“Good girl. Relax. Close your eyes.”
She turned her head and kissed his neck. He caught her lips with his and kissed her forcefullywhile one hand caressed both of her breasts and the other finally found the place that throbbed and ached for his touch.
His tongue thrust deeply into her mouth, and she opened her lips wider to take him, to match his movements. As his tongue told her to open for him, he spread her thighs wider, positioning her to his liking, and then he slid a finger inside her.
“Oh,” she moaned, but the sound was muffled by his lips. He was inside her in two places at once, her mouth and between her thighs, one hand teasing her breasts all the while, lightly pinching her nipples until the need built inside her to a fever pitch.
“Sweet thing, moving your hips, you want more, don’t you?”
“Mmm.”
“What was that?”
“Yes. I want more.”
Something wider, two fingers, or three, sliding into her body, then out again to touch her softly, learn her landscape, sketch her contours with a light touch, easily sliding inside again because she was melting for him.
“Now you’re going to come for me, my good girl,” he said in a deep, raspy voice.
Her body knew what he meant. She could feel it coming. There it was, starting now, as he stroked her. Her nipples, her secret places. Stroked and caressed her until she was shaking, clenching, with need.
“Now.” A command. Spoken with authority bythis man who knew exactly what he was doing to her, knew how to make her body do unpredictable and thrilling things.
“I said now.” And she obeyed. Arching her back, anchored by his hands, by his lips against her neck. His deep voice buzzing in her ear. She obeyed him, and she allowed pleasure to take her. Lilting bliss spiraling outward from her core to every part of her body. Such a beautiful surprise to fly apart and be reshaped by his arms.
“You’re such a sweet, good girl,” he murmured, stroking her hair.
“And you’re good too. Stop pretending that you’re not.”
“I’m not, Sandrine. Did you hear what I told you? Did you feel what I just did to you? A good, honorable man wouldn’t have said or done those things.”
“You were granting a request. I don’t think you were pretending to be someone you aren’t in Squalton. I think you are that man, Mr. Smith, who holds balls of yarn for spinster knitters and picks herbs with young ladies and listens so intently to their ghost stories.”
“And there it is.” He pulled her skirts down and lifted her away from him. “There’s the reason that this was a mistake.”
“You’re good, and gentle, and caring. You decide what you are. Not your father, or your brother, or society.”
“Sandrine, listen to me, I’m not that man. I wish I could be, but I can’t.” He helped her stand up. “I’ll only hurt you again.”
Stung by his words, she gathered up her wig and mask, preparing to return to her friends. They were supposed to leave by midnight and she didn’t even know what time it was.
“Lord Dane?” a voice called. “Are you here?”
“It’s Madam Avalon,” he said. “Here,” he called.
She rounded the hedge and stared at them. “There you are, Lord Dane. And my charming guest. Your friends are looking for you. I’ll take you to them.”
“Do you have any news for me about the man with the stickpin?”
“He’s here. My attendants are watching to make sure he doesn’t leave the salon.”
“Thank you. I’ll go and talk to him.”
“Is it the man I saw at the prizefight?” Sandrine asked.
“I think it could be him.”
Sandrine handed him his coat. “Be careful.”