The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(16)

Perhaps her lack of experience could work to her advantage. Perhaps she could gain an education without tipping her hand. She knew from hearing maids talk that men also pleasured themselves. Would he show her, if she encouraged him?

She blurted the words. “You could give yourself relief.”

He paused in pouring more champagne. “I could,” he said slowly, examining her expression. “Is that something you’d like to see?”

Absolutely. How else was she to learn about the male anatomy? “I would. Very much.” When he seemed to hesitate, she added, “Please.”

“Please, is it?” He ran his palm over the thick bulge in his trousers, then shuddered, his breath sawing out of his chest. “How could I refuse?”

Fascinated, she watched as he unbuttoned his clothes to reveal his erection. Katherine had seen genitalia in paintings and sculptures, but absolutely none of those had looked like this. This was thick and smooth, the mushroom-shaped head flushed red, with veins running along the side. How beautiful he was . . .

“Spread your legs wider,” he rasped as he began to pump the shaft. Standing directly above her, he kept his gaze locked on her lower half.

Oh. The idea of him staring at her bare sex while he touched himself should have embarrassed her, but it did the opposite. Bumps broke out along her skin as heat bloomed in her belly, and she slowly widened her thighs, revealing herself, still swollen and wet from his mouth. A raw, desperate sound rumbled out of his chest, almost as if seeing her was too much, and she put the reaction to memory, to replay in her mind later when she was alone.

Reaching up, he placed his free hand on the ceiling to steady himself as he continued to work, fist flying over the head of his cock. Goodness, he was tall. Though most of him was covered, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. He was riveting, glorious, the long planes of his body straining with his pleasure. His chest heaved, his movements slowing slightly—and then his hips jerked unsteadily, thick white ropes of spend erupting from the head of his shaft to land onto her drawers and stomach. It went on and on, the release coating her, like he was marking her.

“Oh, fuck,” he shouted, his back bowing. “Goddamn it.”

Finally his shoulders slumped and his strokes grew gentler, until he gave a final twitch and finished. Sakes alive, what an astounding performance. Women should line up and pay to watch him do that. She bit her lip and stared at his softening erection, amazed at what she’d seen. What did the skin feel like?

“Wait,” he said through his labored breathing. “Don’t move. I’ll clean you up.”



He’d lost his mind. This woman made him more aroused, more desperate, than he’d been in years. In recent memory Preston couldn’t recall a time when he had come so fast and with such enthusiasm. The woman’s stomach was drenched with it, in fact—a primitive display he had no business enjoying as much as he did.

With shaking hands, he tucked himself away and closed the breeches of his costume. Finding a handkerchief in his coat pocket, he went to wet it at the water pitcher, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from his reclining companion. Everything about the moment was truly debauched, from her posture and the spend coating her body, to the uninhibited noises coming from the ball around them. He loved it.

She was surprising, this woman. It was perfect, her insistence to keep up their little ruse with no pressure or hint at more. Christ, it had been ages since he was with a woman without the trappings of his name dragging along behind him. Those of gentle breeding hoped for a match, while the rest hoped for access to his bank accounts.

Yet this sweet creature hadn’t wanted anything more than his hands and mouth, her response so eager and genuine, almost innocent, that he’d become lost in the moment, delirious with desire. He’d tugged himself off right in front of her, for God’s sake, unable to deny her request. He hadn’t been so frantic, so ravenous, in quite a while, the taste of her driving him absolutely mad.

Kneeling between her legs, he cleaned her off, the scent of the encounter hanging heavily in the air, and he knew once would never be enough. He needed her undressed, naked and spread out beneath him, those big brown eyes looking up at him as he thrust inside her slick channel, riding her until they both came.

Merely imagining it was enough to get him hard again.

Would it be so terrible to see her after this? If he could keep their encounters casual, away from his real life?

When he finished his task, he tossed the handkerchief away and helped her sit up. Her fingers were slender and delicate in his own, and he was reluctant to let her go. He dropped onto the sofa and kept hold of her hand. “Did you enjoy that?”

“I did, actually. Twice.”

He chuckled. Yes, he’d felt her climax each time, her body locking up, then quivering uncontrollably. He loved women and loved pleasuring them even more. “I enjoyed it, too. Very much.” He plunged ahead, the need to have her again overriding all his good sense. “Would you be interested in a repeat performance, then? At a hotel, perhaps?”

“Tonight?”

“If you wish.”

She chewed her lip, her gaze serious. Unfortunately, thanks to her mask, he couldn’t truly judge her expression. Finally, his reinette shook her head. “I can’t. I’m here with a friend.”

“Another night, then. We can arrange to meet somewhere private.”