Page 21 of Mr. Notorious and the Nefarious November

“As long as I consent.” Who was she fooling? She would consent to anything with him right now. She wanted him so badly she had her hands clenched on the squabs to keep from reaching for him.

“Oh, I want your full and unmistakable consent, Beatrice.” He moved across the coach to sit beside her.

“What, here? Now?”

“Good idea.” He opened the coach window and gave the coachman directions to take the long way back to Notley House. Then he closed the window and turned to her. “One drawback toyour little scheme that you might not have considered is that you are left with an aroused male in the aftermath of these tests.”

“Is that supposed to frighten me?”

“Quite the opposite.” He reached for the ties of her cloak. “Let’s take this off, shall we?”

“I can do it.” But he already had the ties loose and was pushing the cloak off her shoulders, revealing her low-cut gown.

“There it is,” he breathed. “The instrument of my torture all night.” His gaze was on the tops of her breasts, very much on display in the low bodice. She had indeed worn the mulberry gown to torment him, but it had been her own undoing as well. Her nipples had hardened every time she felt him glance at her. They were hard now and aching from the constant friction with her chemise.

“May I touch you?” he asked, his voice seduction wrapped in velvet. She had to inure herself to him or she’d give in completely. She’d call off this ridiculous scheme and tell him she loved him.

She’d made that mistake with Solomon. She couldn’t afford to allow herself to be vulnerable again.

“Go ahead.” Her voice sounded perfectly neutral, as though she wasn’t panting for his hands on her.

He lifted one finger and slid it slowly across the swells of her breasts, making the flesh pebble, and her nipples harden into painful points. Then he leaned forward and breathed on her sensitive flesh. He looked up, his eyes dark. “May I kiss you?”

“Fine.” Her voice trembled slightly, but she hoped he didn’t notice.

He pressed his lips against the swell of one breast then the other. As his lips brushed her flesh, his fingers plucked at the pins holding her bodice, and the material floated down, revealing her chemise and stays. She heard his inhale of breath and felt his hands settle on her waist. She closed her eyes andwilled herselfnotto think about what he was doing. She didnotwant his hands on her. She didnotneed his touch.

His hands glided upward, skating across the undersides of her breasts and then over her breast. She couldn’t stop a quiet moan when his hands rubbed across her nipples. Even over the chemise and stays, the pressure felt delicious.

“You like that,” he said.

She pressed her lips together, refusing to answer. How long would this go on? He must have spent three minutes already. Twelve left. She could endure.

“I can feel how hard you are even through this fabric,” he whispered. “Your body wants mine. Shall I kiss you?” He circled one nipple with a finger. “Here?”

Her moan was less restrained this time. She gasped and clamped her mouth shut.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He tugged at her chemise and stays, and her breasts were freed. The instant relief she felt turned into a fire of need as he pressed his mouth to one aching nipple and took the other between two fingers. “Ripe as cherries,” he said before sucking with enough pressure to send a jolt of heat between her legs.

“Oh,yes,” she cried, burying her hands in his hair. Heat and need pooled at her center as he licked and sucked and tugged with those skilled fingers and that persuasive tongue. She began to fear she might orgasm from this alone, and she squirmed to move closer to him. Finally, she dropped one hand from his hair and pressed it between her legs.

He caught it and pulled his mouth from her throbbing breast to look at her. “Allow me.”

She wanted to shake her head, to tell him no and that this had already gone too far, but he slid off the squabs and knelt between her legs. He took the hem of her skirts and slid them upward, his fingers brushing her calves, then her outer thighsuntil her skirts were bunched at her waist. She gathered them in her hands and looked down at him. He was settled between her legs and seemed perfectly at home. He reached up, grasped her drawers, and pulled them down, his gaze never leaving her eyes.

He tossed the drawers aside and then his attention slid to her neck, her bared breasts, and then to her thighs. Somehow she knew the moment his eyes found her sex. She clenched and felt a rush of heat. His hands were warm on her inner thighs as he eased them further open and leaned in to kiss her just above the knee. He continued kissing upward, the shadow from his beard scratching her lightly.

“Tell me to stop, Beatrice,” he said. “If you don’t want my mouth on you, tell me to cease.”

She opened her mouth, but she couldn’t make the words come out. She could feel her body pulsing, her sex throbbing with anticipation. His lips slid higher, and then she felt his warm breath on her center.

He nuzzled her, his hands stroking her thighs as her need grew. Finally, she couldn’t take it any longer. “Munro, please,” she murmured.

He grinned up at her and leaned down and she felt the long, slow lick of his tongue.

She jerked violently at the rush of pleasure. But he didn’t stop. He held her still as he continued the sweet torment. His licks turned to flicks and taps, and just as she felt she might come apart, he was inside her—first his tongue then his fingers. Her legs were wide, her body straining for release, and she’d forgotten they were in a coach and they had only a quarter of an hour. Her hand went to her breast, taking one hard nipple between her fingers and rubbing it as he teased the sensitive nub between her legs. She knew how to touch herself and bring pleasure, of course, but nothing could compare to this—to what he was doing with his lips and his mouth.

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