his uptown do-gooder was damn proficient at sucking cock.
It shouldn’t surprise him. Whatever the task, Justine dedicated herself to it. Selflessly gave and gave with every piece of her soul. And he was bastard enough to take it.
“I like the way you taste,” she whispered, almost shyly. His blood sizzled at that confession, his balls tightening. He’d give anything to draw this out, to drive around the city for hours while Justine’s mouth kept working on him. But it was too good and he had bigger plans for the night. As it was, they had only a few blocks before they arrived at Bond Street.
He remembered the way her gaze had darkened when he’d talked to her. She seemed to like it.
He liked it, too.
“Wrap your hand around the base,” he told her. “Squeeze me.” One of her hands moved from his thigh to grip the base of his shaft. “Harder, cara.”
She tightened her fingers and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head. “God, that’s perfect. Now work the head. Use your tongue on that—” He bit off the words as she read his mind perfectly. The tip of her tongue teased that sensitive spot and he could feel his orgasm building, gathering steam in his toes. “I’m going to come if you keep doing that.”
Pulling off briefly, she said, “That is generally the point, is it not?” Then she went back to her task, with the perfect amount of enthusiasm and pressure.
It was too much.
Curses tumbled from his mouth, his fingers digging into the velvet seat. His chest heaved as his lids fell closed. The pleasure coiled, sharpened inside him, then radiated outward. His heartbeat echoed in his cock, pulsing, driving the need to thrust. A second later, his muscles tensed. It was too much, too powerful, and he couldn’t stop it if he tried. “Now. I’m coming now,” he growled, warning her.
Instead of pulling off, she held on tighter—and his body began contracting, wave after wave of bliss slamming into him as he poured into her mouth. His mind went blank, limbs trembling. He might have shouted.
It was over quickly, but he couldn’t move. She pulled off and pressed a final kiss to the hypersensitive crown, which would’ve caused him to shiver if he were capable of it. He heard her laugh. “Should I worry that you’ll fall asleep?”
“No, but I need a minute before I’m able to think again.”
She sat up and settled into the seat beside him. “That was fun.”
“Hmm. Fun, indeed.” He might never recover. “I haven’t spent that fast since I was a lad.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “You are quite unexpected.”
“In a good way, I hope.”
Opening his eyes, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her soft and swollen lips. “The very best way.” Lights outside the carriage caught his eye. He recognized the spires of Grace Church. “What in the hell . . . ?”
As quickly as he could, he tucked his cock away, buttoned up his trousers and then pounded on the side of the carriage. “Where are you going? Why are we on Broadway?” he shouted to Rye.
“Don’t be cross with him,” Justine said. “I told him to take me back uptown. I have to return home.”
“Home? Why?”
“My sisters are watching me more carefully than I’d thought, it turns out. I’d rather not have to answer questions when I return late.”
“Damn it. I had plans for you tonight.”
“You’ll have to save them for an afternoon instead.”
He considered fucking her in his bed with sunlight streaming through the windows, a light breeze blowing through the room . . . and his disappointment ebbed slightly. “Tell me what they said.”
“It’s not worth discussing.”
Reaching over, he pulled her onto his lap. She fit perfectly against him. He liked holding her, probably more than he should. “It is worth discussing if it upset you.”
She rested her head on his shoulder. “They think I am out of my depth with you. That you’ll hurt me.”
Mrs. Tripp might possibly believe as much, but Florence should know him better than to say that. “I would never hurt you, cara. I’d rather saw off my own arm with a rusty blade.”
“I told them I was perfectly safe, but they do not believe it. Mamie said she would tell our parents if I don’t quit seeing you.”
Jack’s jaw clenched, but he forced an easy tone. “Bit hypocritical of her, isn’t it? Frank Tripp wasn’t exactly squeaky clean when they met.”
“Precisely what I said. And Clay was no angel, either. It