While the Duke Was Sleeping (The Rogue Files #1)(47)

She reveled in him. A deep throb of pleasure spread through her, arrowing with thrilling precision directly between her legs.

He was right. She couldn’t run away. There would be no Watch interrupting them now. Just as he said. They were in a moving carriage, and unless they capsized, they had only each other for company for the duration—however much longer that was. Plenty of time to thoroughly ruin her if she allowed it.

His tongue licked at the seam of her lips and she opened her mouth, letting him in. He stroked the inside of her mouth, tasting her, touching her tongue with his. She copied the move, surrendering to the madness and the demanding throb at her core.

His hand traveled around her ribs and slipped upward to cup her breast over her dress. Her face flamed and she moaned into his mouth as he pressed the palm of his hand into the slight mound. She was suddenly conscious of how small she was in that arena. She dressed and undressed daily beside her sister, so she knew the difference between amply endowed and simply . . . not.

He kneaded her breast, fondling her until she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. “Did he teach you how good this felt, hmm? Did he make you moan?”

She clenched her teeth harder into her lip in an attempt to stifle her moan, scarcely understanding what he was saying but knowing it was wrong. She was supposed to be affianced to his brother. She shouldn’t be letting him do this to her. She shouldn’t want it—him—so much.

“Does that feel good?” He chafed his thumb back and forth against her nipple through the fabric of her dress.

Releasing her lip, she moaned, leaning into him, feeling drugged, slave to the ache in her clenching core.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, his voice smug, satisfied.

He tugged down her bodice, growling only to find the barrier of her corset. “You’re wearing far too many clothes.”

She opened her eyes to find him gazing back at her, his eyes laden with hot promise. “I—I’m wearing what every lady wears.”

“I don’t care what every lady wears. I only care what you’re not wearing.”

A shudder ripped through her at his words.

She grasped the edge of her corset and tugged it up, making certain it was still secured over her bosom. “It’s for the best.” She leaned back, withdrawing. “We need to stop before this goes too far.”

“And what would be too far?” He still clung to her waist, holding her in place over him, not letting her climb off him.

“I think stopping just shy of ruin is best.”

“Is that all? I can promise not to ruin you. What happens in this carriage need never be known . . .” His voice faded as his hand moved to her hem, inching her dress up her leg, his short nails scraping against her stocking and eliciting shivers.

She grabbed his hand, halting him at her knee. “What are you doing?”

His heavy-lidded gaze fixed on her. “Not ruining you, kitten.”

“It doesn’t feel like that to me.” She moistened her lips, grasping for the twisting ribbons of her resolve, hoping to crush them. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t be with him. So where was her voice?

Clearly sensing her reservations, he lowered his mouth to her neck and she shivered at the glide of his lips. His voice husked over her ear. “I promise only to touch.”

“I’m w-with Autenberry.” Blast her less than convincing stammer. More than ever she needed him to believe that. She needed that to matter.

He tensed beneath her and for a moment she thought she’d said the thing to make him give up. “I can make you forget Autenberry.”

Oh, what a wretched web. She was certain he could make her forget, too. Especially considering she had no exceptionally remarkable memories to forget. She did not think she and the duke had ever even touched. Not even in the most harmless of passing.

His lips closed on the lobe of her ear and her breath caught. His teeth scraped the sensitive skin and bit down gently. A sound strangled in her throat and his teeth let go, which only had her leaning in and grasping the edges of his coat, clinging to him.

His brogue purred into her ear. “Touch and taste you.” The hot drag of his tongue followed that comment.

She was lost in a muddle of sensation. It didn’t matter what he was saying anymore. His fingers moved up the inside of her thigh.

“What are you doing?” she gasped even though she had a fairly decent idea. She knew there was a good amount of wickedness that went into bed sport.

“I thought that would be obvious. I’m making you feel good.”

“It’s not proper,” she insisted, diving for his foraying hand beneath her skirts.

He laughed against her mouth. “Is kissing your fiancé’s bastard brother proper?” he challenged. “Perhaps we should ask the others in the next carriage to weigh in with their opinions. Face it. You’re not a proper female, kitten.”

She gasped and without any forethought brought her palm cracking against the side of his face. He reared back, fingering his cheek. Even in the shadowy carriage, her handprint stood out starkly against his skin.

“What was that for?” he growled.

“You disgust me.”

He stilled over her in a way that made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. “Indeed?”

She nodded jerkily even as she knew that was not the precise word. He made her feel things, but disgust was not one of them.