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Twenty-Three

If all they had was the time it took them to drive back to Bloomsbury, then Eliza intended to make it count.

She kissed Simon with her whole heart. When he pulled back to catch a breath, she chased his lips.

He laughed softly into her mouth and nibbled her bottom lip, scraping it pleasantly with his teeth before he gave it a tug.

The answering dart of need that shot through her was unexpected but welcomed.

She’d never experienced this sort of kissing before.

Her kisses with Olek had been fumbling at best and left her feeling nearly drowned.

Simon made kissing an art form with just enough teeth and tongue to keep it interesting.

His tongue was velvety and smooth, and she loved when it brushed up against hers.

It felt indulgent. She could have gone on kissing him all day, but they didn’t have that long.

She pulled back when she really couldn’t breathe anymore. His eyes shined out at her like jewels, mischievous and deep. “Will you touch me like you did last night?” she asked. It came out in a whisper, because somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that it was naughty to ask for such a thing.

He grinned at her. Without saying a word, he leaned over and released the tie holding the heavy curtains open on the far side of the carriage.

Then he did the same on the other side, effectively hiding them from the world.

Early-evening light seeped in through the cracks.

A small lantern was set in the front wall of the carriage, too small to give much light, but enough that the yellow glow caressed the angles of his face.

Somewhere along the way she had forgotten that she’d originally deemed him not classically handsome.

He was breathtaking. His nose was better than straight because the slight bump in the bridge was evidence of a life well fought.

She loved how it gave him history and character.

His brow might be prominent, but she loved to watch it crinkle when she perplexed him, and how it made his eyes deep set and mysterious.

His lips were perfectly soft and firm at the same time.

She kissed him again, marveling at the flicker of heat inside her when his tongue plunged into her mouth.

One arm was at her back, while his other hand worked its way under her skirts.

His rough palm slid over her calf and knee before his fingers delved between her thighs.

There was entirely too much fabric. It bunched around his arm and her waist and made her start to sweat in the summery heat of the vehicle.

A bead of it trickled down her spine, but then his fingers found her and she forgot to notice.

He pressed against her, the cotton fabric of her drawers between them.

She braced her left foot on the ground to widen her legs and make room for him.

His fingertips teased her, moving up and down her sex in a maddening rhythm that had her arching her back toward him. The damned fabric was still between them. “Simon, please,” she complained.

“Shhh…” he said against her lips and took her mouth in a deep kiss. “You’ll get what I’m ready to give ye,” he teased her.

She throbbed for him and she could feel that the underwear was soaked. “We don’t have time,” she whined against his lips.

He shushed her again, but at the same time he finally found the part in her drawers and dipped his finger inside like he had done last night.

He teased her, only giving her enough to intensify her ache.

She squeezed her eyes shut, too enthralled with his touch to continue kissing.

His lips found her cheek and then her ear.

She shivered when his hot breath touched her there and then his teeth tugged at her earlobe. God, she loved his teeth.

Her body ached and pulsed, ready for more, but he continued to tease her. He pushed in only to the first joint of his finger and then pulled back out, over and over again. “Simon.”

“More?” His breath fanned her ear.

“God, yes.”

He withdrew and pushed back in, this time all the way until the heel of his hand was cupping her.

Her hips bucked of their own accord to encourage him, and he obliged her wordless prompt.

His finger slid in and out of her in a rhythm that was as pleasant as it was maddening.

Pleasant because it felt good, maddening because it only made her want more.

She basked in the feeling of being full of him, while at the same time beginning to realize that she wasn’t nearly as full as she wanted to be.

And he knew. “Can ye take another?” he asked, his lips brushing hers as he spoke.

She nodded and made a sound she didn’t recognize. “More. All of them. I don’t care.”

He chuckled, and a second, broad finger joined the first. For a glorious moment she was filled, her body stretched tight around him.

Her arm had found its way around his shoulders and she held tight.

When he moved them in a sharp and jolting rhythm that had the pad of his fingers pressing against that place inside her, she wanted to move her hips with him, but the bulkiness of her skirts hampered her.

She leaned back to get better leverage but was thwarted by her bustle.

“Damn,” she muttered without meaning to.

He pulled back enough to look at her.

“This position…this bustle,” she explained. This might very well be the only time she had with him, and her clothes were hindering her and ruining everything.

He gave a tight nod and pulled his hand out from under her skirts. She groaned in dismay. “Take it off,” he whispered.

Yes, of course! She could take it off. She moved onto her knees on the floor and reached behind her to find the tapes of the bustle.

She had long ago taken to wearing a low-profile horsehair bustle when not in a formal gown, one that most women wore when traveling.

It was much more comfortable and less restrictive.

But even it was too much for this in a carriage.

His fingers joined her trembling ones, and together they were able to remove it.

He kept working, and she realized he was untying her underskirt as well.

Good riddance. She scooted out of the underskirt and tossed both garments on the other seat.

Grabbing handfuls of her skirt and pulling it up to her waist, she climbed into his lap, this time astraddle him.

One of his hands found its way to the back of her head, tugging pleasantly at her hair, while the other ventured between them and under her skirts, finding her wet and aching center.

He entered her with two fingers almost savagely, but it was what she wanted.

She had waited for him for so long that she was primed for every drive of his fingers up into her.

She cried out and didn’t care if anyone heard her on the street as they passed.

He bit her neck and whispered, “Quiet, Angel. Ye have to be quiet.”

She didn’t want to be quiet, but she understood the need for it.

“Can ye take another?” he whispered, tempting her most viciously.

She looked down at him, not certain what to say. “Yes, probably. I don’t know.”

His fingers stilled for a moment and then his thumb caressed her, teasing her clitoris. She had touched that place before, at night alone in her bed when no one was around, but it had never felt like it did now when he stroked her there. She gasped.

“Do ye want to try?”

She nodded, unable to say a word because her body throbbed and clenched at him, greedy and aching to be filled.

Slowly and gently, he pressed a third finger against her opening.

Her body stretched to accommodate him, inch by sweet inch, and he pushed it inside her until she was completely stretched and full.

This time he moved much more gently, his fingers stroking her and pushing her higher with every thrust.

“Ride my fingers, Angel.” His voice was husky against her ear. His other hand cupped her breast, squeezing and kneading through the layers of corset and bodice. She hated her clothes.

She rocked against him, feeling heat and excitement spiking higher within her.

Hot, openmouthed kisses trailed down her neck, emphasized by the scraping of his teeth more often than not.

She held tight to his shoulders, burying her face in his hair, the fresh lemon scent of him washing over her.

She would remember that scent for years to come.

His hand had moved to her hip and helped her keep rhythm as his fingers continued their magic, driving her higher and higher.

A coil of pleasure had begun tightening in her belly.

Each shove of his fingers constricted it and wound it more.

She felt crazed with need, reaching for something just out of her grasp until a wave of pleasure crashed over her.

It rocked her from the inside out. Her body clamped down on his fingers, fluttering around him and grasping. He muffled her cries with his mouth.

He continued stroking her, gently moving in and out of her sensitive passage, until she had come down.

The trembles of her body slowly eased. He withdrew and she fell against his chest, the rocking of the carriage slow and even.

He brought his hand to his mouth and sucked the taste of her from his fingers.

She gasped at the hedonism of it and how much she liked it.

“Simon.”

He looked down at her, his eyes dark and wide, dilated with his desire.

His jaw was tight and his body rigid against her.

She moved her hips and felt him there, pulsing and hot inside his trousers.

Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to give him what he had given her.

She reached between them, but the second her fingers found him, he took her wrist in his hand and pulled her away.

“I want to taste ye.” His voice was rough with need.