The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(40)

His hand slid down to cup her breast and she lost her train of thought. Arching her back, she pressed the aching mound into his palm, cursing the cloth and whalebone that prevented a more thorough exploration. When he broke off from her mouth, his dark whisper filled the humid interior. “Will you show me?”

“Show you?”

His teeth captured her earlobe and bit down, sending a shower of sparks racing through her limbs. Sweet heavens, that felt amazing.

“Have you already forgotten?” he said against her skin. “You said you would tell me what you do while recounting that list late at night.”

Oh, he wanted those details, as well? “You’d like to hear about how I slide my hand—”

“No,” he interrupted. “I want you to show me. I need to see things with my own eyes to understand them.”

“Liar. You’re a developer, a visionary.” She threaded her fingers through his thick hair, needing to hold on to him. “You merely wish for me to entertain you, as I did in the club.”

“I told you I’m terrible.”

“It doesn’t matter, because I can’t possibly do that here.” In a moving carriage? In the daylight? In front of another person? She would die of embarrassment first.

“Why not? I pleasured myself in front of you at the ball. Come on, mon chaton. Show me.”

True, but still. It was different for women, wasn’t it? As if to prove her wrong, her clitoris throbbed, begging for attention, and her skin grew itchy and hot with unfulfilled desire. “Preston . . .” She let her voice trail off, not certain what to even say.

He quickly removed the glove from her right hand, then moved to the other seat and faced her. “It’s just me, Kat, and I’ve already seen your gorgeous pussy. There’s no reason not to give us both what we want. Won’t it feel good to stroke yourself and come all over your fingers? Ease that terrible ache in your belly?”

Oh, God. Yes, it definitely would.

He didn’t stop, the cad. “There’s no reason to wait until you’re alone tonight in your bedroom. You can pleasure yourself right here and I’ll talk to you the entire time. Show me how you pet yourself, reinette. Please.”

Was she considering this?

You wanted to be bold. You wanted to cavort.

True, and the way he was staring at her, with dark expectation and salacious hope, would’ve enticed the most pious woman to dance with the devil. As if whatever happened here was their secret, no one else’s, and he needed this more than his next breath. The thought of holding his attention, of being what he needed, what he craved, caused her chest to flutter. Brazenness came over her, the same brash and bold sensation as when she followed him to his box at the ball or danced for him onstage.

It was the need to crack his hard exterior, dig past the mistrust and suspicion and see him undone once more.

Ever so slowly, her fingers twitched and curled, gathering layers of fabric in her hand.



Preston held his breath until his chest burned with the need for air. He didn’t care. Katherine was actually going to do this, and he held still, not wanting to risk this performance by scaring her.

She was so beautiful, so natural and pure. The pressure in his groin was nearly unbearable from hearing her whisper the list of things she recollected at night. Yet he didn’t move as her skirts drifted higher.

This was entirely about her.

Afternoon light slashed through the interior, across her fine features, revealing the tiny lines between her brows. That wouldn’t do. He wanted her relaxed and totally engaged in the moment, with nothing on her mind but her own pleasure.

Licking his dry lips, he said, “That’s it, just a bit higher. Get all that heavy fabric out of the way.”

She complied, wriggling her hips a bit on the seat. The cotton and lace of her drawers emerged as more of her skirts gathered at her waist. Her breath came fast, chest rising and falling, clear evidence of her excitement. Was she wet? The desire to discover the answer, to see her glistening quim, had him panting like a schoolboy.

I promise I’ll leave her alone.

He hadn’t broken his promise to Kit, not really. Preston wasn’t touching her at the moment. Yes, he’d kissed her moments ago, but that was as far as he’d take their physical interaction. He would keep to the opposite seat and watch, then drop her at home and forget all this ever happened.

Katherine’s skirts finally reached her middle, revealing long legs covered in delicate fabric, her thighs tucked firmly closed. She waited, her gaze fixed on the empty seat in front of her, so Preston took this as his cue to give her an out. “Kat,” he said gently. “If you don’t want to do this, I’ll understand.”

“I want to,” she breathed. “I just . . . well, I thought you were going to tell me what to do.”

His blood ignited and fire raced to his balls. Christ, this woman and her games. He could easily become addicted to this.

He wrapped his fingers around the bench beneath him as he leaned in slightly. “Hold your skirts out of the way with one hand so I can see you. Now, slide your thighs open slowly. Show me how wet and swollen you are.”

The gap between her knees widened as she moved them apart, and the slit between her drawers revealed her mound, the pale skin of her thighs. She kept going, opening her legs, until he could see the petals of her sex, glistening in the daylight.