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Their eyes met and held. Their breathing matched as their bodies swayed in tandem to the rhythm of the carriage. He leaned forward, his eyes searching her face until his gaze settled on her mouth.
She licked her lips, her tongue darting out and in again, and she heard him exhale heavily.
“Give me your hand.”
His gruff command surprised her but she did as she was told, unable to react otherwise.
7
He couldn’t ignore it any longer. Not after enduring the agony of Lola’s thigh pressed against his for the entire ride. He had to touch her, had to feel her skin and taste her mouth. When the tip of her tongue poked out to wet her full, ripe lips, he was so aroused his cock twitched.
“Give me your hand.”
Like any respectable gentleman, he only meant to kiss the back of her palm, but when she placed her hand in his, he turned it over and pressed his mouth to the delicate skin on the inside of her wrist, inhaling her sweet musky scent, longing to explore all the other sensual pulse points hidden beneath her clothes.
She slid her fingers into his hair as he lifted his head. Their mouths aligned without hesitation. Her dark lashes lowered. They both moved closer.
He grasped her shoulders, drawing her forward into a deep, sensuous kiss. He’d wanted it to happen from the moment he’d seen her despite the unusual circumstances, and now having denied his desire and finally succumbed to it, she tasted that much more addictive.
She responded immediately, raking her fingers through his hair, down to his shoulders where she twined her arms around his neck.
“Do you want this, Lola?” He whispered into her ear, his voice low and raspy.
“Yes.” Her answer came fast against his jaw. “I do.”
He trailed kisses down her slender neck, licking into the heated indentation between her collarbones, relishing her soft flesh, before he returned his mouth to hers. Her embrace tightened. His teeth grazed her lips seeking entry and she opened to him, their tongues rubbing together in a tight rhythm that sent shocks of pleasure to his groin.
In perfect accord their kiss slowed, became less rushed and yet more impactful, neither one of them wanting it to end. He settled his hands across her ribs, his thumbs below her breasts, the temptation to touch almost too much to bear. She mirrored his actions, smoothing her palms over his back, down to his waist, while their kiss continued, the silken warmth of her mouth inviting him in again and again.
When she sucked on his tongue, his breath seized in his chest. She was bold, sensual,erotic. His arousal throbbed in a demanding bid for attention. Her world was more carnal, more vibrant, incredibly morereal. It was madness to want to be part of it.
He moved his hands upward, tracing over the delicious swells of her breasts, raised higher by her arms circling his neck. He wanted to pull down her bodice and taste her creamy flesh, tease her nipples, suckle the rosy tips, but that was better left to nighttime fantasies for now.
He breathed deep, forcing his hands into her hair to keep from acting on impulse. He wrapped his fists in the long silky lengths, having dreamed of it fanned across the pillows of his bed and draped across his body as they came together.
She made a sound in the back of her throat and it pleased him, that intimate noise, that tiny loss of control. Satisfaction thrummed through him, coursing in his veins, sinking deep into his bones. He couldn’t think straight for its intensity.
She slid one hand to his waist, along the outside of his thigh and his muscles contracted beneath her touch, but she wasn’t finished with her torment. When she placed her palm over his arousal, he couldn’t draw his next breath. He broke their kiss, touching his forehead to hers at the same time she caressed his erection. She withdrew right after, the torturous pleasure-pain short-lived.
He pressed a soft kiss to her mouth, not wanting for her to speak just yet. Too many conflicting emotions clouded his mind. Perhaps she experienced the same. She moved back to rest against the bench and several wordless moments passed.
“I hope it rains all night,” she said finally, more an unspoken sentiment than anything else.
“And why is that?” He asked, relieved they could resume normal conversation after what had just transpired between them.
“Then there will be no show. No need for me to walk the rope.” She looked at him, her eyes clear, that same spark of defiance alive in her expression.
“But you enjoy it, don’t you?”
“Yes. I do.”
She didn’t say more and he rapped on the roof of the carriage. They’d dallied long enough in the circular drive of Fremont House.
“What will you do now that your friend is gone and the killer may never be caught by the authorities?” She asked after the carriage had advanced several blocks.
“I will go on. I will come to accept the injustice, I suppose.”
She made a sound that told him she did, in fact, understand.