Page 63 of West End Earl
When he’d called through the door, parts of her had responded like they always did, warming and softening in expectation of what usually came next. Logic and self-preservation declared their affair was over, but her traitorous body hadn’t embraced that knowledge yet. Hell, Phee might always crave him. Crossing her legs did nothing to cool the heat that gathered at her core.
If nothing else, she deserved to say goodbye as she saw fit. And if this would be her last chance to touch him, to own his body for a few final moments, Phee would do whatever she wanted, and to hell with the consequences.
It was her turn to take.
The door slammed against the wall when she stormed into his bedroom and interrupted his pacing. Sure enough, he remained fully dressed, with a snifter of brandy on the small table between the chairs by the fireplace.
“Phee? Are you all right—” She cut off his words with a kiss, sinking her fingers into the long strands of his hair—he liked it when she held him like that.
She knew, because she’d been paying attention. Wanting to please him. Wanting to believe the fantasy that he loved her. God, she’d believed he’d fallen as she had. Silly girl.
“Do you want me? Do you want this?” she demanded.
“I always want you, Phee. Are you all right? I missed you at dinner—”
There were better uses for his mouth. Her tongue and teeth chastised him, showing without words that this wasn’t the time to talk. Tugging the hem of her shirt up her thighs, she rucked the fabric over her torso, then pulled it off. Catching on to her urgency, Cal’s hands tore at her binding until he palmed her breasts, pinching her nipples between his fingers with a low groan.
Frantic hands made quick work of opening the placket on his breeches to free the hardness pushing against the buttons. She had to give him credit; Cal was always ready for her. Of course, she’d believed it was because he lovedher, not just bed sport.
But with the perfect Miss Cuthbert available, Ophelia was obviously nothing more than someone to pass the time with until a respectableladywarmed his bed—wed and legally bound.
Phee sure as hell wasn’t feeling ladylike at the moment. His girth swelled as she worked her grip along his cock, then dropped to her knees. Holding Cal’s gaze, she swallowed him deep and shuddered with satisfaction when he cursed and grabbed one of the ornately carved posts of his bed frame for balance.
At the mercy of her hands and tongue, his body became her plaything. But Phee knew the game now, and it was high time the rules changed in her favor. Cal might not realize it yet, but this encounter wasn’t for him. And she’d make damn sure he remembered it for the rest of his life.
Phee’s heels dug into her bottom, and a cool breeze from an open window beaded her nipples into tight peaks. Cal’s fingers clenched in her hair, then caressed a line across her cheekbone.
As if she meant something to him. As if she was special.
Well, she wasn’t the one he’d been negotiating an engagement with. Phee added the soft scrape of her teeth—which, judging by his low groan, only heightened his pleasure; he’d entirely missed the implied threat.
Shivery goose bumps followed in the wake of his fingertips along her skin, and she hated him for it. Hated that part of her still wanted him, despite everything.
Determined to find her pleasure first, Phee shoved her hand down her breeches and speared two fingers into the curls between her thighs. The slick response from her body coated the epicenter of nerves at the top of her slit. Working her mouth on him and her fingers in herself, a jolt of dark pleasure pierced Phee when Cal’s eyes rolled back and his thighs tensed under her hands.
A perfect lady like Miss Cuthbert would probably be horrified at the idea of sucking a cock. Phee dug her fingers into the hard muscle of Cal’s perfect bum and took him even deeper.
Lucky for Cal, Phee wasn’t a lady. Maybe for a few precious days or weeks she’d dared dream of being his wife, but now she knew better. This gilded life wasn’t for her. If she wanted happiness in her world, Phee would make it herself. She had to claim any good fortune as her own and take what she wanted.
Right now she wanted Cal.
Just one more time.
At her mercy, chanting her name, completely undone.
No way in hell would she let him come first, and he was close. Gentling her rhythm, she licked, lapping at him like an icy treat, until the hard line of his thighs softened under her hand as she coaxed him from the edge. The fingers in her breeches stayed in place until the now-familiar tingling began at her toes, then traveled up her calves.
It wouldn’t be long now. Mere moments left to taste him. Smell him. Hear that growl she’d only ever heard from Cal while in bed.
His breath scissored in and out in time with the suction of her mouth. Bittersweet satisfaction inflamed her arousal when Cal breathed her name on each exhale and it sounded like a benediction. “Phee, Phee, my God, Phee…”
Climaxes came in so many forms. This one tore through her with brutal efficiency, curling her toes and severing her last contact with the man she’d loved. Still loved, damn him, but that was her problem. On unsteady legs, she got to her feet, shaking like a newborn calf. Cal reached for her, eyes still glazed with desire, but she stopped him with a finger to his lips—the same finger that was still coated with her slickness.
Between one labored breath and the next, Cal sucked the finger into his mouth, closing his eyes on a moan to savor her flavor. A ribbon of desire flickered back to life, pushing past the pain, but she snuffed it out.
Ignoring the chill creeping over her bare torso, Phee stepped close, until the tips of her breasts brushed against his coat. Except for his open breeches and tousled hair, Cal looked ready to walk into any fine drawing room in the country.
Her finger slipped from his mouth as she turned and donned her shirt.
