One Thing Leads to a Lover (Love and Let Spy #2) - Susanna Craig Page 0,59
“Such a willing pupil,” he coaxed, stroking deeper into her wetness. “But just how far must I go to drive home the point that I’m no gentleman?”
She couldn’t frame an answer, just lifted her hand from his shoulder to his head, driving her fingertips against his heated scalp. Desperate for something she couldn’t put into words, she resorted to his own methods, tangling her fingers in his damp, dark hair and tugging sharply.
With a grunt, he cupped her bottom in both hands, lifting her effortlessly. She wrapped both her legs around his waist. His erection, still encased in his breeches, rubbed against her mound and made her pant with need.
At two and thirty, a wife and a widow, she could hardly be considered an innocent. But her late husband’s infrequent visits to her bed, candles doused, nightshirt raised, nothing to alarm, offend, arouse her…what had they to do with this? With Langley’s clever mouth, his strong hands, teaching her things she would never forget?
Eagerly, she reached between them, shoving her bunched skirts out of the way, fumbling for the buttons of his fall. Once she had freed his manhood, she paused only for a moment, a single stroke of its velvety length with her fingertips, before sheathing him inside her.
Oh, God. Each nudge of his hips forced a gasp from her lips, her body caught between the unyielding door and his hard body as he drove her closer and closer to the edge of madness.
“Come for me, Countess,” he demanded.
And she did, powerless to hold back the crashing wave as he thrust upward, a last perfect stroke, and his hot seed spilled into her.
Afterward, she slumped, satisfied and boneless, against the well-made door. It creaked softly once and was silent.
He tipped his head forward to rest against hers. “I hope you found that instructive.”
Her breath burned as it sawed in and out of her lungs. “Oh, I did,” she readily agreed when she could speak again. She hadn’t even imagined such a thing was possible.
But she was equally certain that, when it came to the dangers of Langley Stanhope, she had not learned her lesson.
Chapter 11
Sometime after Amanda had said good night, Langley had crept up the stairs to the schoolroom, the paltry excuse of the stack of books long forgotten, fully intending to spend the rest of the night wallowing in his guilt for having taken the Countess of Kingston up against a wall like some tuppenny whore. For having taken her at all.
Had he entirely forgotten his mission? He was here to help uncover what Dulsworthy had done with the codebook. He was supposed to keep her safe.
Dutifully, he’d scrubbed away all traces of their encounter, the lingering scent of her perfume, of her. Then he’d laid himself on the uncomfortable bed, prepared to stare at the ceiling for hours.
He was not supposed to have fallen asleep.
He certainly was not supposed to have had the audacity to awake refreshed.
God, he had never dreamed—no. That was precisely the problem. He had allowed himself to dream of her, allowed his mind to concoct some foolish fantasy in which Amanda was a sweet, sensual, adventurous lover. His lover.
But he had not dreamed that it might be the truth. Or that—despite the nature of his duty here, despite his past—he might not be able to summon the necessary guilt to regret the discovery.
With a noisy, satisfying stretch, he hoisted himself from the bed, splashed cold water on his face, dressed. The aroma of coffee filtered in from the schoolroom and his belly rumbled. Smiling to himself—he’d certainly earned his appetite, along with the pleasant tightness in his biceps and across his shoulders, a sign of muscles well-used—he opened the door and stepped into the schoolroom.
Kingston and Philip were seated at the table, and by the looks of the breakfast tray, had been there for some time. Langley squinted at the mantel clock, which sat atop a bookshelf on the far side of the room, trying to bring its face into focus.
The boys scrambled to their feet. “Good morning, sir,” Kingston said. “I hope you found what you were looking for in the library last night.”
Philip tipped his head to the side. “Where are your spectacles?”
Silence hung in the air for a moment as a twinge of something—still not precisely guilt—passed through Langley. He generally managed his affairs in such a way as to avoid any awkward mornings-after. But there was no avoiding this one. At least, not entirely.