The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,96

heaving above his face and her dark hair loose and flowing, curling around her upper arms and sticking to her nipples, once again he was struck by the idea she was a goddess. She was going to make him come, and she wasn’t even moving.

“Very well,” he said, dropping his hands from her hips. “I surrender. Have your way with me, vixen.”

Her lips curved into a smile. Slowly, she rocked against him, giving him just enough to drive him completely mad. Her rhythm picked up speed as she lost interest in him and focused on her own pleasure. He could feel her satisfying herself on him, knew it through the slightly ill-timed pace of her hips grinding against his, as if she twisted just a bit here and just so there to bring herself to the highest possible climax. It was erotic as hell.

When she fell forward onto her hands again and ground hard onto his length, he could hold himself back no longer. “Constantine!” she cried in a half-whisper as he grated his hips into hers. “Oh, God, oh, please, please—”

“Please what?” he rasped. He wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. God, she felt good. She felt exceptionally good—

“Now!” she cried, digging her fingernails into his shoulders at the same time she thrust her hips down as hard and deep as if he’d driven into her himself. He pulled her to lie atop him and exploded inside her depths. His lips found hers and he ravaged them, heedless of any skill, desperate to taste her as he lost himself inside her.

She kissed him back just as insistently and contracted around him, working him, until he’d spent his last drop.

I love her.

Those three words sent panic rushing through him. She nestled into his neck, unaware of the torrent overtaking him, and he gathered her into his arms. He drew slow, deep breaths and tried to calm himself. He wanted to be with her. He was with her. Wasn’t their current arrangement enough?

What more was there?

Did he really need to marry her? But he didn’t let the question hang in the air before he answered it. He needed to know she was his. Forever.

Could he marry her? That was a different question. Cavorting in public with one’s mistress flouted convention. Marrying her positively smacked it with a glove. At least one thing had turned in his favor. He no longer needed to worry that he would be viewed as her expensive plaything. Proceeds from the canal could make him very rich indeed.

Meaning he might have his place in Society at last. He could be more than just the fourth Alexander boy. The third heir. The spare to the spares. Was he willing to lose his respectability to be with her? Was Trestin right?

Was she worth it?

Chapter Eighteen

THEY SET OFF on the return trip to London the following day. Elizabeth didn’t have to ask Con to know he was as eager to be away from Lord Trestin’s probing questions as she was.

They stayed together both nights and used the long, bumpy drives between waypoints to recover from the previous night’s activities. Elizabeth had never been happier, or more nervous. She adored this time with Con. When they arrived in London, what would happen? Would he set her down at her steps and be off? Would he stay the night? What if her father carried through on his threat to bring Nicholas’s case before the court?

By tacit agreement, they didn’t speak of their return. They played with Oliver, amusing him by playing bo-peep behind their hands. She rested her head on Con’s shoulder and slept. But eventually, the carriage did pull up before her leased house. Con let her down, pressed a soft kiss on her lips and climbed back into the conveyance. It would take him to his house before returning to hers to be unloaded.

She went into her townhouse without waiting for the carriage to leave. She had no idea when she’d see him again, and it frightened her.

That night, she hardly slept. By the next morning she was restless. London seemed suffocating after the expanse of the countryside. Not that she was becoming a bumpkin in her old age—perish the thought.

She sent for Mrs. Dalton and after a quick change in gowns, they headed out for a stroll. It was early yet, barely afternoon, and the pathways seemed reserved for nurses and their small charges. Elizabeth and Mrs. Dalton paused every few feet to watch children chase barking