Page 29 of Win Me, My Lord (All’s Fair in Love and Racing #5)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

T he thing was, Artemis hadn’t come here to offer Bran her congratulations.

Or even to talk to him.

She’d come for this .

For him to take control—and for her to lose it.

His calloused hand firmed on her nape, and as she swayed forward, surrender cascaded through her in a warm rush.

His touch was both all she wanted and not enough at once.

Just before his mouth pressed to hers, she inhaled a sip of air …

his scent … his heat … him . He entered her lungs and slid through her veins, her very cells sparked alive by these essences. The heady stuff of poets, this.

But she was a carnal creature, wasn’t she?

Greedy and impatient, she wanted more than fleeting essences.

His mouth pressed against hers—firm, soft, and demanding.

A kiss could be so many things at once—a beginning …

an ending … an invitation … a release. Her arms lifted and twined about his neck as her body pressed against the length of his, and she fully gave over to this kiss—to what may follow.

His tongue slid along her lower lip and pushed inside.

Deep and resonant, he groaned into her mouth, and she had to squeeze her thighs together from the sudden rush of desire that swept through her.

Her legs gave a wobble, and her arms tightened around his neck.

His hands found her waist, and he took one step, then another, walking her backwards, the hitch in his step not a factor.

The back of her legs collided with wood.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered a table.

His grip tightened, and before she knew what was happening, her bottom was shoving riding implements off the surface, metal clattering against cobblestones, and she was perched on the edge.

He pulled back enough to meet her gaze.

Oh, she wanted him.

That she knew.

But, oh, he wanted her, too.

The determined glint in his eyes sent a hot bolt of lust straight through her. “Artemis, I need to taste you.”

Her brow crinkled. “But haven’t we?—”

Oh.

He needed to taste her .

His mouth met her neck in the delicate space between earlobe and clavicle, and she arched back, palms planted behind her, offering him all the access he needed as he kissed and sucked the sensitive skin into his mouth.

Then he broke away and lowered between her legs, lifted the hem of her skirts and dipped his head beneath.

She closed her eyes and felt . Slick and velvet, his tongue slid along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and she gasped.

She’d experienced this before—with him. But now, in this moment, it felt heightened—and it came to her why.

Everything they could possibly do today, they had done ten years ago.

They’d explored each other’s bodies—openly, freely, and without inhibitions.

Then it had ended with a suddenness and finality she hadn’t been prepared for.

She couldn’t have been prepared for, in the way one couldn’t prepare for an earthquake. One simply had to hang on to the nearest steady surface at hand and endure.

So, yes, the feel of him … the muscular bulk of him between her legs … the slide of his tongue along her thigh … it was heightened for having been lost—and now returned.

His tongue found her quim, and a long moan poured from her as the firm tip brushed along her slit. A boot heel found his shoulder, and her thighs fell wider, her sex swollen with want and lust and need . Slowly, his tongue swirled around the too-sensitive nub, then flicked.

She gasped.

Oh, this wouldn’t take long.

Her hips began to move subtly as his mouth worked her cunny over. A long finger entered her as he continued pleasuring her with his mouth. “Oh, Bran,” she cried.

Release was bearing down on her, but, oh , she wanted to prolong this pleasure just a few seconds longer …

But her cunny had no regard for her wants, only its own.

And what it wanted was sweet— blessed —release as it broke against his mouth … around his long, talented finger … and took its pleasure. Her cry sailed to the low rafters, blending with the din of activity beyond its tight confines, leaving in its wake quiet, but not peace.

Unrest stirred and swelled through this air.

He angled back and came out from under her skirts. His gaze met hers. “Satisfied?”

Within his eyes and within his words, she detected the dare.

“Never,” scraped across her throat.

A chuckle sounded from him as he hesitated long enough to take in the view of her bare thighs … her cunny … Then slowly, deliberately, so as to draw and hold her eye, he began unbuttoning the falls of his trousers, the bulge beneath so long and, oh , so thick.

She bit her bottom lip between her teeth as she watched each button fall open at half the speed of real time. Desperation licked hot flames through her. She needed him inside her— now . She shoved forward on an impatient moan that might’ve been a whimper. She was too far gone with desire to care.

A knowing smile curved his mouth. “You want this, my lady?”

“Desperately.”

The flap fell open, and his cock sprang forward.

She gasped, then gave a little embarrassed laugh.

He took himself in hand and dragged his length along her slit.

Her head arched back, and her hips slid forward with utter ache and need.

With his other hand, he reached for her waist, holding her steady as he pushed inside her.

This wanted to be a coupling utterly lost to abandon.

But she sensed him holding back as he began moving inside her.

Every thrust made her want more and more and more until she found the edge of too much—then pushed it.

And kept pushing it until they were naught more than two beings whose sole purpose was to give and take pleasure from one another.

She pushed off her hands and shifted so she could reach around his neck and bring her mouth to his. “Take me, Bran,” she spoke against his lips that yet held the taste of her. “Take me as I know you want to. Ravish me .”

To illustrate her seriousness, her legs wrapped around his waist, and he grabbed hold of one thigh as his movement gave over to the desperation inside him.

Over and over, he penetrated her. It would have been punishing if she wasn’t so ready for it—so desperate for it.

Together, they sought the edge and pushed it further out, seized by madness.

“You don’t know how I’ve wanted this,” he said, the words jagged and winded against her throat. “I’ve missed your cunny, Artemis. I’ve missed you .”

His words streaked through her, reaching places too long left dark, illuminating them, bringing them life.

No longer did she have the strength or will to repress and deny their lure.

Instead, they expanded within her and swirled into a riot of sensation singing through her, all the emotional mixed with the physical, one the expression of the other.

A feeling at once dangerous and right .

She might repress and deny it later, when it felt less safe, but not now.

Tighter, she clung to him as, more forcefully, he took her.

Even as she never wanted this to end, release began to pull at her, imploring her to give over, and she recognized the same struggle in his half-lidded eyes.

“I’m about to— oh ,” she gasped, the moan that followed reaching the high octave that signaled the approach of release.

Understanding lit within his eyes, and somehow he began moving even deeper inside her. The edge beckoned. It would push out no farther as it grabbed hold and pulled her over. An instant later, Bran was shouting with his climax, and together they tumbled into the exquisite ether of ecstasy.

Surely a dramatic notion, but not untrue, either.

A feeling of body … of mind … of soul … being outside oneself and meeting another— him —there.

This exquisite ether was singular and precious and no less real than the physical world the body spent most of its time inhabiting.

Here , she met him and he met her and they felt themselves known at the level of elements.

His face tucked into the crook of her neck, he delivered a soft kiss that pulled her back into herself. He angled back to meet her gaze. “That was …” He shook his head and gave a dry chuckle. “That wasn’t unexpected.”

A smile pulled at her mouth. “It wasn’t.”

He took a step back and pulled her dress down over her knees, then buttoned his falls.

She liked that no lies were being spoken.

She was sick of lies.

Lies had once torn them apart—and she couldn’t let it happen again.

But now wasn’t the right time for the entire truth, either.

And for one very good reason.

She herself didn’t yet know the entire truth.

“What was it you wanted to tell me?” he asked.

Oh, how she liked the wicked smile pulling at his mouth.

A hard-won smile—and all the more appealing for it.

“Tell you?”

It was a weak attempt to buy time, but she had little choice.

“Before … well .”

Again, that smile.

Her resolve redoubled.

She wouldn’t lose him again.

“Are you …” She thought fast. “Are you attending Rake’s house party at Somerton?”

His head cocked subtly, his golden eyes assessing. “Will you be there?”

“Yes.”

“And do you want me to be there?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll be there.”

A giddy wash of delight rippled through her.

Then she remembered.

The past … the inconsistencies … the lies.

“I’ll be a day late, though,” she said.

“Oh?”

“I must stop over in London first.”

“To retrieve Bathsheba?”

She nodded. It was both a truth and an untruth.

“I’ll leave the tack room first,” he said, jutting his chin toward the door. “When the aisle is clear, I’ll give three quick knocks.”

She snorted playfully. “Concerned about my reputation?”

When he turned, she reached out and grabbed his arm, filled with a sudden fear. She hopped off the table, lifted onto her toes, and kissed him. Deep and passionate, imbued with urgency, it was over too quickly.

Steady golden eyes met hers. “Until Somerton.”

She nodded.

Then he was gone.

And she was alone with her thoughts—and her fears.

The inconsistencies of the past and its lies, they all had to be sorted and resolved.

The truth must out.

And the only way to accomplish that end was to speak with Mother.

Tomorrow.

A simple conversation would make everything clear. After all, Mother always had Artemis’s best interests at heart, so there would be an explanation and all would be sorted.

She wouldn’t lose Bran a second time.

He wasn’t yet hers, but she was his.

It had ever been so—and ever would be.