She wasn’t weary, just restless, needy, and longing to feel things she shouldn’t. Desire. Lust. Love. She wanted all three. With the man who’d touched the deepest part of her soul and taken permanent residence.
As soon as he settled into the vehicle and closed the door, every nerve in her body sprang to life. Her gaolers were closing in, shackles in hand. There was no time to dally.
“Draw the blinds, Bentley.”
He frowned, trying to read her mood. She could almost hear his silent questions. Is she tired? Is the sun too bright? Is this an invitation?
The confident, logical man, who was wild and reckless beneath his suave facade, was about to find out. He was still fiddling with the blind when she gathered her silk skirts and straddled him.
Her sex was throbbing before she claimed his mouth. Her pulse pounded as she knocked his hat aside, slid her fingers into his hair, and kissed him like a woman with nothing left to lose.
He kissed her back. No hesitation. No restraint. Just heat and hunger, his mouth devouring hers, his hands dragging her close, crushing her to him as though he meant to brand her into his skin. She gasped, and he caught the sound between his teeth, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, wild and wanting.
Don’t stop, Bentley.
Never stop loving me.
She felt him harden beneath her, his manhood pressing against her, teasing her sex. Greedy and desperate, she rocked against him, seeking friction, seeking him.
“Don’t tease me like this, Clara,” he growled against her lips. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
She did. She could feel every taut inch of him, the tension in his thighs, the restraint burning through his fingers as he fought against instinct.
She wanted to unravel him. To feel him surrender.
“I do know.” Her fingers tightened in his hair, her thighs trembling around his hips. “I want you to release yourself.”
A sound escaped him, part groan, part laugh, but there was no amusement in it. Only agony. “I refuse to have you like this. Not in a damn carriage. Not while you’re acting on impulse.”
Her heart twisted. Still, she moved against him, slow and deliberate, her silk skirts rustling, desire scorching every inch of her.
“I just want to feel you against me,” she whispered. “While I still can.” Before Daniel arrived. Before she rotted in Newgate for a crime she hadn’t committed. Before she met Miss Picklescott’s fate. “The most intimate part of you pressed to the most intimate part of me.”
He growled in protest, but his body betrayed him. His hand slid beneath her skirts, his fingers grazing her folds with maddening precision.
She gasped, meeting every stroke.
Half-breathless, he fumbled with the fall of his trousers, unfastening the buttons with trembling urgency. “This is dangerous, Clara. You’re so wet, so damn ready for me. I’d need to be a saint not to have you.”
His fingers slipped through her slickness, every brush sending another bolt of need coiling low in her belly.
“Consider this a prelude,” she managed, so hot she could barely breathe. “An appetiser, something we’ll look forward to continuing tonight.”
He muttered a curse. “Tonight, I mean to drive into you so deeply you’ll feel all of me, every damn inch. Do you hear?”
“I want that too.” All of him. The arrogant viscount. The passionate lover. The tears. The laughter. Everything.
“Raise yourself a little.”
She obeyed, lifting just enough for him to slide into place beneath her. Her breath hitched as the thick crown of his manhood pressed against her, teasing her entrance.
“Bentley!”
“You want a prelude, Clara. Let me give you one.”
“Yes.” She clung to his shoulders, every inch of her ablaze.
He entered her, just enough to stretch her. Just enough to make her gasp. Not enough to ease the ache.