The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(42)

She obliged him, her hips lifting to meet the movement, chasing the pleasure just as she would if he were fucking her. A moan escaped her throat to join the slick sounds of her channel, an obscene sound that was music to his ears.

“Shall I open the windows?” he asked. “So that everyone on the street can hear your cries?”

“Oh, God,” she squeaked, her fingers shoving in as she pressed her palm to her clit. “Please, I can’t take it.”

He took pity on her. “Now, my gorgeous girl. Stir your button with two fingers and make yourself come.”

She didn’t hesitate, too far gone to feel any reticence whatsoever. Fingers coated in her wetness flew to the top of her sex and worked, circling, brushing, while her face slackened in pure bliss. He needed to see the exact moment when the pleasure crested.

“Open your eyes. Look at me, Kat.”

Her lids lifted, and her eyes met his. Her pupils were so wide that her gaze was nearly black. The lines of her face sharpened, her body tightening, and then it happened. She never looked away, instead letting him see every second of her orgasm as it washed over her, her limbs trembling against the leather. Soft moans enveloped them both, the sound of her climax like a caress to his balls, and he drank in the sight, committing it to memory.

This was definitely his number one.

Finally, she slumped into the upholstery, her hand moving to her knee but otherwise remaining perfectly still. Her eyes closed again, but he couldn’t wait a second more. “Give me your fingers,” he rasped.

She cracked one eyelid to peek at him. “What?”

Gesturing to the hand that had just been between her legs, he repeated, “Give me your fingers.”

Her brows knitted but she lifted her hand. He leaned in and grasped her wrist, bringing her closer until he could suck her two fingers into his mouth. The taste of her arousal flooded his senses and coated his tongue, and his eyes closed in pure bliss. Christ, he loved it.

Thoroughly, he cleaned her skin, making sure to get every hint of her moisture. He longed to lick it straight from the source, but he’d promised. This would have to do.

The carriage slowed and he forced himself to release her. “I could watch you do that all day.”

“I can’t believe I actually did it,” she whispered.

He would not allow her to regret it. “It was the most arousing thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

“Honestly?”

He gestured to his crotch, where his erection bulged. A wet spot had formed on the cloth, thanks to the leaking currently occurring from the tip of his cock. “I’ve never been harder.”

Her lips curled with satisfaction as her attention wandered to the street. “Wait, we’re here already.” She turned back to him and tilted her chin toward his groin. “What about . . . ?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it after you leave. Forgive me if I don’t walk you to your door, however.”

She arranged her skirts to cover her legs, much to his disappointment. Her tone turned teasing when she said, “But I might be set upon by a pickpocket or a murderer. You must keep me safe and see me to the door.”

“I wouldn’t be much help, not in the condition I’m in. You’re better off taking on any pickpockets and murderers on your own.”

The carriage drew to a halt, two houses down from the Delafield residence, exactly as he’d instructed his driver. Katherine smirked at him as she patted his knee, and his cock pulsed. “Poor man. You stay here and think about me after I’m gone.”

As if he could do anything else.

Instead of squeezing by politely to get out onto the street, she was all flailing arms, brushing across his rigid cock and driving him out of his skull. Then she pretended to fall, and he widened his legs to catch her, which put her hip directly on top of his erection. “Fuck,” he grunted.

“Oh, my. It is in a state, isn’t it? Best of luck with that problem, Mr. Clarke.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Enjoying my pain, reinette? I’ll not forget it for next time.”

“I look forward to it, my king.” Then she opened the carriage door and disappeared.

Shit. There wasn’t supposed to be a next time. This woman made him forget everything but her.





Chapter Thirteen




Katherine placed the paintings against the wall of the Meliora Club’s salon, then stepped back to study the works. No, that wouldn’t do. The styles clashed. She couldn’t put a Sisley and a Renoir next to a Gér?me. They would have to find another impressionist painting—and fast. The art show was next week.

“Hello, Katie.”

She turned to find Nellie entering the room. They hadn’t seen each other since the night of the ball, and Katherine tried not to feel guilty about avoiding her friend. But Nellie saw too much, knew Katherine too well. She feared her secret tryst with Preston would be evident on her face.

It had been three days since her carriage ride with Preston, and Katherine couldn’t stop thinking of it. The entire experience had been . . . incredible. Life-altering. Exactly the type of encounter she’d imagined when crafting her plan to start living boldly. Like Alice had said, Preston was a good choice for something temporary. She couldn’t wait to see what he came up with next.