Page 33 of Mr. Notorious and the Nefarious November

“Almost all of it,” he said. “But she was right about one thing.”

She looked up at him.

“My exit from Society was due to your marriage. I couldn’t stay here and watch you with another man.”

“I’m all yours now.” She slid her hands to his erection and closed around it, gliding up and down the length of him. Then she bent and took the tip of him in her mouth, and he found he had to grasp her shoulders to keep upright. His knees buckled at the warm, wet suck of her lips. If he allowed this to continue, the night would be over much sooner than he wanted. And yet, he couldn’t quite summon the strength to push her away. He relished the feel of her mouth as she took more of him. Finally, he moved away.

She looked up at him, the expression on her face that of a child whose favorite toy has been taken away. “I wasn’t done.”

“Later,” he said. “Lie down.”

She raised a brow, and he thought she might refuse him just to be contrary. Instead, she slowly slid back to her knees then onto her back. He was about to tell her to spread her legs, but she did it without asking, revealing the glistening dark pink of her sex.

He knelt on the bed, between her legs, and kissed his way up her inner thighs until he reached the heat of her. He licked her glistening sheath, and she moaned and spread her legs wider. Then her hand cupped his cheek, and she said, “Later.”

He chuckled at having his own words thrust back at him, but he explored his way up her body, hands and lips taking in her every soft, vulnerable place until they were both shaking with need.

“Munro, please,” she whispered, closing her legs on him. He kissed her then guided his cock into her warm sex. He moved slowly, taking his time, and listening to the way her breath caught in her throat at the first nudge of his member inside her. He took her hands, linked her fingers with his, then slid deeper.She arched and clenched her hands. He bit his lip as he sheathed himself fully. “Oh, yes,” she moaned.

He would have moaned too if he’d had the ability, but he couldn’t manage a thing except to feel the way she tightened around him as he moved inside her. His gaze locked with hers, and he adjusted his angle and rhythm to match her reaction. The blood rushed in his head like a storm as he fought to hold off his own release. He could see in the way her mouth opened and her ragged breaths became quicker that she was close. Her hands clenched his so tightly, it was almost painful.

And then finally—God, yes—finally, she tumbled over, and he allowed himself to follow, thrusting deep and crying out. Her lips were moving, and she was saying something. It wasn’t until his head was on her shoulder and his breath slowed, that he realized what she’d been saying, over and over and over again.

“I love you, too,” he whispered.

Beatrice didn’t know how she could be feeling so many different things all at once. Her body sang with pleasure, while her emotions felt raw and used. A tear ran down her cheek, even as she wanted to laugh for joy.

Munro lifted his head, saw her tears, and gave her a sympathetic look. “That bad, eh?”

She gave him a playful shove. “You know it wasn’t bad.” She swiped at her tears. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“Perhaps it’s from joy?”

“Perhaps it’s from mortification. Might we pretend I didn’t say…what I said?”

“Which part? When you said,Munro yes, yes, yes?”

“Not that part.”

“Oh, when you said,Oh god oh god oh god?”

“Munro…” She flashed him a look of warning and pushed so that he landed on his back beside her. He immediately turned to face her.

“Ah, then it must be when you said you lo—”

“That one. Let’s forget that, shall we?” She started to rise, wanting, for the first time, to cover herself with a sheet or blanket or some item of clothing. She found his shirt, let it drop over her head, and immediately regretted the decision. The material smelled of bergamot and citrus, and she felt as though she were once again enveloped by him. The sensation was not at all unpleasant.

“I understand,” he said, looking down at the bedclothes and tracing a wrinkle in the material. “People often say things they don’t mean in the heat of the moment.”

Beatrice froze, remembering he’d said he loved her too. Of course, he hadn’t been saying it because he was in the throes of passion. He’d said it before. She glanced at his face, which was turned down. Clearly, he didn’t want to look at her, didn’t want her to see the pain she caused him.

What was wrong with her? How long had he wanted to hear her say she loved him, and now she was trying to deny it because she felt scared and vulnerable? When would she trust him?

“Munro,” she said with a sigh.

He waved a hand. “It’s already forgotten. In fact, I don’t even recall what we were discussing. The weather?” He looked up at her, his face schooled into a mask of amusement. If she didn’t know him so well, she might have believed it.

She sat on the bed and put a hand on his leg. Good Lord, but the man had nice legs. His calves were firm and round, his thighs tightly muscled. She’d better not look higher than that else she’d forget what she wanted to say. “I told you I love you,” she said.

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