Page 111 of The Lyon Returns
He was starting to get irritated. “As we have already been operating under the guise of a married couple, and the arrangement has not caused either one of us undue duress—unless I am mistaken?”
Her mouth firmed. “On the contrary.”
He reached for one of her hands to toy with her fingers. They had gone ice-cold, and looked impossibly elegant in his tanned, large hands. “And as continuing as Mr. and Mrs. Devereux enables both of us to pursue our mutual interests without the burden of a looming scandal, I, for one, do not see the problem.”
When Gwen did not readily agree, he pressed further. “You did, willingly, participate in the ceremony, Gwen.”
“I did, yes,” she agreed with quiet dignity.
He turned her hand over and drew it to his mouth, pressing his lips to her soft palm, feathering kisses over her wrist, up her forearm.
She drew a shaky breath. “And what about you, sir?”
“What about me?” He was through talking. He released her hand and reached for the ribbon at her bodice. In one deft tug, he untied the bow, then leaned forward to slant his mouth over hers as his fingers worked to loosen her bodice and ease it lower.
“Sir, what are you—”
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, suckling her lower lip before easing the tip of his tongue inside her mouth. He sealed his lips over hers before she could form a reply, and slid one of her arms through the cap sleeve of her gown, then the other.
He lifted his head and took in the swell of her breasts and lacycorset revealed by his handiwork. By God, he wanted to feast on every delectable part of her.
He slid his gaze to hers. Her eyelids hung low over passion-glazed eyes.
“Do you want me to stop?” He repeated, already knowing what her answer would be, but needing to hear the admission.
“I…no.” She licked her lips. “I just thought we ought to finish our discussion before you distract me beyond reason.”
“Did you? Put your hands on me,” he ordered roughly.
She complied, no hesitation, cupping her cool palms around his hot nape.
He wrapped one arm around her waist, anchoring her, and lowered his head to nuzzle her cleavage, glorying at the soft whimper of need that sounded in her throat.
“What distracts you beyond reason?” he whispered, his lips dancing over one rosy nipple as it puckered over the lacy edge of her corset. He found her other nipple and grazed it with the flat of his palm. “This?” He glanced up at her face in time to witness her frantic nod.
He should have felt satisfaction. She wanted him, her desire for the pleasure she knew he would give her an elixir powerful enough to blot out all other considerations, just as he’d foreseen.
Instead hunger clawed at his insides, as if he were an untried youth and she an experienced courtesan. By God, he would not be a slave to his desire for her. He could hold his need at bay—and play her body like a harp.
He shifted his body off the bench, crouching before her in the narrow aisle.
Her eyes slitted open, her heated gaze locking with his as he shoved at her skirts, baring her silk stockings and her crotchless undergarments. He grasped her knees in each of his hands and spread her legs wide.
“What are you—”
“Shh,” he said, and reached up to press her torso into the bench. She fell back in total surrender.
Mouth watering, he drew his face to her apex, parting her folds with his lips and tongue. He moaned in helpless wonder at the treasure he found—rose-colored flesh, burning hot and already damp with feminine arousal.
He flicked the tip of his tongue over her opening and suckled her pink pearl with his lips. Her scent intoxicated him, and her taste—salty like the sea and sweet like the most exotic fruits from the islands—fueled an insatiable craving for more.
The sounds of her harsh breathing, of her fists pounding into the cushions filled the cab as he licked and suckled and feasted and still he could not get enough.
He slid one finger into her hot channel, stretching her, caressing her secret places, as his tongue and lips played over her, driving her to the edge, so close he could feel the tiny pulses threatening. Then he eased back. Again and again, he brought her to the precipice, not relenting to her increasing demands for release until she wove her hands into his hair and gripped him to her.
When she came apart under his mouth, his own desire reached a fever pitch. Hands shaking, he freed his throbbing manhood and guided himself to her core. He heard a desperate whimper and dimly realized the sound had come from him. He drove himself into her, sheathing himself in her quivering channel, again and again.
Unable to get close enough, he wrapped her in his arms and pressed his face into her neck. “Gwen, God, Gwen, I need…please…I can’t…”His control had vanished, and the inane pleas tore out of him in a torrent.
