Her Reformed Rake (Wicked Husbands #3)(86)

But this was no ordinary night, and nothing about the passion exploding between him and Daisy felt ordinary. It felt deuced incendiary, in fact. If he didn’t sheathe himself inside her in the next minute, he was going to come all over her hand like a lad who’d just seen his first cunny.

And so he swirled her nub, worked it. Ran his finger along her dewy seam, coating his fingers in the evidence that she wanted him every bit as much as he needed to have her. He slicked his digit over her again and again, teasing at her entrance, sucking her nipple, paying attention to the soft sounds of appreciation she hummed, the way she angled her hips to gain more sensation.

Daisy was near to reaching her pinnacle. Her breathing was coming in fast gasps, her body arching from the bed. Finally, he returned to the pearl he’d originally sought, exerting greater pressure, working her into a fine frenzy. And then he sank a finger deep inside her sheath, testing her, teasing her. Wet. So hot and wet and… damn it, everything in him clamored for more. He hooked his finger, pressing against the most sensitive part of her, fucking her in slow, deep thrusts.

He released her nipple, dragging himself back up her lithe body to her mouth. And he kissed her as though she was everything to him, his life source, and he couldn’t get enough.

In that stark, mad moment, she was.

Their tongues tangled, and she shuddered against him, more wetness flooding his already drenched fingers as she came. He took her cries with his mouth and swallowed them, his forever.

There was no time to shuck his shirt. Not enough patience to even pull down his trousers and smalls. He guided his cock to her slick entrance. He forced everything—her betrayal, what would come tomorrow—from his mind. In one swift thrust, he was inside her to the hilt. She was so damn tight, her body wet and hot and so bloody decadent that it took his breath away.

“Sebastian,” she cried out, drawing him deeper, her body clenching on his as though she would never let him go.

He didn’t want her to, damn it all. He surged inside her, again and again until he jerked himself from her, exploding onto the bed coverings.

Dynamite.

How the hell could he ever let her go?





aisy flinched as the door joining their chambers slammed.

He didn’t believe her, even after what they’d just shared. The moment he’d rolled away from her and righted his clothing, his expression impassive, she’d known. She’d created a chasm, and it threatened to engulf them both.

A part of her wanted to rail against him for so easily doubting her. But part of her knew that if she wanted his honesty and his trust, she would need to meet him halfway. She wanted the truth from him, wanted him to lower the walls he’d erected around himself, for the sake of their marriage but most importantly for the sake of their child.

Knowing what she needed to do, she rose from the bed and took up a dressing gown, belting it at her waist. Her feet carried her to the door he’d just closed. She didn’t knock, didn’t hesitate before turning the knob and crossing the threshold. This distance between them had to end.

He stood at the window, his back to her. The curtains he’d drawn back were clenched so tightly in his fist that his knuckles were white.

“Get out,” his deep voice cut into the silence, the only acknowledgment he’d made of her presence.

“No.” She didn’t stop until she was so near to him that his familiar scent hit her and she flattened her palm against his shoulder. “Look at me, Sebastian.”

He tensed beneath her touch but remained otherwise immobile. “I can’t bloody well look at you.”

Had she thought he would bend? When had he ever? Her chest grew tight as she recalled the charmed fortnight they’d spent together. Laughing with him. Loving with him. A one thirty-second Your Grace. The library’s worth of books he’d had delivered to her door. A favorite for a favorite. Those two weeks had been the best she’d ever known. She wanted that life with him back, wanted him back. Forever.

“Padraig McGuire was here because of my sister,” she told him softly. “I have a half sister, Bridget. She works—worked—at a milliner’s shop here in London. A few months ago, she left without word. Padraig had information about her. That and that alone is why I received his calls.”

Sebastian whipped about, his face carved in hard, grim lines that did nothing to detract from his startling looks. Even in his rage, he was beautiful. “Padraig?”

She took a step back from him, wincing at his furious tone and harsh expression. “Mr. McGuire. I’ve known him for several years, Sebastian, and yes I was betrothed to him once. But I was young and foolish and desperate to escape my father. There is nothing between us now, nor has there been since our engagement was broken.”

A muscle ticked in his cheek. “Do you love him?”

“Of course not.” Giving in to the need to touch him again, she moved nearer, reaching up to cup the rigid set of his jaw. When he didn’t withdraw from her touch, a brief flutter of optimism beat in her breast. “I love you.”

He was silent for so long she feared he wouldn’t speak. His eyes devoured her, hungrily raking her face and lower, dipping to her mouth. “Damn you,” he whispered.

“No, my love.” She glided her palm over the prickly stubble of his whiskers, caressing him. “Damn you for leaving. Why did you go? Where? Tell me, please. I want to understand. Let me in, Sebastian. Let me love you.”