Perhaps I can’t.”

She stared at him, feeling wounded, feeling weary. “I don’t believe you. All people can love.”

He threw back his head and laughed, not at all nicely. “All? What a very childish thing to say. Do whores love? Do murderers? Tell me, does the man who raped your sister feel love?”

She was across the carriage before she thought about it, flailing at his neck, shoulder, and face, anywhere she could reach. “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”

He caught her flying wrists deftly. “I’m sorry. I know what you want me to say, but I can’t give you that. I can only give you this.”

And he wrapped his black cape about her like the wings of a bird and kissed her.

Chapter Fourteen

King Lockedheart turned to Meg, his eyebrow cocked in challenge.

But Meg merely said, “This is not love.”

“And what is it, then, fair Meg?”

Meg’s lips twitched as she hid a smile. “Lust, Your Majesty. Your concubines lust after you.”

The king swore loudly, making the blue bird flutter on her perch. “Away with you again, Meg. And be sure to wear a gown more befitting a throne room when next I call for you.”

Meg curtsied. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but I only have the clothes upon my back and no others.”

“See to it that she is properly attired,” King Lockedheart commanded, and once again Meg was led back to the dungeons….

—from King Lockedheart

Temperance struggled against Lazarus even as he shoved his tongue into her mouth. Her rage was desperate, baffling, and she wanted to scream and weep at the same time. Why couldn’t he feel? Why couldn’t he love? Why couldn’t he give her what she needed?

But his mouth was heavy on hers, his lips drugging. She found herself grasping at him instead of trying to free herself. If he would not let her go, then she’d take from him as he took from her.

She knocked his hat to the floor of the carriage, speared her fingers through the silver threads of his hair, dislodging his ribbon. She loved his hair, gloried in the shining silken strands. She fisted her hands in his hair and tugged, pulling his head back. He groaned as their kiss was broken, then groaned again as she slid her open mouth down his throat. She didn’t care if she was causing him pain. His skin was cool from the night air, salty and sweet. She licked him, tasting, wanting to bite. Wanting to devour this man she could neither let go nor fully possess.

She opened her mouth over the tendon at the side of his neck and bit down hard.

He cursed, the sound loud in the carriage. He took her head between his palms as if to forcibly dislodge her, but then abandoned the attack. Instead his hands were suddenly at her skirts, pushing, shoving them upward as he continued to curse steadily.

She clutched at his shoulders to keep her balance as he jostled her, bringing her legs to either side of his hips. She could feel her skirts up around her waist, but she had her eyes closed, savoring the taste of his flesh in her mouth. He fumbled between their bodies, his hands knocking against her bare inner thighs, and one corner of her mind wondered if he really thought he could accomplish anything in this close space.

And then she felt his naked erection probing.

She opened her eyes and reared back, staring at him in shock.

He watched her, his eyes silently locked with hers as he guided himself between their bodies. She felt as he rubbed her lips, felt as he found her entrance, felt as he lodged his head there.

Felt as he paused.

She looked at him, balanced atop his cock, only the barest tip inside her. She was empty and waiting.

“You do it,” he rasped.

She blinked, as if coming out of a daze, glancing about them. They were in a moving carriage, for goodness’ sake.

“No.” He laid one palm against her cheek, turning her face to look at him again. “It’s far too late for doubts. Stay with me. Put me in you.”

“But…”

He slid his hand up until his fingers were right against her feminine flesh.

Her eyes widened.

He held her gaze as he deliberately circled the part of herself that was holding him, then moved up and pinched her clitoris between thumb and forefinger.

She gasped.

“Temperance,” he whispered, a dark, sexual devil. “Temperance, make love to me.”

She arched her back, feeling his cock, large and insistent, those fingers, assured and relentless. This was wrong, so wrong, and it felt so very, very good.

“Temperance,” he whispered, sliding his left thumb across her mouth as he rubbed his right against her clitoris.

She opened her mouth, licking his thumb.

“Temperance.”

Her hips bucked, once, twice. Her head fell back even as she drenched his penis in her orgasm. She opened her eyes as she came, watching him beneath lowered lids. His face was drawn, his mouth a tight, tortured line.

“Don’t keep me in suspense,” he said.

But she was wild now, a being without thought other than to fulfill her body’s desires. She watched him, half smiling, as she swiveled her hips, teasing him and herself.

He moaned. “Temperance.”

The carriage jolted over a rut in the road, and she let the movement bear her down on him, let him enter her an inch or two.