Chapter Five
All tentativeness and hesitancy were immediately burned away by the hours of pent-up need.
Grey groaned when his lips were met with equal fervor.
His lady matched his searing passion with every bit of her own.
Teeth, tongues, and lips dueled in an erotic dance as she followed Grey’s lead.
Despite having imbibed the sweet punch, she tasted even better than he’d imagined.
She was like a lemon ice on a sweltering day, plunging into a lake on the first hot day of the year.
Everything about her was refreshing and thrilling, exciting and addictive.
She stole his breath and gave him life all in the same moment.
She was the ideal blend of shyness and boldness as she followed his lead, allowing him access to her mouth when he deepened the kiss, tilting her head with very little prompting on his part, leaning into him, and catching the frilled lace of his cravat to tug him closer.
He nearly lost all control when her tongue slipped between his teeth, taking its own turn at seductive exploration. She sighed. He moaned.
And then, he proceeded to gather her skirts in his clumsy fists and, with far less grace than he would have managed had his body not been trembling so ferociously, he hauled her into his lap with her knees on either side of his hips.
It wasn’t the most dignified of situations, given the sheer volume of her clothing, but Grey couldn’t resist.
Immediately, he was engulfed in her sweet, heady scent as her warm softness settled onto his lap.
He swallowed her yelp of surprise, and she allowed him to position her; she wrapped her arms around his neck, rising above him and devouring his kisses with an erotic level of enthusiasm.
She trusted him not to drop her, and he did not accept that charge lightly.
He held her firmly, cupping her thighs and the delectable swell of her bottom, confirming Grey’s suspicions that she had a perfect form beneath that dress of hers.
His cock twitched and strained as if sensing the nearness of her warm heat mere inches away.
Needing to explore more, he broke the kiss.
Panting and half-blind with lust, Grey dragged his lips and tongue past the hammering pulse in her throat, down to the heaving swells of her bosom.
He tasted the valley between the pert mounds, savoring the slight tang of her sweat.
He wanted to lick every inch of her; he wanted to lap at every bit of her skin and learn how she tasted everywhere.
A shiver traveled her entire body as his tongue traced the edge of her gown.
Dimly, he knew her gown was laced too tightly and did not have the cups of modern fashion, but that did not stop him from trying to free her breasts so he could learn if her nipples were tawny or rosy.
His growl of frustration died when her tiny palms cupped his face and tilted his head back, so he was forced to look up at her.
Silhouetted by the moonlight, she was a goddess of the night.
Limned in a silver halo, her white wig and the gilded threads of her costume fairly glowed.
Slowly, she lowered her face to his, pressed her lips to the tip of his mask-covered nose, fluttered them across his cheeks, allowed the hint of stubble along his jaw to rasp against her kiss-plumped skin.
He was unsteady with need by the time she finally touched her lips to his.
The kiss was sharing a breath. It was beautiful and unexpectedly life-altering.
Then, she moved her hips over him.
Grey couldn’t help it.
He threw his head back with a pained hiss and clutched the warm globes of her rear covered only by the thin fabric of her lace-trimmed drawers. She whimpered and attempted to do it again, desperate to apply the right pressure to the needy flesh between her thighs.
“Here,” Grey croaked in a voice as raw as ground glass.
“Let me—” He dragged his hand forward but stopped mere centimeters away from the slit in her drawers and looked back up into her face.
Though his soul felt otherwise, he did not know this woman or her sensibilities.
Would she allow him to touch her? Or would she retreat from him?
“May I touch you? Here?” he asked in a whisper one might use to keep from frightening off a skittish filly.
Please. Please allow me to touch you, he pleaded silently, certain he would expire right then and there if she did not. He waited, not daring to move or breathe, until she nodded her head.
Even then, he remained still as an erotic statue until she whispered, “Please,” in a direct echo of the word that had been running through his mind like a benediction.
“Yes,” he hissed in relief, finally cupping the mound of her sex and savoring the tender warmth awaiting him.
Gently, he caressed her through the sole layer remaining between them, stroking, teasing, until he located the opening in her drawers.
They moaned in unison as his longest finger ran the length of her slit, the pouting lips already swollen and dripping with her desire.
What he wouldn’t have given to gaze upon her…
to taste her…but he would settle for this little sample of heaven.
They were already taking a great risk with what they were doing; it wouldn’t do to be caught in an even more flagrantly compromising situation—not that devouring her mouth as she straddled his lap, his hands up her skirts and her legs exposed to the fragrant night air, was much better.
His fingers pressed and circled the sensitive pearl at the crux of her sex, causing her to rock against him.
She suckled his tongue as he stroked her from top to entrance again, and again, and again.
He coated his fingers in her slickness, increasing the speed of his movements, flicking and stroking until she began to pant against his lips.
Her hips jerked in unmeasured movements as she sought the pressure she craved.
Finding her entrance, Grey began to slowly press his two longest fingers inside her tight sheath.
She tore her lips from his, throwing her head back and tossing her gasp to the silent stars above.
Her nails bit into his shoulders, but the pinch only added to Grey’s pleasure.
Leaning back, he reveled in the play of emotions on the half of her face revealed to him, how her mouth fell open as he pressed inexorably into her.
She was so bloody tight, so bloody wet for him, so bloody responsive.
Her body tightened around his intrusion, pulling him deeper and making Grey wish the moment could drag out indefinitely.
The only thing that could make it better was if she gripped his cock with her sweet, dripping cunny instead of his fingers. Grey groaned when his hips jerked at the image that presented. Beads of sweat dripped down the back of his neck from his restraint.
He stretched his thumb to circle her pearl as his fingers curled within her.
Her gasps and quiet cries spurred him on like a riding crop until he had no choice but to slide his other hand between them and allow his aching cock to spring free from the falls of his breeches.
Wrapping himself in a tight fist, he began to work himself from root to tip, palming his sensitive head and pumping in time with the deep thrusts of his fingers into his papillon.
“I wish it were my cock inside of you instead of my fingers,” he growled through clenched teeth. “You would feel so good.”
Her inner muscles began to flutter around his fingers, and he knew she was nearing her climax.
He also knew she enjoyed how he was speaking to her.
“You have me so damned addled; I have been half-hard for you since the moment our eyes met. And when you opened that mouth of yours…” He released a guttural groan so deep she surely felt its vibration in her soul.
“You have bewitched me, my papillon, and I want you like I have never wanted another.” Her fingers flexed convulsively on his shoulders as she rode him.
He pumped his fist harder, faster, more furiously, determined to throw himself over the edge the same moment she found her completion.
If he couldn’t be inside of her when it happened, then he wanted to share it with her.
“Come for me,” he growled. “I want to feel you shatter around me. I want you to know that I made you feel that way, and I will do it again, and again, and—”
With a choked sob, every one of her muscles clenched tightly and she curled in on herself, burying her head against his shoulder.
The quaking of her thighs and her tremulous little whimpers and moans as she rode out her orgasm finally snapped the last shred of Grey’s control.
Two more pumps, and the climax that had been gathering like an inferno at the base of his spine broke free.
It ripped through him, reducing him to ash as he spilled his seed against her thighs and petticoats.
He didn’t know the last time he’d come from the privilege of bringing a woman to climax, and it was heady.
He was still half blinded by the force of it when she slumped against him, frantically pulling air into her lungs as if she’d just sprinted the length of Hyde Park.
Grey cursed. The last thing he wanted was for her to have another breathing crisis. It wasn’t ideal, but he hastily cleaned his hands and her thighs with one of her layers of underskirts and set her beside him.
“Are you having trouble breathing again?” he asked, though it was rather obvious. Her mask had become slightly askew from resting her head on his shoulder, and it offered him a tantalizing glimpse of her temple. He knelt before her and braced his hands on the bench at either side of her hips.
“I will be fine.” She was panting and fanning herself with her hand. “By God, this is the last time I wear a full corset!” she declared, and his lips tilted in appreciation of her spark.
He noticed the powder on her face had become smudged, so he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and held it out. “It seems your powder has run a little. Would you like me to help, or—”
“I can manage, thank you.” She accepted his offering and lifted the edge of her mask.
Grey was torn between offering her privacy and wanting desperately to know her identity.
The ribbon holding her mask in place loosened just enough that it slipped as she swiped at the remaining rice powder on her cheeks, removing the little black beauty mark as well that had been placed so strategically.
She bobbled the mask as it dropped, and wound up losing both the handkerchief and the mask in the process.
Without thinking, Grey retrieved them and held them back out to her; when he looked up into her face, however, what he saw made him fall back to his rear in the gravel, shock numbing any pain he might have felt.
His papillon…
He met the dark chocolate eyes of none other than Lady Emmeline Lowin…the last woman he ever should have taken into his arms.
Emmeline looked sheepishly down at the man who had dazzled her all evening—the man who had introduced her to the true meaning of passion. His mouth gaped as his eyes danced across her features, and she tried not to squirm beneath his assessment.
“I hope your surprise is pleasant and not at all revulsion,” she said lightly, hoping it disguised her discomfort at being ogled.
He emitted a squeak before clearing his throat and attempting speech once more. “You are—” he croaked.
“Lady Emmeline Lowin,” she said, offering him her hand and hoping the moonlight disguised her burning cheeks.
Not only had she allowed this man serious liberties, but she’d done it all without knowing his name.
She’d been swept away by his charm and humor and thoughtfulness, and she’d been overcome by how she felt so close to him, so drawn to him as if her soul had known him forever. A kindred spirit.
Her grenouille scrabbled for purchase and then launched to his feet, ignoring her proffered hand.
She closed her fingers and brought her hand to her lap.
Something was terribly wrong, that much she knew, and it made her pulse pound in her ears.
Her heart thudded with every one of his frantic pacing steps.
Back and forth. Back and forth he went, raking his hand through his hair so furiously that it began to lose its powder and reveal the color beneath. A rather familiar shade…
“I know who you are,” he said, clearly shaken.
“Oh?”
“Just as you know who I am.”
“Do I?” Emmeline frowned and fiddled anxiously with the fingers of her gloves.
“Indeed. We have been played!” he spat and whirled on her. “I can see now that it was through some twisted sense of humor that we were paired up tonight.”
She gave a small, uncomfortable laugh. “I thought we got on quite well.” This was not how she’d thought the night would progress after their amorous embrace. “I believe our hosts knew well what they were doing.”
“I guarantee they did, madam.” With that, he ripped the mask from his own face and cast it to the ground.
Emmeline’s hands flew to her mouth. Her heart froze within her breast as she stared into the wild eyes of the Duke of Stanhope.
Emmeline did the only thing she could do: She stood, gathered up her skirts, and ran.