Page 45 of Eliza and the Duke
Her body ached and pulsed, ready for more, but he continued to tease her. He pushed in only to the first joint of his finger and then pulled back out, over and over again. “Simon.”
“More?” His breath fanned her ear.
“God, yes.”
He withdrew and pushed back in, this time all the way until the heel of his hand was cupping her. Her hips bucked of their own accord to encourage him, and he obliged her wordless prompt. His finger slid in and out of her in a rhythm that was as pleasant as it was maddening. Pleasant because it felt good, maddening because it only made her want more. She basked in the feeling of being full of him, while at the same time beginning to realize that she wasn’t nearly as full as she wanted to be.
And he knew. “Can ye take another?” he asked, his lips brushing hers as he spoke.
She nodded and made a sound she didn’t recognize. “More. All of them. I don’t care.”
He chuckled, and a second, broad finger joined the first. For a glorious moment she was filled, her body stretched tight around him. Her arm had found its way around his shoulders and she held tight. When he moved them in a sharp and jolting rhythm that had the pad of his fingers pressing against that place inside her, she wanted to move her hips with him, but the bulkiness of her skirts hampered her. She leaned back to get better leverage but was thwarted by her bustle.
“Damn,” she muttered without meaning to.
He pulled back enough to look at her.
“This position…this bustle,” she explained. This might very well be the only time she had with him, and her clothes were hindering her and ruining everything.
He gave a tight nod and pulled his hand out from under her skirts. She groaned in dismay. “Take it off,” he whispered.
Yes, of course! She could take it off. She moved onto her knees on the floor and reached behind her to find the tapes of the bustle. She had long ago taken to wearing a low-profile horsehair bustle when not in a formal gown, one that most women wore when traveling. It was much more comfortable and less restrictive. But even it was too much forthisin a carriage.
His fingers joined her trembling ones, and together they were able to remove it. He kept working, and she realized he was untying her underskirt as well. Good riddance. She scooted out of the underskirt and tossed both garments on the other seat. Grabbing handfuls of her skirt and pulling it up to her waist, she climbed into his lap, this time astraddle him. One of his hands found its way to the back of her head, tugging pleasantly at her hair, while the other ventured betweenthem and under her skirts, finding her wet and aching center. He entered her with two fingers almost savagely, but it was what she wanted. She had waited for him for so long that she was primed for every drive of his fingers up into her. She cried out and didn’t care if anyone heard her on the street as they passed.
He bit her neck and whispered, “Quiet, Angel. Ye have to be quiet.”
She didn’t want to be quiet, but she understood the need for it.
“Can ye take another?” he whispered, tempting her most viciously.
She looked down at him, not certain what to say. “Yes, probably. I don’t know.”
His fingers stilled for a moment and then his thumb caressed her, teasing her clitoris. She had touched that place before, at night alone in her bed when no one was around, but it had never felt like it did now when he stroked her there. She gasped.
“Do ye want to try?”
She nodded, unable to say a word because her body throbbed and clenched at him, greedy and aching to be filled. Slowly and gently, he pressed a third finger against her opening. Her body stretched to accommodate him, inch by sweet inch, and he pushed it inside her until she was completely stretched and full. This time he moved much more gently, his fingers stroking her and pushing her higher with every thrust.
“Ride my fingers, Angel.” His voice was husky against her ear. His other hand cupped her breast, squeezing and kneading through the layers of corset and bodice. She hated her clothes.
She rocked against him, feeling heat and excitement spiking higher within her. Hot, openmouthed kisses trailed downher neck, emphasized by the scraping of his teeth more often than not. She held tight to his shoulders, burying her face in his hair, the fresh lemon scent of him washing over her. She would remember that scent for years to come. His hand had moved to her hip and helped her keep rhythm as his fingers continued their magic, driving her higher and higher. A coil of pleasure had begun tightening in her belly. Each shove of his fingers constricted it and wound it more. She felt crazed with need, reaching for something just out of her grasp until a wave of pleasure crashed over her. It rocked her from the inside out. Her body clamped down on his fingers, fluttering around him and grasping. He muffled her cries with his mouth.
He continued stroking her, gently moving in and out of her sensitive passage, until she had come down. The trembles of her body slowly eased. He withdrew and she fell against his chest, the rocking of the carriage slow and even. He brought his hand to his mouth and sucked the taste of her from his fingers. She gasped at the hedonism of it and how much she liked it.
“Simon.”
He looked down at her, his eyes dark and wide, dilated with his desire. His jaw was tight and his body rigid against her. She moved her hips and felt him there, pulsing and hot inside his trousers. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to give him what he had given her. She reached between them, but the second her fingers found him, he took her wrist in his hand and pulled her away.
“I want to taste ye.” His voice was rough with need.
Hadn’t he done just that when he’d brought his fingers to his mouth? He couldn’t mean what she thought he might mean…could he? She nodded and he grabbed her hips and set her off of him. Then he moved to his knees on the floor ofthe carriage, much like she had been moments earlier. Turning to face her, he took hold of her hips. “Like this.”
He guided her to sit on the edge of the padded seat. His eyes met hers as he raised her knees, spreading her legs apart. She still wore her stockings, boots, and drawers, but she felt terribly exposed and she liked it. She liked being this way forhim.
He took one of her hands and showed her how to hold herself open for him. She did as he wanted as he worked to move her skirts out of the way. She couldn’t see between them with the fabric of her dress piled over her knees, but she could feel. She could see the hot lick of his gaze as he took her in. His hands went to the back of her thighs and pushed them farther apart. His face seemed hungry and focused when he looked down at her sex. The skin was pulled tight across his jaw, and his eyes were hot, liquid fire. He took hold of her drawers right where they parted and gave a hard yank. The fabric ripped apart; she imagined it split right up to her belly.
He glanced at her as if to saysorry, but he didn’t speak. She didn’t care. She would walk naked to her carriage if it meant that she got to experience this. Then his eyes fastened on her sex, naked and exposed to him, as he shrugged out of his coat and tossed it to lie with her own discarded clothes. His shirt was stretched tight across his shoulders, his black waistcoat emphasizing the narrowness of his waist. What she would give to see him nude, to do this with him in a proper bed with all the time in the world. Taking hold of her hips, he angled her a little more, pulling them just off the edge of the seat, before he bent down and kissed her there.
