Chapter 8 #2
Lunzie was staring at her with an intensity that did nothing to calm her desires. In fact, the way he lowered his chin and moved closer had Tiffany’s breathing going all shallow, then stopping entirely when her back hit the door. “Ga—Lunzie?”
“That’s no’ my name.”
Right. What…? “Laird—”
His palm slammed against the oak of the door, startling Tiffany into wide-eyed silence. He was looking at her like a starving man, making promises with his gaze.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, her palms flat against the door as he bent closer.
“Ye promised me a kiss, Tiffany.”
“I—I told you, I cannot kiss you. My reputation.” Her voice was too squeaky to be believed. She wanted to kiss him, wanted it desperately, with the way she was feeling. Why was she fighting it?
His head bent toward hers, until his lips were near her temple. “I dinnae need to kiss ye on yer lips, love.” His free hand rose, his fingertips tracing her lips. When she shuddered, he hummed. “I could kiss ye wherever ye like.”
When he dragged his touch down her throat, Tiffany found herself whimpering and tipping her head back.
“Aye, that’s it, lass,” he crooned, his fingertips moving over her gown. “Anywhere. Everywhere.”
His breath was warm against her ear, and Tiffany realized she’d squeezed her eyes shut. Better to feel him.
Lunzie’s fingers brushed over her breasts, and she swayed forward, then back again, desperate for him to caress her, to feel her. As if he could hear her thoughts, his hand rested on one breast, and even through her layers and her corset, Tiffany swore his touch branded her.
And then he squeezed.
“Yes!” she whimpered.
“Good lass.” His nose nuzzled her cheek as his lips found the skin beneath her ear. He didn’t kiss her, but continued to speak—tasting her, almost—as he caressed her. “I can feel yer nipple. It’s hard and aching for me.”
She felt him flex toward her from where he stood at her side, and something hard and aching brushed against her hip. Even before reading A Harlot’s Guide to the Forbidden and Delightful Arts, she’d known what that was.
Lunzie was as aroused as she was. Now she knew why he’d agreed to buy the book. How easy would it be to turn her head? To capture his lips with hers, to allow them both the kiss they so desperately needed?
Once you give him that kiss, your reputation is ruined.
No one would know.
You would. Can you lie to Mother?
About this? Absolutely.
Lunzie groaned against her skin as he squeezed her breast, and Tiffany tipped her head further to the side, offering him more of her. “That’s it, lass. Let yerself bask in the pleasure. I could kiss ye here.” Another caress. “Take yer nipple into my mouth and scrape my teeth against it.”
So wicked. So wrong.
So delicious.
“Or…” His hand left her breast to move downward. “I could kiss ye here.” He cupped her mound through all the layers of gown and petticoat, and Tiffany wondered if he could feel how wet she was.
“I could get down on my knees and worship yer cunny, Tiffany.” His words were harsh with need, almost a growl.
The heel of his palm pressed against her clitoris, rubbing in small circles, as his fingers curled forward.
“Page seventy-nine. The Invasion of Brussels. Ye liked that one, did ye no’, love? ”
Tiffany had liked that one, with the man using his tongue on the woman, but no more than she’d liked any other position illustrated in that manuscript.
She whimpered and began to rock her hips against his hold.
The wood was rough beneath her palms, but she pressed against it to keep from reaching for him.
She needed this release. Needed him to give it to her.
“Answer me, Tiffany.” He nuzzled against her, his breath warm.
All she could manage was a raspy, “Please.”
“Aye, that’s what I thought.” Lunzie began to stroke her as he rubbed the pearl of her pleasure. “Ye need this. Ye want this. I could kiss ye anywhere right now.”
“Please,” she sobbed.
Lunzie’s hold tightened for just a moment, then his lips found her skin, pressing a kiss against her throat—
And Tiffany’s climax burst over her.
“Oh God!” She jerked in his hold, her hand leaving the door to wrap around his wrist, holding it in place against her mound as she bucked, riding out the intensity of her orgasm. “Lunzie,” she whimpered.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have called him that, because suddenly, with a muttered curse, he yanked his hand from her hold and away from her core. Tiffany swayed, bereft of his support. Blinking woozily, her blood still thrumming from her release, she peered at him. “Wha—”
But he ducked his head, keeping his gaze down as he reached for her. With a firm grip on her arms, he moved her out of the way, then reached for the door handle.
His voice was a mere rasp when he bit out, “Lock this door. Only open it for dinner, nae one else.”
He was leaving her? The most intense pleasure of her life, and he was leaving?
Good thing too. You are not going to be able to lie to Mother with a straight face.
Lunzie was already halfway out the door when Tiffany blurted, “Not even for you?”
He paused for a moment, then glanced over his shoulder. His eyepatch was askew and his good eye blazed with an emotion she couldn’t understand. “Especially no’ for me, Tiffany.”
The door slammed shut on his growl, and she jumped to lock it behind him. Then she collapsed against the oak and glanced dazedly around the room.
What had just happened, and what was she going to do about it?
Lysander’s room was right beside hers, and still, he barely made it. Thank fook Tiffany hadn’t glanced down to see the way his kilt was poking out in front of him. His sporran was doing nothing to hide his cockstand, and his entire body throbbed with need.
He managed to stumble into his room and bang the door closed behind him. Whirling, he slammed his left palm against the oak and tipped his head forward as he scrambled to reach his cock beneath the layers and pleats of plaid.
I kenned the kilt was barbaric and ridiculous.
When his palm closed around his cock, Lysander hissed in relief, then let his shoulder fall to support him against the door as he frantically pumped. His free hand scrambled for his handkerchief as he remembered the taste of her skin, the feel of her breast.
She’d been in a train all day, for God’s sake! She should not have tasted as delicious as she did. But Tiffany’s innocent responses to his touch had been bloody intoxicating, and feeling her cunny spasm against his touch—
With a quiet grunt, Lysander came, spilling into the handkerchief as discreetly as possible.
With his pulse pounding against his temple, he allowed his forehead to thunk against the door.
Hell.
The release hadn’t helped clear his head at all, had it?
He still needed to order them both dinner, had to make certain her room was safe.
And then, damn it, he would order himself a bath and a brandy.
The Ritz would have come with those amenities without concern, but here it would be an additional fee.
He would gladly spend it for some comfort, but couldn’t afford to let Tiffany know.
If she knew “Lunzie” had money of his own to spare, she would begin to question who he was. This whole deception would fall apart, before he won.
But Lysander shuddered, remembering the way his heart had clenched in disappointment when she’d called him Lunzie in the midst of passion.
Would revealing himself be really that bad?