Chapter Twenty-Five
That night while the rest of the household slept, Josie paced her chamber with heavy footfall.
How was she to survive a long, exhausting ball when she had not been able to behave like a lady for one afternoon?
Her unseemly utterance, when she first saw Lydia, was the beginning of many blunders.
Just thinking about the party and the horrified look on Agatha’s face filled Josie with anxiety.
Josie was not a lady and would never be a lady. She certainly didn’t want to be a lady. She simply wanted to be herself. She also wanted to pay for her share of The Silk Knuckles Saloon, win The Duke’s and Dame’s Mill, and help Nicolas win back Blue Cliff Manor.
She’d also love to make Nicolas smile so that she could witness those spectacular dimples again.
Was it too much to wish for his lips on hers? Or to have him teach her how to make love? If given the chance, she might like to spend her life getting to know him.
But he’d promised his life to a blond cow, and Josie wanted to blacken that mean-spirited cow’s eyes. What a waste of Nicolas’s charming dimples because after the things she’d heard yesterday, she knew Lydia had no intention of making him smile.
Josie growled.
There was no way she was keeping the things she’d overheard or her opinions about Lydia to herself.
She was not some simpering miss that kowtowed.
Not to the pretentious Le Bon Ton. Not to Lydia.
And certainly not to Bessie Dove-Lyon. In fact, the Widow of Whitehall could take her conditions and shove them up her arse.
Josie would have it all. She would be the duke’s champion.
She would earn her share of the blunt for her gymnasium.
And she would tell Nicolas that he couldn’t marry Lydia.
Then, she would press her lips to his. She’d explore his mouth with her tongue and scrape her fingernails through the dusting of hair on his muscular forearms. While she was at it, she would taste his chest. Yes, by God.
She wanted to lick him from one well-formed pectoral to the other and then all the way down his taut stomach to the place where his trail of masculine hair met his belly button, and his hips narrowed. And then, even lower still.
And she would do it this very moment before she lost her nerve.
Yes, indeed. She was going to barge into his chamber and have her way with Nicolas Wentworth. Woe be it to the person who tried to stop her.
She slid into her borrowed dressing gown, exited her room, and tiptoed to Nicolas’s chamber. She cracked his door open, stepped inside, and crashed into him.
“We have to stop bumping into each other in the middle of the night,” he whispered as the door clicked into place behind her.
Now that she was used to it, she quite enjoyed running into him. Luckily, his lamp and a couple of candles still burned, so she could see how devilishly handsome he was.
His disheveled hair poked into the air every which way, and masculine scruff overtook his cheeks and chin. Wisps of dark hair peeked out from the unbuttoned collar of his rumpled, untucked shirt. The perfect Meddlesome looked rather feral and beyond desirable.
Her belly fluttered. “Were you on your way to the kitchen?” she asked.
“I can’t sleep, so I was on my way to visit you,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver of desire to her core.
Playing the dominant offensive opponent, he backed her against the door. His nose inches from hers, he placed his hands on either side of her head. Heat radiated off him, warming her from the outside in.
Having no desire to be on the defense, she’d be submissive. But first, she needed to give her opinion on a pressing matter. “You can’t marry Lydia. She is hideous.”
He silenced her with a finger to her lips. “I don’t want to talk about her.”
Neither did Josie. She’d much prefer to kiss the pad of his index finger. She’d already been a mass of wanton desires, so his flesh pressing on her lip as he caged her against the door and stole the breath from her lungs didn’t help matters.
Her lips puckered, and she gently kissed.
He hissed.
She licked his slightly salty, delicious finger.
Unprepared for his sudden attack, she gasped as his body slammed her against the door. While pressing his torso into hers, his mouth claimed hers in a brutal kiss. Clinging to his shoulders, she met his forceful need.
They broke from their kiss to stare into each other’s eyes. Their panting mingled until they inhaled on the same breath.
He opened his mouth. Fearful he’d say something rational that would convince them to stop, she slanted her lips over his, swallowing his words. Their tangling tongues explored and played.
His hands wandered over her, traveling downward until he cupped her breasts. Dancing his fingers over her areola, his other hand skimmed lower, leaving tingles in its wake.
He lingered where her belly met her pelvis, tracing tiny figure eights. The tease! Why wasn’t he moving lower?
Just when she was about to guide his hand to her ache, he settled his palm on her mound. Even though her nightdress, the intensity of the pressure on her intimate area had her moaning into his mouth and rocking her cunny against his hand.
His kisses punishing, he jammed his hard bulge into her hip.
Her thighs quivered with need. They wouldn’t hold her upright for much longer. If only their naked bodies were entwined on his massive bed.
Her tongue still in his mouth, she shoved him.
He didn’t resist. His embrace tightened around her as she forced him backward—so much for being submissive.
She maneuvered them until the back of his legs were pressed against the side of the mattress.
Then, she gave him a forceful push. He landed arse-first on the bed.
Propped on his elbows, he watched her. His lips quirked upward, and two adorable dimples formed on his cheeks. Seconds later, his smile was gone, replaced with a fierce seriousness.
“Take off your nightclothes,” he demanded.
That raspy baritone could convince her to do just about anything.
She slid the robe off her shoulders and let it drop behind her. She was fairly certain the bulge beneath his trousers twitched.
Reaching down, she grabbed the hem of her nightdress and lifted it over her head. The air cooled her bare flesh as she tossed the garment to the side.
His gaze traveled the length of her, lingering on the dark curls protecting her quim before changing directions to settle on her eyes. “You are magnificent.”
Although she knew her figure was an equal mixture of firm muscle and soft curves, and she looked into the mirror and saw an attractive face, her livelihood didn’t exactly make her feel feminine.
She’d spent her entire life bruised, sweating, and lumbering about.
But this man regarding her with lust-filled pupils made her feel as ravishing as Venus.
His gaze raked over her again as if he couldn’t get enough of her.
She rolled her shoulders back and thrust her breasts forward, proudly posing. Hopefully, her silent invitation encouraged him to drink his fill.
Eventually, he crooked his finger. “Come here.”
Since he’d said it in that raspy command she couldn’t resist, she crawled onto the mattress beside him. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close. The luxurious curls dusting his pectorals scraped against her sensitive nipples.
His lips brushed her jaw, then her ear. “I want you, Josephine Martin. More than I’ve ever wanted anything or anyone.”
“I want you too, Nicolas.” So much so that her nipples tingled, and her cunny pulsed.
He rolled her onto her back and lovingly caressed her curves. She tried to memorize every wonderful sensation. Tight muscles relaxing. Relaxed muscles tightening. Her feminine bits quivering. All the while, her brain turned to mush.
Thankfully, at long last, Nicolas traced the outer lips of her quim.
If only he would touch her deep inside the way he had a few nights ago when she’d blissfully soared above her body.
Her wish came true as his long finger slid inside her and swirled about before circling inward to gently skim over her pearl.
“You are so perfectly wet,” he said.
Indeed. Practically drenching the counterpane as he rhythmically pumped into her.
He added a second finger. “I want to drink you in. Taste your essence.”
Did “tasting” mean what she thought it did? Because the idea of his mouth on her cunny terrified her. But only until it titillated her. Wanton creature that she’d become, she quickly warmed to the idea of his tongue mimicking his fingers. She moaned and arched her back.
As Nicolas kissed his way down her belly, his whiskers tickled her flesh. Then, his head dipped between her thighs. Peering up at her, he held her gaze as the flat of his tongue licked the inside of one thigh and then the other.
The sensation was so foreign that her hips bucked.
Chuckling, he pinned her to the mattress as he kissed, licked, and sucked.
His lids hung heavy over mischievous eyes as he edged closer to her slit.
If his intent was to taunt her and make her wild with lust, he’d achieved his goal. She writhed with desire.
With long, lazy licks, he traced her opening with his tongue. He was so close to where she needed him to be. Just another inch. Please, she willed him.
Her silent plea worked, and he licked the length of her slit.
“Yes,” she cried.
His nose lightly grazing her sensitive nub, he sniffed, then moaned into her folds.
Threading her fingers in his hair, she ground her cunny against his tongue, encouraging him with pleas of “Yes,” “Please,” and “Oh, Nicolas.”
When Coach’s students hadn’t known she and Franny were listening, they’d talked of doing taboo things to a woman’s quim with their mouths. Josie had thought it dirty and debased. Oh, how wrong she’d been.
This glorious gift Nicolas bestowed upon her was pure and heavenly. If the way he inhaled her scent and feasted was any indication, he was enjoying this act as much as she was. She was utterly convinced that Nicolas Wentworth cherished both the brash fighter and the passionate woman.
Her pleasure built and whirled. She rested her head on the mattress and closed her eyes.
His finger joined his tongue, their tempos synching.
Her thighs tensed and her toes curled.
Nicolas inserted a second finger. As his tongue doled out decadent pleasure, his fingers curled in a come-hither motion. She lifted her hips and slammed her pelvis against his face.
His guttural moan was her undoing. “Nicolas,” she cried as the cyclone brewing within her exploded. Golden sparkles burst behind her eyelids. Feeling like a million glittering pieces, she soared.
When her mind and soul floated back to her body, she found herself cradled in Nicolas’s strong arms. She snuggled against him.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He chuckled. “I should be thanking you.” He brushed tangled strands of hair from her eyes. “Are you ready for round two?”
Enthusiastically ready. Her giggles bubbled. “Put your toe on the scratch line, my lord, and let the round begin.”