Sweet as the Devil (27 page)

“Is that what you call it?” he said with amusement.

“Call it what you will, darling,” Sofia replied, beginning to draw her skirt upward. “You supply it most excellently.”

He glanced out the window.

“Don’t you dare say no,” she crisply said.

“I was just checking our location.” In all likelihood, they’d reach Sofia’s mother’s tonight. He pulled down the shades completely. “And I couldn’t possibly say no,” he added with a grin. “So tell me what you want. There, here?” He pointed to his lap. “Or we could throw the fur robe on the floor and see if we could get comfortable. Carriages are a little small for my size, but”—he indicated the bulge in his trousers with a languid wave—“my cock is willing to work out just about anything right now.”

“Right now sounds wonderful,” Sofia murmured, wiggling out of her drawers. Tossing them aside, she smiled sweetly and spread her thighs. “Come and console me, darling.”

He grinned. “How could any man refuse?” Her pink, pouty flesh glistened in readiness, framed by her pale pubic hair. Temptation incarnate, primed and ready and within reach.

“I have only to look at you and I melt inside,” she whispered. “It’s terrifying and mystifying, but delicious all the same. How do you do it?”

“I don’t know,” he pleasantly said. “But if it pleases you, I’m content.” While he didn’t understand the inner workings of the female mind, women often had said as much to him, so he understood his essential part in what came next. “I suggest we take off your dress. Your mother might wonder what you’ve been doing if it’s wrinkled beyond recognition.”

“So coolly practical, darling. Do you always plan ahead?”

“Mostly.”

She smiled. “You said that once before.”

“I remember.”

“We should have wagered. I would have won.”

“We both won,” he said with a roguish grin. “Now you’re going to have to move; we’re not going to fit on that seat.” Rising, he bent his head under the low ceiling, picked her up, sat back down, settled her on his lap, and began unbuttoning the bodice of her gown.

She liked his quiet management skills. He removed her gown with deft proficiency, folded it neatly, and placed it on the opposite seat. “You must do this a lot,” she said, her voice heated and low. “It’s very arousing . . . your competence at undressing a lady.”

“You find everything arousing,” he replied, his gaze amused.

“Only with you. Normally, I don’t—”

“Talk so much,” he brusquely interjected, oddly conflicted by her amorous past. He slid his finger down the warm valley between her breasts, cupped the soft flesh, and bending, kissed her cheek. “This is all mine,” he whispered, quickly disposing of her chemise, delicately squeezing one pink, rosy nipple.

Sofia softly moaned, the streaking rush of pleasure terminating in the pulsing core of her body, and she pressed against his lightly manipulating fingers, covetous, yearning, wanting more.

“I like that you’re always ready for me,” he gently said, testing that readiness with a light, drifting finger up her slippery cleft.

“I’d like to hate you for making me this needy,” she murmured, “but the rewards are so sensational I’d be a fool to do so. This”—she cupped her palm over the bulge in his trousers—“is magnificent and gratifying in every way.” She grinned. “I thank you in advance.”

“Do we have time for kisses or foreplay or either?” he teased, unbuttoning his trousers and turning her so she was straddling his thighs, “or should I know better than to ask?”

Leaning forward, she quickly kissed his cheek. “There. Now onto more delectable sensations.” Coming up on her knees, she slid her hand into his opened trousers, gripped his rampant erection, and eased it away from his belly.

He chuckled. “What if I said I was in the mood for romance?”

She looked up from positioning the head of his penis in the sleek folds of her sex. “You’d be lying.”

A flashing grin lit his green gaze. “You could be wrong, Miss Hot and Bothered.” Although, in truth, her eagerness was one of her most charming qualities.

“Umm, stop talking now—ummm—oh . . . my . . . God,” she softly exhaled, coming to rest on his thighs, his huge, rock-hard cock buried to the hilt, her eyes shut tight against the gluttonous pleasure rippling out in waves from her taut, stretched vaginal tissue.

A small silence fell while two bodies and brains registered the shocking intensity of raw sensation—while nerve endings trembled in time to their heartbeats and empirical perception took on a new, explosive prodigality.

Jamie drew in a breath first because flights of fancy were a breach of custom for him. With Sofia still motionless in his arms, concerned she might be hurt, he whispered, “Are you all right?”

As if his voice was trigger to reality, Sofia inhaled a great whoosh of air, opened her eyes, and softly said, “I’m never,
never
letting you go.”

“How nice,” he said. “We’ll live on moonbeams and passion fruit and make love in the daisy-strewn meadows of Xanadu.”

She giggled. “Glib-tongued Lothario.”

He smiled. “At least we can make love until we reach your mother’s. How would that be?”

“That would be”—she rotated her hips slowly—
“fantastic”

When his spiking pulse rate diminished marginally, he readjusted his hands on her waist and murmured, “Let’s try that again.” He did, they did, and the ensuing lascivious sensations required another several hushed moments to fully enjoy and assimilate. He kissed her with tenderness, prompted by a rare gratitude, and lifting his mouth a moment later, he murmured, “You please me.” And as a seasoned hedonist and connoisseur of dalliance, he understood better than most the diverse shades of pleasure.

“In the lap of the gods,” Sofia murmured.

He didn’t have to ask her what she meant. “Yes,” he said. “That.”

And when he kissed her again, she kissed him back, acknowledging their rare affinity, the unrivaled pleasure they felt, the simpatico that didn’t require explanation. And then she said, “Give me more,” because she was always more greedy than he.

“You can have it all,” he simply said. “As often as you wish.”

Perhaps the closed, shadowed world within the carriage gave them license to be defiant of reality, to play in a wonderland of their senses, to indulge their whimsy. Or perhaps it was something more mystifying and profound.

Whatever it was, no matter how unlikely or contrary to their normal lives, these two people who normally looked at the world with clarity and engaged in seduction as a game surrendered to some fated imperative and rashly pressed the boundaries of emotion.

Not that Jamie forgot his manners or failed to give the lady all the pleasure she craved. He did in full measure, servicing his hot little companion, keeping her gorged full and orgasmic until she was half-delirious from overwrought sensation.

“Should we rest?” he gently asked some time later as she shuddered in his arms.

Her eyes drifted shut, a soft little vexatious moan her only answer.

His smile was affectionate. “Very well.” He was capable of interpreting her unspoken wishes by now, and forcing her slick cunt down his erection again, he held her momentarily captive as she squirmed and panted and wallowed in a seething ecstasy. Then he set a deft, practiced, tantalizing pace that quickly brought her to another feverish, violent orgasm.

And so it went, the lady lost to all reason, Jamie doing what he did so well, pleasure ramping up to new blissful levels, a mutual enchantment charming body and brain alike.

Until in the course of time, they were making love on the floor of the carriage, both hot with lust, Jamie still partially dressed with Sofia’s demands having taking precedence. His hair hung in damp curls, his skin was sheened with sweat, his cock thrust hilt deep in her succulent cunt.

She was screaming as another climax savagely assailed her overdrawn senses, then whimpering softly, she clung to him as it began to wane.

Cramped within the constricted space, Jamie’s movements were hindered, his legs numbed after so long, his shoulders wedged between the seats. But in the passionate pursuit of pleasure he’d been more than willing to overlook any discomfort, his libido if not as insatiable as Sofia’s, more than amenable.

And since she’d just climaxed again, it was his turn.

A decision based mostly on the fact that his orgasm was fast approaching the point of no return. He flexed his legs as his climax began—the act of withdrawal so instinctive no rational thought was involved. It took a flashing second before he realized he was stuck fast, his right foot pinioned and immovable. The braided trim on his boot was firmly caught on the latch of one of the underseat compartments, and another perilous second more elapsed before the threat fully registered in his brain.

Another second passed before he frantically tore his boot free and then another before he finally jerked his cock from Sofia’s honeyed passage.

Moments too late—an eternity too late.

His seed was ruinously drenching Sofia’s vagina.

He swore, then swore some more, at his stupidity, his ineptitude, the fact that he didn’t have enough sense to take off his boots. When at last his tirade was over, he said, grimly, “Forgive me. Is there something here we could wash you out with?”

“You drank all the champagne,” she said. “Don’t glare at me,” she added with arched brows. “I didn’t drink it.”

“This isn’t funny.” Unfolding himself from the floor, he hauled himself up on the seat.

“I’m not laughing. Have the carriage stop somewhere if you like, and we can buy another bottle of champagne.”

“You’re taking this rather calmly,” he muttered, buttoning his trousers as if it mattered now.

“I doubt hysterics would do any good.” She pushed herself into a seated position against the door. “I’m not in the market for a husband,” she succinctly said. “Just so we’re clear.”

He didn’t immediately reply, his gaze as direct as hers. “We’ll stop in the next town,” he said in cold, flat tones. Was she sincere or designing like so many women? Irrelevant at this point, he bitterly lamented, and softly exhaling, he handed her one of the table napkins they’d been using for mopping up. “Look, it’s entirely my fault,” he said with a reluctant civility. “Please accept my apology.”

“Accepted,” she crisply replied, “because it
is
your fault. Although,” she said more temperately, “the risk can’t be great—only once like that.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” It was timing, not odds, however, when it came to a pregnancy.

Sofia reached for her drawers. “You’re under no obligation.”

“How very kind of you. I would naturally be willing to lend you any financial assistance should it come to that.”

“Thank you, but I don’t need your money.”

“As you wish.” Concealing his relief, he held out his hand and helped her off the floor and onto the seat. “May I say, up to this point, it’s been a most enjoyable journey.”

“And so it will continue,” Sofia replied with equal civility, reaching for her folded dress. “I’m truly not interested in marriage. You’re completely safe. Don’t give this little gaucherie another thought.”

“Very well, I won’t. Would you like some help with those buttons?”

She liked his urbanity. He overcame crises with equanimity. What she liked best of course was something quite apart from his equanimity. She hoped he wouldn’t spurn further sex because of this little lapse. “You could buy some condoms,” she said, looking up at him as he buttoned her gown. “If you’re worried.”

“I could,” he said.

“As insurance,” she pointed out.

“It’s a possibility.”

“You don’t like them.”

“Not much. Normally, I’m very dependable.”

“Lots of practice, I suppose.”

“I suppose so,” he placidly said. “There now.” He patted the last button. “You need a comb for your hair.”

“I hate all the women who came before me. Don’t give me that sardonic look. I don’t have to be reasonable. I wish there weren’t any, so there.”

“Then why don’t we say there weren’t any,” he pleasantly replied.

“I’d dearly like that.” Rash and impetuous as ever, she threw her arms around his neck and smiled up at him. “You always know how to please me.”

“I live to please you,” he softly murmured.

“Good,” she said, and resting her head on his shoulder, she nestled close, reveling in the feel of him, bewitched and infatuated. “You’re ever, ever so nice,” she purred.

Nice, perhaps
, he thought,
apprehensive, certainly
.

He’d blundered rather badly.

With luck, hopefully not irreversibly.

I
T WAS DARK when the carriage rolled up the long driveway leading to a sprawling medieval structure that had once been farmhouse, barn, and outbuildings combined, and was now a luxurious country house with eighteen bedrooms, three receptions rooms, and numerous studios for artists.