Page 43 of Road Trip With a Rogue
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, intothat 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 likedcockbest. 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. Hedefinitelywanted 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 asshe 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.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lucien’s head was spinning. Daisy was naked in front of him, and a part of his brain was still struggling to accept that this was real, and not just one of the sweat-soaked fantasies he’d conjured in his delirium when he’d been wounded.
No, he was definitely here. The taste of her was in his mouth and the soft, desperate sounds she’d made when he’d pleasured her still echoed in his ears.
This was a hundred times better than his fever dreams.
He’d removed countless female corsets and petticoats in his life, but this was the first time he’d ever divested a woman of a shirt and breeches. Her silk chemise, however, had been deliciously feminine, like water, rippling and eddying around her curves, cut low to reveal the shadowy valley between her breasts. He’d almost laughed at the way his heart had pounded against his ribs, like a youth who’d never seen a woman in her underwear before.
Daisy Hamilton had the most ridiculous effect on him. Always had. Probably always would. She was his Achilles’ heel, the weak spot in his armor, but he’d ceased to question it years ago. It just was.
He had no illusions that taking her tonight would get her out of his system. If anything, it would make things a hundred times worse, because every time he looked at her from now on, he’d be haunted by the taste of her, the feel of her. And he’d want more. And more. And more.
Which was impossible. But he’d rather face another grenade than stop now.
Daisy was watching him with a combination of hunger and challenge that made him harden even more. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair a god-awful tangle of curls around her shoulders, and he’d never wanted anything so much in his entire life.
He fisted his cock as he placed his other knee on the bed, straddling her, and her eyes widened as she watched him.