Page 20 of Road Trip With a Rogue (Her Majesty’s Rebels #3)
Daisy grabbed his hair in surprise and tried to pull him back up, but he sent her a laughing glance and pressed a kiss to the soft skin on the inside of her knee, just above her stocking.
She gasped. “You don’t need to do that, Vaughan.”
“No?” He turned his head and kissed the other knee, and liquid heat almost dissolved her insides.
“Really, it’s fine. I’m already—”
He made a chiding little click with his tongue. “You’re ready when I say you’re ready, Dorothea.”
“It’s Daisy .” She groaned as he slid his hands higher, over the top of her thighs, shoving the silk higher.
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. She wasn’t wearing any drawers, and from his position he must be able to see everything between her legs.
Tom had touched her there with his hands, but he’d never studied her the way Vaughan was doing.
She was open. Vulnerable. Exposed in the most primitive way possible. And when he slid his fingers between her legs, she let out an involuntary groan. She was already wet.
“Such a pretty flower,” he murmured dreamily. He swirled his fingers, circling her with such teasingly light strokes that she ground her teeth and shifted her hips, an aching mass of want.
“Vaughan,” she groaned, warning in her tone. “Stop playing.”
The puff of his chuckle warmed her inner thigh. “It’s Lucien ,” he chided, in the same tone she’d used to berate him. “You really should call me Lucien.” He slid his thumb over the bundle of nerves at the top of her sex, then skated away. “Considering the circumstances.”
Obnoxious man. She wouldn’t call him Lucien. This wasn’t personal. It was physical. Just bodies, mutual pleasure, not something to get emotional about.
Her heart shouldn’t be singing at the hot, hungry way he looked at her, as if she were the only woman in the world. The way he breathed her name shouldn’t make her wish that she was more than just a willing body to him. That way lay madness.
But when he leaned forward and put his mouth on her, she almost screeched his name. Her fingers tightened in his hair to push him away, or drag him closer, she wasn’t sure which, but he placed one hand on her hip, holding her in place as he tasted her.
Daisy’s eyes rolled back in her head.
“Did your last lover do this ?” he purred.
“No!” she gasped, too far gone to even try to pretend.
Dear God, Tom had never used his mouth on her, although she’d used hers on him. Her breath came in soft pants and her stomach muscles tensed as Vaughan flicked and licked, and when he slid his finger inside her she bit her lip against the need to shout out.
It would feel so fucking good.
“God, you taste… so good.” His words were muffled against her skin and the vibration had her tightening her thighs around his head. She rolled her hips, trying to make him touch the place inside her that would send her over the edge.
She’d only reached the peak a few times with Tom; it had been more luck than judgment, but she could find it easily enough with her own hand. Especially when she was thinking of Vaughan.
Damn it. The real man was even better than the phantom in her dreams. He was ruining her. Not in a social sense, by taking her virginity, but by etching this pleasure indelibly into her soul. Ruining her for anyone else.
As if he could read her mind, he slid a second finger inside her and found a rhythm so perfect she could barely think. Every touch wound her tighter and tighter, like a watch spring.
“Look at you,” he breathed reverently. “So beautiful.”
“Vaughan, wait, I’m—”
He curved his fingers and did something wicked with his tongue and she lost the ability to reason.
“It’s not all about superior size and weight,” he murmured, and she could hear the teasing laughter in his tone even as her scattered brain tried to make sense of his words. “You just need to apply the right amount of pressure in exactly the right place.”
The cheeky bastard! He was quoting her own words back at her. But instead of fighting, this was overpowering an opponent in an entirely different way.
Her climax rushed up to meet her. She tried to fight it, to prolong the pleasure, but it was no good. She was too close.
“Now,” he commanded, low, and her brain simply shut down.
She plunged off the cliff and fell—down, down, into that glorious, throbbing lake of pleasure that made her clench around his fingers and dig her nails into his scalp.
When she resurfaced, panting and boneless, she was lying back on the bed, and watched through half-open eyes as he stood and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt.
He pulled the linen over his head, baring his chest, then unbuttoned his falls and removed his breeches, and she pushed herself up on her elbows, greedy for the sight of him.
He was as gorgeous and as intimidating as he’d been last night after his bath, only this time she could see all of him. The slope of his shoulders, the flat plains of his chest, the dark curls between his legs.
Her eyes slid lower. She’d heard a score of words for the male appendage, especially in the rougher parts of London when she, Tess, and Ellie had been working undercover.
The English language had a glorious richness and range.
The three of them had compiled an ongoing list of terms; there were several dozen at the last count. Rod. Shaft. Prick.
Daisy liked cock best. It seemed fitting for something that stood so proud and made a man inclined to strut.
Vaughan’s was as impressive as the rest of him, and a smile curved her lips at the fact that at least he wasn’t feigning his desire for her. A woman could pretend she was desperate for a man, but men had no such ability. He definitely wanted her.
And God, she wanted him.
His eyes held hers in silent challenge as he put his knee on the bed, dipping the mattress. He reached down and pulled off her right stocking, then the left, dropping them to the rug.
“I want to see you naked.”
His voice was low, like gravel, and Daisy shivered as she sat up and drew the chemise over her head, intensely aware of his eyes upon her, following every inch of newly bared skin. The drag of the fabric felt like a caress, and her nerve endings tingled in anticipation.
She tossed the silk aside without an ounce of regret.