Page 91 of Teach a Rogue New Tricks
She stood and he sat, absorbing the warmth and scent of her body from the cushions. He placed his hands on her hips to pull her into his lap and cradled her like a babe, but she hiked her skirts up and straddled him instead, facing him. Her hand reached between them, exercising a massage of her own.
He tightened, hardened, instantly.
Her fingers crept over the placket of his pants, flicking button after button undone. She peeled it down, and he sprang out. Her fingers teased him, wrapped around him, stroking. His head lolled onto the back of the chair with a moan. “You are a wild thing.”
“Mmm. You suppose this chair is particularly sturdy?”
“I don’t—”
His words cut off in a guttural hiss as she lifted her skirts over his cock, positioned herself over him, then slid down the length of him, sheathing him in the place he most liked to be.
He wrapped his hands around her hips as she rose up and down, riding him. Her hands tangled in her hair as her head dropped back on her neck. Damn, that neck. As arousing to look at from the front as it was from the back. He pulled her to him and kissed the length of it until she moaned. He kissed lower, the creamy expanse of cleavage, then pulled her bodice low and took her nipple gently between his teeth. He wanted to stand with her fully wrapped around him and find the nearest bed to set her down upon and take the pace of their love making higher, faster, hotter. But she wanted control, and she’d have it. He chained his need and catered to hers, listening to what she wanted, letting his hands wander where he knew she most loved them to linger.
She cried out and shivered from head to toe. Her thighs clenched around his body and her body went rigid. He watched it all with wonder. Never in his life had he seen such beauty. He hugged her to him, but she pushed away and righted herself, whispering, “Your turn.” She rode him again, and this time he set the pace until his body strung tight as a bow, and then he pulled from her and spent into her skirts. “Sorry,” he breathed, “no French letter.”
She shook her head against his chest where she’d collapsed, then nodded, then shook it again.
“Muddled.” He panted. “Are we?” He gulped in air.
“Yes,” she said breathlessly.
“I hope you do not like this dress.”
“Not as much as I likedthat.”
He kissed her nose.
She ran her hands up his stomach and over his chest. Her fingers peeled his jacket back.
He placed his hand over hers. “Easy, love. I know I’m a legendary lover, but I’m notthatgood.”
“No. You’ve something crinkly in your pocket.”
“Ah. Several somethings crinkly, actually.” He’d forgotten his entire reason for seeking her out before he’d seen her neck and lost all reason. “Two letters. One from my brother and another from your father.”
“What does Bax say?”
“That he has seen the pamphlet I put out with my original musings on how to behave well if you’re not a man disposed to behaving in the first place.”
“Ah.”
“Yes.Ah. He says, quite plainly”—Cass pulled the letter from his pocket, unfolded it, and pointed to a single word on a page full of them—“stop.”
“I see.”
“He warns of exile. They exiled Shelley, you know for his own pamphlet.”
“Psh. That was much worse. What are a few colorful curse words to a treatise on atheism?”
“Yes, well, Bax would rather me not get exiled.” Cass chuckled. “Imagine that. He says he snaps up every copy he sees. Tosaveme. Do you know what I think?”
“What?”
“He likes it, the pamphlet.” Satisfaction pulsed through his veins. “He’s offered to”—he pointed to another word in the letter—“translate the pamphlet into a tamer version using plain, polite language.”
“Sounds brilliant. Not as brilliant as the original, of course. What will you tell him?”
“That I’m looking forward to working on the second edition ofThe Rogue’s Road to Reformation: A Practical Handbook for Cads, Bounders, Rakes, and Villains on How Not to Get Exiled.”
