The Postilion (The Masqueraders #2) - S.M. LaViolette Page 0,95
until he rumbled against her with a purring sound that made her chuckle.
“I like the sound of your laughter, Benna,” he said against her throat, alternating his words with kisses.
“I want to see you … Jago. All of you.”
His big body stiffened and he sucked in a rough breath, his hands gripping her waist almost painfully hard. “That’s right,” he said, sounding darkly amused, “This is your seduction.” He bit her chin before meeting her gaze. “Tell me what you want.”
Benna spread her fingers over his broad chest, and then pushed him down into his chair. “I want to strip you, slowly.”
***
Jago gazed up at her like a wide-eyed yokel, aroused by both her physical strength and sexual aggression. He’d never had a lover who took the upper hand when it came to bed sport.
Nor had a woman demanded to undress him.
“I feel like you’re reading my mind,” he murmured.
She smirked, the expression wicked—and one he’d never seen on her face before—and took a damp top boot in both hands, tugging with the perfect amount of force to remove it.
She set the boot aside and made short work of the second one before rolling down his stockings.
When Jago would have stood, to make removing his waistcoat easier, she shook her head and straddled his thighs, her fingers dropping to the buttons.
“I think you’ve been imagining me … servicing you, my lord.”
Jago swallowed. Noisily. “Yes.”
She flicked open another two buttons. “I think you’ve been wishing that you’d engaged me to valet you instead of Mr. Toomey, my lord.”
Jago’s belly flooded with lust at her words. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair to ease the effects of such thoughts on his cock. “I suppose that makes me a bit of a—”
“Lecher?” she suggested teasingly.
He gave a startled laugh. “Well, it is an obvious fantasy, isn’t it?”
When she nudged his waistcoat over his shoulders Jago leaned forward in the chair.
She gracefully flowed to her feet and stepped behind him.
Rather than lift the garment from his shoulders she leaned close, massaging his shoulders, her breath hot on his neck. “Have you been imagining me undressing you? Shaving you? Tending to your every … need, my lord?”
“All those things, Benna,” he said, his voice raspy.
She removed his waistcoat and laid it over the back of the other chair before coming back to straddle his thighs.
“I have imagined you, too, Jago.”
“Have you?” The two words harsh with raw need.
“Mmm-hmm.” Her hands moved to his buckskins, her fingers deftly opening the catches before moving to the row of four buttons.
Jago hissed in a breath as her knuckles grazed his erection. When his cock sprang free of the tight, constricting leather, he gave a soft grunt of relief.
She dropped her gaze to his obscenely tented drawers, her lips curving into a smile at what she saw.
He’d been leaking copiously and was fully erect, his sensitive glans exposed and pressed against the damp, almost transparent muslin.
“Beautiful,” she whispered, and then she dragged her thumb over his tiny slit.
Jago’s hips bucked, lifting them both off the chair, his breath soughing between his clenched jaws. “Bloody. Hell.”
She met his gaze, her eyes heavy-lidded and hot. “You’re wet for me, Jago.”
He throbbed at her erotic words.
She abruptly stood and Jago lifted his hips as she yanked down both his drawers and buckskins, becoming rough in her haste. Once she’d tossed the garments aside, she stared at his erection.
“Tell me what you’ve imagined, Benna?”
“Why don’t I show you instead, Jago?”
And then she sank to her knees.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cornwall
1817
Present Day
Benna could tell by Jago’s wide-eyed stare and gasp that she was shocking him with her behavior.
A decent woman didn’t do the things she was doing or say the things she’d said.
She didn’t care.
This might be the only time they were together. She wanted to feel and taste and caress every part of him.
Once she’d sunk to her knees he slid a hand beneath her chin, tilting her face until she met his dark gaze. His chest was rising and falling quickly, his nostrils flared. “You don’t need to—”
Benna slid her hand around his thick, hot shaft; he was beautiful, just as she’d known he’d be.
He gave an explosive groan of pent-up desire and slumped back in his chair. “Benna—”
His body tightened as she pumped him, the diamond of moisture on the tip of his crown as telling as the harsh rasp of his breathing. She felt the struggle in his body as he fought against the animal urge to thrust into her fist.