Page 29 of Her Sort of Scoundrel
When he stepped inside and pulled the drape shut around them, they stood in near darkness but for a dim sconce on the wall high above them.
With any other man, she’d feel trapped, confined.
With Dash, she only knew that the scent of him, the heat of his body against hers made her mouth water.
“Did you…” she started, but he’d lifted his hand to her face, tracing her cheek, the seam of her lips with the pad of one fingertip.
“Did I what?” he whispered huskily.
“Follow me here?”
“No.” He bit the syllable out as if he wasn’t pleased to admit it. “I came on impulse.”
“I thought you weren’t an impulsive man anymore,” Fiona told him as she reached for the lapel of his suit coat and nestled closer to the towering heat of him.
“Ah, but you knew I was,” he whispered, his lips skimming the edge of her ear.
“Show me.”
At those two words, he drew her into his arms, their bodies fitted together like puzzle pieces, all her curves filling in the angles of his body.
He’d been nuzzling her neck, but now he snaked his tongue out and tasted her skin. He peppered kisses down the column of her neck and nipped with his teeth at the tender spot where her neck and shoulder met.
Something about that spot seemed connected to the very core of her—her knees quivered, her belly tightened, and dampness pooled between her thighs. And she held onto him as if she might fall, though he was holding her tight and had her all but flush against the cushioned wall of the cove they’d ducked into.
“Dash,” she whispered his name as a plea for more, but it stilled his movements, and he lifted his head to gaze down at her.
“You have but to say the word and we’ll stop,” he told her, his voice hoarse, his breath coming in heated gusts against her skin. “I don’t want you to regret anything.”
“I don’t wantyouto regret anything.”
“I only regret my actions two years ago.”
Fiona pressed a finger to his lips. “Only this moment.”
She didn’t want to think of the past, the future, only this single moment locked in his embrace. Free to be with him without judgement or scandal.
She sealed her words with a kiss, savoring the bristle of his stubble against her fingertips as she stroked his jaw. Relishing the low groan that reverberated in his chest as she sunk her fingers into his hair.
He let her take the lead, but only for so long. The more she touched him, the wilder his kisses became, deep explorations, his tongue stroking inside her. But his hands were what set her on fire. He clutched at the skirt of her gown, slowing inching up the fabric until he’d collected a handful in his fist.
With his other hand, he explored. “I want to touch every inch of you,” he said between kisses. “So soft. So perfect.”
Fiona helped him, reaching down to pull her petticoat aside, she hissed when his fingers slipped inside her drawers and found her center. With the lightest of touch, he stroked through her damp curls, then deeper.
With one arm looped around his shoulders, she leaned back against the wall and widened her stance. She wanted him, even if it meant he took her right now against the wall of the club.
He still teased at her core, slicking his finger with her wetness until she was trembling.
“More,” she breathed. Then reached down to find the hot, hard length of him, shaping her fingers around him through the fabric of his trousers.
Finally, he slipped his finger inside her, stroking her, filling her, finding that spot that made her body shudder.
She bucked against him, stroked his body in turn, and moaned when he dropped his head and licked and nipped at her neck.
“Dash,” she hissed when she felt the pressure build, gripping him with both hands because she felt as if she might fall, despite the cushioned brocade at her back and the muscled wall of man in front of her. “Don’t stop.”
“Never, love.” He arched back to watch her, and the emotion in his gaze was almost too much. Desire but something tenderer too. As if she was precious, and he was in awe. Dash had always looked at her that way, made her feel that way. Even when he knew her flaws and fears.
