The Harlot Countess (Wicked Deceptions #2)(69)
Encouraged, she braced her arms on the back of the carriage and undulated atop him. The swollen bud at the apex of her thighs dragged against him with each roll. When his mouth sucked on her exposed nipple, she moved faster, racing toward the bliss she’d only ever encountered with Simon. She no longer questioned what he was able to do to her. Something about the two of them blended together to create an incendiary reaction, like mixing two completely opposed colors and achieving the perfect hue.
An orgasm, both fierce and sweet at the same time, ripped through her. She gasped and shook, the walls of her channel clamping down on his erection as he continued to thrust up from underneath her. When she stopped convulsing, Simon’s grip tightened and he jerked away from her. Muscles taut, he fisted his shaft and pumped once before spilling his seed onto his belly. He groaned, eyes closed in bliss, as he spent himself.
At that precise moment the rear axle snapped in half.
Simon folded his arms and regarded the damage. He and Maggie were unharmed, a little shaken but otherwise unscathed, but the carriage was in a sorry state. Turned on its side, with a broken axle, and missing one wheel, there would be no more riding inside the vehicle today.
It had been a near miss. He’d barely regained his bearings after a spectacular orgasm when a loud pop rang out. Thinking quickly, he’d clutched Maggie and braced the two of them as best he could. No telling how adept the French drivers would be at remaining calm during an accident, and if they lost control of the horses then someone could be killed.
The drivers had been impressive, however. By the time the vehicle had lost the back wheel and flipped to the side, they’d considerably slowed the team of four. Everything had ground to a stop. Simon had righted his clothing, helped Maggie with hers, and then assisted her out the top of the vehicle.
Maggie, now in her bonnet, pelisse, and winter cloak, stood by his side on the road. He leaned over. “I told you we would overturn the thing, you insatiable minx.”
She let out a bark of laughter, her green eyes sparkling, and his chest expanded with emotion. He loved to see her happy.
No, he needed to see her happy. For years, he’d thought her devious and cunning, entertaining Cranford and the others while he pined for her. But Cranford had lied. Maggie claimed there had been no trysts during her debut, that she’d been a maid when married off to Hawkins. Which meant Simon should have believed her ten years ago, should have defended her. He hadn’t, and most of Society turned its back on her, himself included. Could he ever make amends for such unforgivable stupidity?
Possibly not, but he would die trying.
“Well,” she said, “what are we to do now?”
“We walk.”
Her head swiveled, taking in the barren fields and hills surrounding them. Thankfully no snow covered the ground, he thought.
“To where?”
He lifted a shoulder. “To the nearest town. I’ll find out from our driver.”
In French, Simon spoke to one of the drivers and learned their original destination, the town of Auvers, was not far. He and Maggie could reach it in less than an hour. The driver wanted to show him the source of the trouble, so Simon went to the rear of the carriage where the man pointed out the twisted, severed axle. The break was even. It could only mean one thing.
“C’était délibéré,” Simon said.
“Oui,” the driver concurred.
A long string of curses went through Simon’s mind. Someone had planned this carriage accident, most likely tampering with the vehicle at their last stop. But whom? A bitter wind kicked up, flapping the edges of his greatcoat, and he decided to worry on this later. Maggie would catch her death if he did not get her to shelter.
He found Maggie’s supplies and gave the drivers more than enough money to cover their troubles. With a promise to send assistance as soon as he and Maggie reached town, Simon led her along the road.
They walked quickly and said little. The two of them had reached a peaceful accord today, and he was loath to break it. They needed to spend time together, come to know one another, and an argument could destroy this fragile bond. So he traveled in silence, happily focusing his mind on what had occurred in the carriage moments before the accident. The decadent picture of her on top, arching back to rest against his knees, his cock sliding into her delicious wetness . . . now there was a portrait he wouldn’t mind owning. Perhaps he could commission Lemarc to paint it, he thought with a smile.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked, her sharp gaze trained on his profile.
He looked down at her. “You.”
“Me? What about me?”
“You, on top. Riding me with your hands behind you. Breasts high and tight—”
“Simon!” She shoved at his shoulder. “Have you gone completely mad?”
He grinned. “There’s no one about to hear us. And did I not tell you I want complete honesty between us? I will not ever lie to you, Mags.”
“No lies? Ever?”
“Not a one.”
“Hmmm.” That noise should have warned him for what she asked next. “Why haven’t you married? I would have expected you to have secured the family legacy by now, with three or four children tucked out in the country somewhere.”
A strangled sound of surprise emerged from his throat. Of course she would ask the one question he would resist answering truthfully, the clever chit. But omitting details was not exactly lying, was it? “I almost did once. Even asked the countess for the Winchester rubies. In the end, it didn’t work out.”