The Harlot Countess (Wicked Deceptions #2)(68)

Slow sweeps of his tongue. Maddening pressure at her breast. Her entire focus became nothing except Simon. Highwaymen could stop them and Maggie would not care as long as Simon kept kissing her. She sucked in breath when his lips trailed to her jawline.

“Do you know,” he whispered before sucking the lobe of her ear into the slippery, lush heat of his mouth, “how long I have wanted you? How many nights I dreamt of your mouth or your breasts? I want to make this last. I want to—”

She turned her head and found his lips with her own, effectively cutting him off. His revelations brought memories, and this was no time to relive the past. Instead, she pressed up, attempting to get closer. He groaned and deepened the kiss.

Clever fingers disappeared from her breast, and cool air hit her legs as her skirts began to lift. Her body felt feverish, impatient with need. He stroked the skin of her inner thigh while his tongue continued to tangle with her own, and her knees fell open to afford him better access. Please, she wanted to scream, then let out a long moan as he finally—God, finally!—probed the entrance to her body.

“Christ, Maggie.” He broke off to pant against her throat. “You are so wet, so ready to take me. Do you want me inside you, darling?”

His finger worked inside her, a delicious fullness that made her shiver. She threw her head back, closed her eyes, and gulped air.

“Ah,” he breathed. “You like that. Perhaps one more, I think.”

He pulled back, then returned to stretch her further, and her back arched against the sweet invasion. A firm pull of his lips drew her nipple into the hot recesses of his mouth. He sucked hard and used his tongue to soothe before gently scraping the bud with his teeth. Each tug and lick stoked the flames burning her insides. Her muscles tensed as he continued with his hands and mouth, the pleasure nearly unbearable. She could do naught but react; he was a master applying his art, her body the canvas.

“Simon, now.” Her nails dug into his shoulders.

“Shhh.” He lifted his head. “We’re likely to overturn the carriage if we try anything adventurous. This is enough. Let me give you pleasure, Mags.”

“No, we will not. We’ll be gentle. Please,” she begged. Desire had made her desperate, but Maggie was too far gone to care. She snaked her hand down the front of his clothing until she found him, hard and hot, under her palm.

He hissed through his teeth and caught her wrist. “Stop. There’s no telling what may happen if you keep that up.”

She wiggled her fingers to lightly stroke his erection as best she could. “Did you not say I needed more surprises in my life?”

With his jaw tightly clenched, Simon clearly fought for control. “The stiffness of my cock should come as no surprise to you. I swear, you walk into a room and I grow hard.”

His grip on her wrist weakened and she took advantage. Traced the outline of him through his trousers. Dragged the heel of her palm down the thick length. He visibly shuddered. “Maggie, I—”

“Stop talking, Simon,” she whispered. “Just feel.”

Arms braced against the seat to prop himself up, he loomed over her. His chest heaved as she skimmed over him, and she carefully watched his face, gauging his reaction. While she had drawn him many times, the fierce expression he now wore, half-pleasure and half-pain, was one she had never seen. She loved that her touch affected him so deeply.

His harsh breathing echoed in the enclosed space as her touch grew bolder. When her fingers brushed his bollocks, he inhaled sharply. Leaning up, he reached for her waist and lifted her over him. Her knees slid to the outside of his hips, skirts pooling around them. With frantic hands, he worked the buttons on his trousers while she leaned forward to press her lips to his brow, his temple, his cheek, the tip of his nose. He gathered her skirts up with one hand, exposing her, and used his free hand to position himself at her entrance. Maggie wasted no time, bearing down, eager to take the full, heavy length inside.

“Wait.” Hands on her waist, he stopped her. “I want to watch. Lean back. Place your hands on my knees.”

Tentatively, she reached back with one hand to support herself but still held on to his shoulder.

Eyes dark and serious, he told her, “Go ahead. I’ve got you, darling. I’ll not let you go, I swear.”

The weight of that promise settled around her heart. Had she imagined it, or had there been another meaning behind those words? She released her grip on his arm and angled away from him. Thank goodness she’d worn her short stays for the long carriage ride; as it was, she could barely breathe.

He began a maddeningly thorough invasion of her body. Her lids fluttered closed. Oh, yes. God, yes. The impossible stretch, the slight sting of his length filling her . . . it was even better than she remembered. The carriage bounced and rocked beneath them, but Simon would not be hurried. He lowered her carefully, deliberately, until he’d fully sheathed himself inside her.

“Damn, but you are lovely. The way you feel around me . . .”

He trailed off and rolled his hips for a gentle thrust. They both groaned. Another slide, deeper this time. She gasped, sparks racing up her spine. He pulled her forward for a long, desperate kiss. The natural motion of the wheels knocked their bodies together, but it wasn’t enough. Seemingly of their own accord, her hips worked to create the delicious friction she craved. Simon broke off from her mouth, his head falling back against the squabs. “Christ, yes. Ride me, Mags.”