Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
His hands slid along her bare calves first, slow enough to make her tremble, sure enough to undo every sensible thought she had left.
He pushed up her skirts, and they fell around his shoulders like a tent of secrecy, shutting out the world until there was only the warm dark, her racing pulse, and Nicholas—Nicholas—moving closer.
Too close.
Not close enough.
She sucked in a breath as he pressed his palms along the insides of her thighs, urging them open. The carriage rocked slightly with the shift of her weight, her heart slamming against her ribs as he eased her farther back into the cushions.
“Tell me you want this,” he demanded.
A soft sound escaped her, barely a whisper, barely even a word. “Yes. Please.”
His breath caught. And then—
Heat. A single, devastating stroke of his mouth through the fine, damp-softened layers between them.
Her entire body jolted.
He didn’t rush. He didn’t tease. He didn’t give her time to overthink or panic or pull away.
Nicholas touched her with his mouth the way he argued…
focused, deliberate, absolutely certain of the effect he meant to have.
Each slow, seeking caress sent a ripple of pleasure through her, tightening her grip on the squabs until her knuckles whitened.
“Nicholas—oh—” Her voice broke as he found the place she was already aching for him to find. His rhythm was careful at first, then firmer when her hips betrayed her, lifting into his touch.
He made a low, satisfied sound. “There,” he breathed against her. “Just like that.”
Her head fell back. Every inhale was a fluttering gasp. Every exhale a plea she couldn’t quite form. The world dissolved around her…no carriage, no street, no parents in the house. Only darkness. Only his mouth. Only the unbearable, exquisite pull building tighter and tighter inside her.
He guided her with his hands, keeping her open, steadying her when her thighs trembled. When she tried to muffle a moan, he coaxed it back out of her with a slow, sinful sweep of his tongue that made her entire body arc.
“I can’t—” she whispered.
“Yes,” he murmured against her thigh. “You can.”
His hand slid up to brace her hip. “Hold still,” he murmured. “Let me do this. I want to feel you come on my tongue.”
“Oh—” She gasped, the sound rough and unguarded. She clutched at his shoulder with one hand.
And then with one last devastating swipe of his tongue, he gave her exactly what her body had been begging for.
Pleasure ripped through her so fast she cried out, quietly, but she couldn’t stop it. The sound spilled out of her like something pent up for years. Her fingers flew to her mouth, then to his head, then gripped helplessly at her skirts as her body tightened, tightened—
And shattered.
Her breath stuttered on the release, heat unfurling inside her in a rush that made her thighs quake around his shoulders. He didn’t move away, not until the last tremor faded, not until she was boneless against the cushions and barely remembered her own name.
Only then did he lift his head and push the skirts away.
Her vision blurred at the edges as she stared down at him—the disheveled hair, the flushed cheeks, the glistening lips, the wicked satisfaction written all over his face.
She had never felt anything like it.
She would never be the same again…
For a long, taut moment, neither of them moved.
Then Nicholas nodded—once, sharply—pulling back just enough that the air cooled between them.
His hands stayed on her knees, steadying her as she tried to breathe again.
The loss of his warmth was agony.
They sat like that for a long, trembling breath before he spoke.
“This,” he said softly, moving to sit next to her once again, “changes everything.”
She swallowed hard. “I know.”
“Come to me,” he pleaded. “Tomorrow. Steal away. Let me make you mine.”
“I want to,” she said, but every thought in her head was reminding her of what she’d done.
Nicholas helped her straighten her gown and moved back against the seat, though her body ached at the sudden distance. His cravat was rumpled. Her hair was a disaster. Their lips were unmistakably swollen.
He lifted one hand—hesitated—and brushed a loose lock of hair behind her ear.
She almost leaned into the touch.
Almost.
“You should go in now,” he said.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He knocked on the top of the carriage to alert the driver, while Bea gathered her skirts. When the carriage door opened, she stepped out into the night on unsteady legs.
The driver escorted her.
At the top of the steps to the house, she looked back.
Nicholas sat in shadow, watching her as though she had just undone him completely. He’d sent his own coach home earlier. Father’s coachman would drop him at his house and return.
Her heart clenched.
She turned away quickly and slipped inside before she could do something foolish.
Like run back to him and confess everything.
Or kiss him again. And she would kiss him again. Hopefully. Only…first, she had to find a way to tell him the truth.