Page 27 of His Brazen Tart
“Piers,” she begged, using her grip on his hair to lift his head so she looked at him. “Take me. Now … please.”
The pleading in her words shot through him like a bolt of lightning—the perfect lure for a man of his proclivities. He loved to hear her beg for what she wanted, almost as much as he loved denying her until she pleaded with more insistence.
He met her appeal with silence, pushing her breasts together and running his tongue along both nipples at once. She cried out, arching and squirming against him, the glide of her inner folds along his cock so tempting he nearly surged into her then and there. But he held back, waiting for the perfect moment. He wasn’t ready for this to end, and for the separation between courtesan and keeper to rise between them again.
“Tell me you want me,” he demanded, pinching both nipples and producing a shocked wail from Joan.
“I … I want you,” she managed between deep, throaty moans, as he went on toying with her nipples—pulling and twisting as he teased her with slow, lazy thrusts of his hips.
The words fell on him like the most soothing of balms, and Piers closed his eyes, reveling in the poignant ripple of their effect through the far reaches of his body.
“Tell me you need me,” he whispered, burying his face in her neck and waiting to hear those same words in her voice. He was the one in need, the one who had gone so long without ever feeling truly wanted or needed by anyone.
“I need you,” she murmured against his temple. Her lips lingered there in a kiss so sweet he nearly wept. “Please, Piers … make love to me.”
She was unraveling him, thread by thread, with appallingly little effort. He was hopeless, lost, drowning in Joan and the way she made him feel. Powerful and desired. Safe and admired. Loved.
Piers couldn’t shake that last thought away, even if he’d tried. All he could do was gather her hands in one of his and hold them over her head. He stared into her eyes, which glistened in the light of the tapers, and fit the head of his cock to her opening. Then, he surged into her, his lips parting on a sound that remained trapped in his throat. The clench of her around him had stolen the air from his lungs and all the sense from his mind. He became a mass of nerve endings, every one of them throbbing and aching and immersed in bliss.
He withdrew and plunged, his thighs snapping against hers with an impact that rippled from him and into her. She melted beneath him, the tension easing from her spine and a low sound of relief emitting from between her lips.
“More,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”
Piers let go and gave her what she wanted. He released her wrists, and somehow one of her hands fell into his, their fingers intertwining and palms pressing together. He pressed his forehead against hers and maintained Joan’s gaze as he gave her everything he had. Each of her breaths issued on a capitulating moan as he took her slow and hard searching for every hidden depth of her. He wanted to touch the places inside her that no man before him ever had, to find his way so deep into her that she could never pry him loose.
They melted into one another, his chest pressed against her breasts, his belly sliding along the smooth stretch of hers, his pelvis grinding against her mound. She circled her hips to match his rhythm, raising them to meet each of his inward thrusts. They moved together as one, as if they had been made to do this with one another and no one else.
Piers clutched her hand so hard that his knuckles ached, but she held him back with the same fervor. She began to tremble, the quickening of her breath and the spasms rippling along his cock telling him she had nearly reached her end. Her free hand slid down his back to cup his buttocks, pressing him closer and deeper. With a low groan, Piers unleashed the desperate desire he’d held in check, no longer able to continue at such a languid pace. He was in a frenzy, mindless and wanting. Joan pressed her face into his chest and cried out as her climax swept through her, gripping Piers in its thrall and pulling him toward his own precipice. She clung to him until the last second, giving a cry of regret as he pulled away from her and released into the counterpane.
He fell onto his side facing away from Joan, fighting for breath and coherence. His head was a muddle and his heart pounded so hard and fast it was a wonder the organ didn’t leap free of his chest.
Piers sensed movement behind him, but didn’t turn, not yet ready to face her. The bedclothes rustled, and she nudged him to move so that she could peel back the soiled coverlet. He rested on his back on the warm sheets, one arm flung over his eyes as he forced himself to return to safer territory. It was over, and things must go back to the way they had been—him servicing his client with no expectation of her other than the money he was owed.
The warm, soft form of Joan pressed into his side, and she trapped him against her with a leg draped over his and an arm about his middle. She nuzzled and kissed at his bare shoulder, and the seemingly innocuous intimacy almost broke him. With a sigh, she shifted about until comfortable and then went still. Within minutes her heavy, slow breathing and the weight of her limbs told him she had fallen asleep.
Risking a glance in her direction, he found her flushed and beautiful, lips parted and eyes closed. Unable to resist taking one final moment for himself, he dipped his head and pressed a lingering kiss to her brow.
Chapter 11
Joan turned onto her side to face Piers, a yawn stretching her mouth and clouding her head. A handful of minutes had passed since their explosive joining had ended. She was languid and warm, the surface of her skin still vibrating with pangs of satisfaction. Piers rested on his back beside her, hands bracing the back of his head, eyes fixated on the ceiling. The scene could only be more perfect if they were in Joan’s bedroom at home instead of the unfamiliar surroundings of an oft-used chamber hidden at the back of Olympus.
While she enjoyed the atmosphere of the club, Joan liked the idea of having Piers in her personal surroundings. Thinking of that only made her curious about Piers’ private chambers. The few times she had visited his townhouse, she had never stepped foot on the upper floors. There was, of course, the dining room where he had tied her to the chair to have his wicked way with her. Aside from that, Joan had only ever been in a drawing room and the entrance hall.
Piers’ home was as closed off to her as the man himself.
Or, perhaps not, she mused while studying Piers’ chiseled profile. He was beautiful in repose, soft and unguarded in a way he seldom was with her or anyone else. But then, he had begun opening himself to her recently, and what they’d just done was proof of that. He had been different tonight—pensive and quiet and seemingly desperate with need. Was the need Joan had noticed the same as hers? Was it more than just a physical expression of their sensual compatibility?
They had never come together without the veneer of their arrangement firmly in place, or the boundaries of their games acting as a perimeter. One word, and Piers would stop whatever he was doing to her; one word, and their contract could be dissolved.
But what they had just done had nothing to do with games or contracts or silly rules. Piers so rarely kissed her lips, that Joan had memorized and documented each occurrence—hoarding them away like a greedy dragon in a cave of treasures. The kiss he had given her just a moment ago … Joan closed her eyes and released another sigh, reveling in the lingering sensation left by Piers’ lips. She could still taste him on her tongue, mingled with the tart flavor of her own intimate juices.
She had lain with several men since the death of her husband and knew how tawdry, meaningless encounters felt. She also knew how it felt to be used and degraded. In the early stages of their arrangement, Piers had taught her about submission and control and mutual pleasure. Tonight, he showed her how lovemaking could be between people who held a connection deeper than the physical.
Opening her eyes, she discovered that Piers hadn’t moved an inch. He didn’t appear to have even blinked, his gaze glassy and unfocused.
Was she deluding herself? Had she seen emotions in Piers that weren’t truly there—things she wanted to see?
No, she hadn’t only seen them; she hadfeltthem. Joan knew she wasn’t wrong to believe that Piers felt something for her. The only question remaining was just what those feelings entailed.
