Page 5 of The Lady Who Left (The Flower Sisters #4)

F or the first time in his two and a half decades on earth, Archie Grant had nothing to say. His mind had turned to porridge, shoved unapologetically into the rubbish bin to allow his cock full control.

Because this woman—this unexpected, intriguing, mysterious woman—had said, I don’t want you to stop .

“Darling,” he managed, his mental porridge clearing enough that he could ensure her consent. “That’s vague, love. I need to know what you want, exactly.”

Her hands trembled as they released the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt, and he hissed when her fingertips brushed the bare skin of his chest. The low light caught on the pearlescent crescents of her nails, short and ragged on her slim digits. She works with her hands , he’d thought the first time she removed her gloves, yet another piece that didn’t fit in the puzzle that was his mysterious Mary. He hadn’t missed the divot on her finger, evidence of where she’d worn a wedding ring, but there was no ring now. What heartache had she endured? What about her life made her believe she didn’t deserve to be heard, to be cherished? He hated everything about that, and wanted nothing more than to sit her down and make her explain herself, let him fix whatever had broken.

A bolt of guilt stabbed at him. He should ask her more, know more about her before they did this, but then her fingers reached the buttons of his trousers, and his thoughts burned away like morning fog.

“I want…” She leaned forward, pressed her lips to the base of his throat as her hands skimmed over his bare chest. He purred at the sensation. “I can’t say it.”

He caught her chin and lifted, met her mouth with his. “Do you still want me to touch you?” His grip on her hip shifted to cup the curve of her bottom, and he pulled her against him, restraining himself from grinding his rigid cock against her. “Taste you?”

“T-taste…” she breathed, the sound full of wonder. “Yes, that is, t-t-touch me.”

He didn’t like the stammer in her voice. Was she uncertain? His fingers twitched with the need to feel her, but he bit his lip, held himself in check. He knew with confidence that her vulnerability was a gift, and he wouldn’t take it for granted. “Where, love? Tell me.”

She kept her lips against his neck, her breathing ragged and hot, as she shifted, pulling up her skirts further. “Here,” she whispered, rolling her hips forward, then took his hand from her hip and put it behind her knee. “Here. ”

The months of relative celibacy were making themselves known as his cock pulsed with awareness, his entire body screaming at him to take, take, take , but she was too precious to rush, too important already to waste a second of the pleasure.

But now her mound pressed against his thigh, and the heat of her core scalded him through the rough fabric of his trousers. “Lord, you do need to come. You’re aching for it,” he murmured, grinding against her and relishing her soft moan of assent. “I’m going to touch you between your legs, love. Rub that sweet pearl of yours until you come apart. Is that what you need?”

“ Yes ,” she gasped, nodding vigorously and kissing him, as though thrilled he’d known. “Make me come.”

He would give her everything, now and every day, for the rest of his existence. Now that he had her in his arms, the words make me come ringing in his ears like a mantra from some carnal deity above (or below, he wasn’t picky), he wondered if he’d been destined to find her. Perhaps his entire life, every twist and turn, had been leading to her. Something about this woman spoke to him, made his body and heart sing in tandem. He’d never experienced this feeling of connection before, this sense of rightness that he couldn’t define.

“Arms around my neck, love,” he said, and as soon as she did, he lifted her by her bottom, carried her across the room to the leather chair where he sat with her straddling his lap. “You’re going to ride my hand,” he said, and her lips parted on a gasp. “Do you want that? ”

She nodded and bit her lower lip as she rolled her hips, grinding against his erection, still trapped and straining in his trousers.

He saw stars. Entire galaxies.

He might not survive this.

Archie wrapped his hands around her ankles just above her boots, slid them up her stockinged legs. So damn soft , like—

Silk? Why would a woman who worked with her hands wear silk—

But his brain turned to porridge again when his thumbs encountered the bare flesh above her garters, so warm and giving beneath his fingertips, driving all concern over fabric choices from his mind. He hadn’t recognized the fullness of her figure before, as it seemed most of it was hidden beneath her skirts, but now his hands were full with the width of her hips, the give of her thighs and bottom.

And he loved every bit of it.

“Up, love,” he mumbled against her ear, one forearm lifting her below her bottom.

She shuddered, threw her head back and moaned when his thumb found the swollen nub buried in her coarse curls. Christ, she was already half gone, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she rubbed against him, chasing more friction. He shifted his hand, twisting so the heel of his palm pressed into her clitoris while his middle finger circled her entrance over the delicate fabric of her undergarments.

“ Oh ,” she breathed, grinding down on his seeking digit.

He chuckled. “You like that, don’t you? ”

“Yes,” she whimpered, “yes I do.”

No stutter , he noted, prouder of making her calm and comfortable with him than he was of any point he scored on the pitch that day. He found the opening in her drawers and slid his first two fingers inside, gliding along her slick flesh.

After a stilted inhale, she shuddered again, shifted until she sank down on his extended middle finger.

Oh , the clasp of her, the tight heat of her surrounding just one digit. He wanted her, all of her, and his grip on patience was weakening. “Is that enough, love? Do you want more?”

“More,” she echoed, sitting up taller and bracing her hands on his shoulders. And when he withdrew, then filled her quim with two thick digits, she threw her head back to expose the slim, pale length of her throat. He pressed his lips to her pulse, let it flutter and lash under his mouth as she rode him, proud and tall, until her internal muscles began to quiver, her movements less rhythmic and more frenetic.

“Are you going to come on me, Mary?” He nipped her skin then laved it with his tongue. “What can I do to make you come?”

“This,” she hissed, then cupped his jaw and brought his mouth to hers. “It’s perfect,” she said against his lips.

Perfect. Were his hands not occupied, he’d pinch himself. Instead, he focused on the clasp of her pussy, how the walls clenched greedily around his fingers when he withdrew, the soft gasps and whines from her throat that grew louder and louder as he stroked her pearl with his thumb .

Fuck , but he was rocking his hips, too, taking advantage of the friction with her splayed thighs, the sensation so damned gratifying after months of deprivation, and soon he felt the familiar concentration of heat in the base of his spine. But he wouldn’t stop, couldn’t , not until she fell apart for him.

He hated the darkness, with only the dim light from the window to illuminate the planes of her face as pleasure pulled her under, her full lips parted and eyes closed, her head tipped back—

Then she shattered. She cried out as her release soaked his fingers, and she ground against him, taking every bit of the ecstasy she deserved.

It was too much, too intense, and he came and came, the pulses of his cock pressed tight against the inside of his trousers, sending echoing shudders throughout his body, the pleasure so fierce and profound it was scraped out of him, leaving him raw and tender as he slumped back in the chair.

Mary hummed her satisfaction as she collapsed against his chest. He wanted to keep her there forever, protect her from whatever frightened her and made her stutter. Learn everything about what made her happy, made her cry out his name.

He was prepared to strip her bare, make her come on his fingers and mouth and cock until she lost all rational thought, but a woman like her deserved more than this, deserved to know who he was and be known in return.

He chuckled, unable to hold it back. “We’ve done this all wrong, haven’t we? ”

She snuggled somehow closer to him, and he felt her smile against his bare skin. “What do you mean?” Her voice, slow and smooth, vibrated across his chest.

“I mean,” he said, looping a fallen lock of hair around his finger and letting the silky strands slide off, “we’ve only just met tonight. I don’t even know your last name.”

Her spine stiffened, and he chastised himself for the inadvertent slight on her character.

“I want to learn everything about you,” he rushed. “We should talk more about our lives, our families.”

She jolted, sat up and put space between them. “Families?” She didn’t meet his eyes, and a tendril of trepidation crawled over his skin.

“Yes. If I wasn’t clear, I don’t do this sort of thing, meeting a woman at a party and, well, what we just did.”

“What we just d-did,” she echoed, her voice hollow.

Oh lord, this was going sideways. He cupped her cheek and brought her gaze back to meet his. “I’m trying to say that I want to do this right.” He couldn’t stop the words tumbling from his lips, even as he watched her breathing quicken, her cheeks pale. “May I court you properly—”

Three quick knocks sounded on the door. “Is everything all right in there?”

Mary pushed away from him and stumbled to her feet. “I have t-t-to g-go.” She shook her head, shoved her skirts down over her legs as she rushed away from him. “I’m sorry. ”

“Don’t go, please!” Archie was already standing, but he stumbled, nearly falling in his effort to reach her. “Mary, please!”

She stopped, the door knob clenched in her hand. “This was a mistake. I d-don’t want those things from you. I can’t have those things from you.”

Spots appeared in his vision, and he shook his head, disbelieving. “I—I don’t understand.”

But she’d pulled the door open and stood at the threshold, with the countess standing wide-eyed behind her.

Mary’s gaze finally met his, and he wanted to say he saw regret, but perhaps he was only imagining. He was beginning to suspect he’d imagined so much.

“I’m sorry,” she said once more before shutting the door in his face.