The Defiant Wife (The Three Mrs #2) - Jess Michaels Page 0,44

her mouth over him, stroking the length of him that she couldn’t manage to fit into her mouth with her hand. She started slowly, but built higher and faster, driving him toward a moment when he would either spend for her or he would catch her up, snatch back control and she would win all the pleasure.

He let her for a while, lifting his hips to meet her pace, his fingers tightening on the edge of the settee, knuckles whitening. But just as his legs began to shake, just as she felt herself dance to the very end of the wire of his control, he caught her upper arms and tugged.

His cock fell from her mouth with a wet pop and she let out a tiny squeal as he dragged her back into his lap. His mouth found hers, hungrier than ever as he shoved at her skirts.

“Ride me,” he demanded low in her ear. “I want to feel you come, I want to see it on your face.”

She didn’t have to be asked twice, and she shoved her skirts aside and all but ripped the slit in her drawers in her haste to open herself to him. He caught her hips and guided her as she aligned their bodies.

Inch by inch she took him inside, to where she was already slick and ready for him. They moaned together as he stretched her, filled her. She tightened her thighs around his, reveling in the wickedness that they were both almost fully clothed, that they were in a public parlor, that this was not in either of their responsible natures.

When he squeezed his grip on her hips and rolled her forward as he thrust, she forgot all rational thought. She lost herself in sensation and did as he had demanded: she rode him. She ground herself down on him, stimulating her clitoris, she lifted up to tease him, almost sliding all the way away from him. She did it slowly, she did it faster, and after just a few moments they were both gasping. She gripped him harder, inner muscles already fluttering as the pleasure mounted.

And when she came, he caught the back of her neck, pulling her mouth to his so he could swallow her moans of pleasure as she jerked and writhed in pure sensation. He was on the edge with her there. She could tell by the way he nipped her lip, by the way he surged beneath her, by the way he panted her name. The strain increased on his face and she rode him through it, needing what he could give. Wanting it more than she had ever wanted anything or anyone.

But when his crisis arrived, he retained some control after all. He lifted her away, catching his cock beneath her skirts and covering it as he grunted out orgasm. She felt the faint splash of it on her thigh.

She watched him, fascinated, as he flopped his head back against the settee, eyes screwed shut, a peace on his features that she rarely saw. At least she gave him that gift. That rare escape from his troubles. It was all she wanted for him, it was something she mostly couldn’t give. It wasn’t truly her place to keep trying.

He opened one eye. “Are you trying to make a measure of me?”

She smiled as she slid from his lap and adjusted herself slightly. He tucked himself away, as well, and they were back to propriety, as if the passionate moments hadn’t happened at all.

“I needn’t make a measure, my lord,” she said as she tilted her head and traced the line of his jaw absently. “I know who you are.”

He held her gaze for a beat. For what felt like no more than a second. For what felt like a lifetime. And then he nodded. “Yes. I think you might.”

She realized then that he loved her, too. She saw it in his blue eyes, she felt it in the way he rested a hand on her knee gently. It was in his body language, in the sound of his voice, in every part of him. He loved her. She loved him.

And none of it mattered. The past they shared would keep them from the future they couldn’t. It took everything in her not to burst into tears right then and there.

Instead she forced a smile. “You were trying to escape me, I think, when I distracted you.”

“In the most pleasant way, I assure you.” With each passing