The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,98

stack of empty crates, bracing her against the wall.

“Fuck,” he groaned when the heat of her core rested snug against his hard cock.

Bewildered, lust-filled ice-blue eyes shone up into his. “W-what are you doing, Winter?”

“I need you,” he muttered, going in for another kiss, this one no less ferocious than the first before he broke away panting. Christ, her tiny moans made his cock hard enough to crack stone. “Say yes, Isobel. Or stop me now.”

“Yes.”

With a rumble of approval, he sealed his swollen mouth to hers, swallowing her gasps and cries. She gave as good as she got, nipping and sucking, tugging on his hair. Wrenching her coat open, Winter’s hands trembled over the curves of Isobel’s body from that slender back to her nipped-in waist to those flaring hips currently clad in coarse breeches.

His fingers went between them to the front, fumbling for the laces. She moaned into his mouth as his palm slipped into the loosened waistband to fondle the fleshy globes of her backside. Winter groaned into the kiss. No man could ever mistake these for being male. She was all woman. Then again, it wasn’t as though he’d been looking at Iz as anything other than a boy. She’d fooled everyone.

God, the moment recognition had hit, he’d nearly buckled, emotions sweeping through him like a tidal wave. Iz was Isobel. He should have known. There’d been so many little hints along the way, but either he’d been unobservant or preoccupied with other things. The older groom, Randolph, had slipped up and referred to the younger groom as she. And Clarissa, too. In the salon when he’d asked if Isobel had taken her groom Iz, Clarissa had started to say she is and then broke off, catching herself at the last second.

Fury and lust roared through him as he unwrapped her legs to wrench those blasted breeches down, then fumbled at his own excruciatingly tight falls. His hard cock fell free and he fisted it. Isobel stared, eyes going wide at the angry-looking appendage, and then she licked her lips as if she meant to devour it then and there. His staff shuddered in his hand. Hell, he wanted that, too, but later. He had other plans for her in that moment.

“Last chance before I take you right here, right now.” The words emerged as a strangled growl.

A burning gaze met his. “Tell me what to do.”

“Bend over and hold on to the crate,” he whispered, biting her ear and moving behind her when she did as instructed. He dropped to his knees to kiss one round cheek of her delicious arse and then gave in to the temptation, biting and then soothing with his tongue, before reaching between her legs. Bloody hell, she was soaked…and more than ready for him. His fingers parted her slick folds, worrying the bead that made her writhe back against him.

“Winter,” she whimpered, her back arching in explicit invitation.

He stood, braced one arm around her middle, and notched himself to her entrance. With a groan, he slid in. One thrust was all it took for his wife to clench and erupt around him, her body spasming, her inner walls gripping him. Grasping her hips, he drove into her, grinding into her willing body until his brain went blank. He pulled her up flush against him, tilting her chin up so he could take her lips. One hand slid down to her wet sex while the other kneaded her breast.

“Come one more time,” he growled into her mouth.

“I can’t,” she moaned. “It’s too much.”

“You can.” He worked his fingers against her nub, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. “Now, Isobel.”

With a soft cry of pleasure, she did beautifully, undulating around him, the standing position squeezing him impossibly tight. His ballocks tightened and lightning hit the base of his spine.

“Fuck, fuck!”

Pulling out of the hot clasp of his wife’s body, Winter’s vision went white as the wildest orgasm of his life crashed through him. Panting, he cradled Isobel’s quivering body against his while his brain returned from its journey into orbit.

Staggering back, he drew up his trousers and reached for a handkerchief from his pocket. Turning his wife to face him, he gently passed it over her sex and tugged up her breeches before cleaning and putting himself to rights.

“Are you well?” he murmured.

A snicker broke from her, her eyes crinkling and filled with humor. “You just had your wicked way with me in an alley in Covent Garden, Lord Roth.