Chapter 17

Fast felt as though Christmas had come early this year as he caressed from Lorelei’s trim ankles up her shapely calves to the soft, yielding flesh of her thighs.

“Bloody hell you have beautiful legs! They should be on display in a museum.” He stroked up and down slowly, reveling in their curvaceous magnificence.

She laughed. “I have already agreed to tonight, my lord. You needn’t shower me with compliments to persuade me.”

Fast frowned and his hands froze just above her knees, their ultimate destination forgotten for the moment. “Who was it who taught you to believe that compliments were nothing but tools to pry a woman’s thighs apart, Lorelei?”

She colored slightly but collected her wits with the celerity to which he had become accustomed. “I just meant—”

“I know what you meant,” he said, resuming his stroking. “As it happens, I enjoy telling you what I like about you—probably more than you like hearing it.”

She pulled her lips between her teeth for a moment, as if struggling to stifle a smile, and then said, “I like hearing it.”

Fast nodded his approval and allowed his hands to continue their journey. This time he did not stop at the border where cotton met flesh but explored higher and higher. He felt the heat of her cunny even before his fingers reached the damp, springy curls that guarded her sex. “My God, Lorelei.” Blood roared in his ears as he slid a finger between her slick folds. “You aren’t wet—you’re drenched.” He lightly flicked her engorged nub before she had a chance to respond to his crude words and was rewarded for his audacity when a muffled cry tore from her slack lips, her full, shapely hips lifting in silent appeal as Fast teased the source of her arousal. Her thighs, which she’d clenched so tightly only moments before, strained as she opened herself to him.

“Look at me, darling,” he ordered when her eyelids began to drift shut, amused and aroused by the quick way she responded—even though it was clear that her inclination to rebel against authority warred with the sensual pleasure she took in submitting.

Fast was truly looking forward to taking her apart.

But first, he needed to get her out of her horrid clothing.

Although it pained him, he withdrew his hand, needing both to shove the voluminous petticoat and stiff panels of her gown up to her waist. “Christ,” he muttered. “These damned skirts.” He fumbled with the fastenings before finally just tearing the faded, worn material.

Rather than chide him for his roughness, she helped him and together they ripped and tugged on the garments until all she had on were her chemise, short stays, stockings, and ankle boots.

Fast shoved aside the mountains of petticoats and skirts and then looked up at her.

He’d worried that the brief foray into practicalities would bring her back to her senses, but she merely watched him from beneath lowered lids, her lips parted with what looked to be anticipation.

Ah, here was his intrepid newspaperwoman.

He caressed up her stocking sheathed calves until his hands rested beneath each knee. “Over the armrests.”

Her eyes widened as she realized the view that would afford him.

Fast watched with interest as she struggled, modesty fighting with curiosity and desire.

Primitive hunger roared through him when she complied, jerkily lifting one knee and resting it over the armrest, and the other.

He didn’t allow himself to look down yet, keeping his gaze fixed on her face. “Now slide your bottom to the edge of the chair. More.”

She caught her lower lip with her teeth and complied.

Fast stroked her thighs, the strained and stretched muscles twitching beneath his palms. “Are you uncomfortable?”

She shook her head, her breasts straining above the plain corset as she angled herself in a way that she could see what he was about.

Only when she was settled did he allow himself to look down. He released an explosive breath at the sight that met his hungry gaze. Although the chemise covered her, a dark triangle was visible beneath the thin muslin, which was almost transparent from many washings.

Rather than lift the shift and expose her, he pulled the fabric taut, until her mound was imprisoned beneath the muslin, the erotic details of her wide-spread sex limned in a way that both exposed and teased.

Fast lightly caressed her over the damp muslin, glancing up and pausing his gentle petting when a needy sound tore from her throat.

Her jaws had clenched until the muscles and sinews stood out beneath the flushed skin of her throat. Her hips lifted until she nudged his hand.

Fast gave her what she wanted, circling the rapidly swelling bundle of nerves until the muslin was soaked and small, animal grunts slipped from her mouth with each flex of her hips. He waited until she was maddened by lust—until she’d forgotten about her wanton sprawl or the man fingering her or anything but the need to climax.

That’s when he lowered his mouth and sucked her stiff little nub between his lips.

The result of his action was both immediate and explosive. Her hands fisted his hair and held him in place—as if he had any intention of ever leaving—and her hips bucked as she ground her cunt against his eager lips and tongue.

Fast could not recall a more beautiful sight than prickly, combative Lorelei Fontenot losing control after barely a touch from his tongue. He gently massaged the straining muscles of her thighs as her contractions became less and less violent, until finally her hips stilled.

She opened her eyes, blinked blearily, and then tensed. “Oh,” she muttered, and then tried to pull her legs closed.

Fast easily held her open. “Do your thighs hurt?”

“No, but—”

“Then hush and stay as you are. I am not finished.”

Her brow furrowed. “I don’t unders—”

“Lift your chemise. I want to see you.”

Only the hitch in her breathing told him that his words affected her. “You are so… bossy.”

“I am,” he agreed without hesitation. “And that excites you, doesn’t it? And you cannot fathom why that is.” He could tell by the scowl on her face that he was right on both counts. “Raise your chemise,” he commanded in a low voice before she could argue.

With clenched jaws and shaking hands, she lifted the slip of muslin higher, exposing herself inch by delicious inch.

It was Fast’s turn to breathe harshly. “Good God, Lorelei.” He caressed the taut cords of her thighs and used his thumbs to spread her lips and expose that most sensitive part of her to his hungry gaze. “Look at you,” he murmured, leaning low and flicking her bud with the tip of his tongue.

When she gasped, he looked up at her. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted as she breathed raggedly. He extended his tongue slowly, holding her gaze as he curled the tip around her tiny organ.

His balls, already aching and hard, clenched at the low, animal keening noise she made as she yet again raised her hips, offering herself to him.

Fast tongued her too lightly to give her what she needed, teasing and taunting and tormenting her until she shook as though a fever were raging through her body.

“Please,” she whispered. “I need—” she broke off with a guttural moan.

“I know what you need,” Fast said.

And then he lowered his mouth and gave it to her.

***

For the second time that night Lori lost control. The tension that had been coiling inside her suddenly released like a spring. The pleasure was truly excruciating. One second, she wanted to run from it, the next she was grinding herself against Lord Severn’s mouth.

She told herself that this time would be the last. But then just when she began to regain control, to remember where she was—who she was—he once again drove her toward the cliff and ruthlessly shoved her off the edge.

Time blurred and she lost track of everything except sensation, extreme bliss rippling through her body again and again and again.

Lori was languidly lazing on yet another cloud of ecstasy when the soft, wet heat of Severn’s mouth disappeared.

No. It didn’t disappear, it moved lower.

And lower.

Lori opened her eyes and looked directly into Lord Severn’s heavy-lidded black gaze.

The corners of his mouth curled up at whatever he saw on her face—likely witless befuddlement—and then he brazenly breeched her entrance and slid his tongue inside her.

The unspeakably carnal sight caused her greedy body to ready itself for yet another climax. Severn did not disappoint, his rhythmic, suggestive thrusting propelling her once more toward rapture.

Watching him was even more arousing than the feeling of his skilled lips and tongue. Lord Severn, the Rake of Rakes, was kneeling between her thighs, giving her pleasure she’d never dreamed was possible.

But then just when she teetered on the edge of another orgasm Severn sat back and smiled, his lips and chin slick with… her .

She lifted her hips and bumped his hand before she could think what she was doing.

He laughed and lightly flicked her clitoris with the tip of his finger. “Stop begging.”

Lori hissed in a harsh breath, aroused rather than chastened by the careless gesture. She had to savage the inside of her cheek to keep from pleading—no, demanding— that he finish what he’d started.

“Such a greedy girl,” he murmured, resuming his stroking, but missing the one place she wanted him far too consistently for it to be accidental. “Be patient and I will give you more of what you want.”

She gritted her teeth to keep from snarling get on with it.

Judging by his knowing smirk, she was less than successful at hiding her frustration. “I want to feel inside you.” He lightly probed the place where his tongue had just been and lifted a querying eyebrow.

Lori nodded.

His gaze lowered to his finger as he breeched her. “God you look beautiful.” His eyes flickered between her face and her sex as he worked her. “You’re so tight and wet,” he said, his voice harsh with need, his eyes black pools of lust as he pumped her deeply again and again and again.

She groaned when he slid a second finger alongside the first, the ache of being stretched both pleasurable and mildly uncomfortable.

“Look how good you take me,” he said in a hushed, almost reverential tone.

And then he lowered his mouth and worked her with fingers, lips, and tongue.

This time—with part of him inside her—the contractions felt twice as intense as any that that had gone before, and the climax went on and on and on.

Lori had no idea how much time had passed when she finally opened her eyes to find that Severn had lowered her legs from the armrests and now sat between them lightly massaging her thighs.

Lori blinked at him. “Did I fall asleep?”

“For a little while.” He smiled. “Now that you’ve rested, perhaps you are ready for—”

She set a limp hand on his shoulder when he began to lower his head again. “Please. I just… can’t—”

He chuckled. “As you wish.” He got to his feet and then slid his arms beneath her.

“I can walk,” she protested feebly.

“I know.” He carried her across the room, pausing long enough to open and then shut the door behind him.

Wake up! the voice of reason shouted. You came here to question him, not to… well, not to do whatever it was that he just did to you.

Lori knew the voice was right, but she was so bone weary that she didn’t protest when she felt the unspeakable softness of velvet bedding beneath her bare bottom.

“Rest for a bit,” Severn said, his deft fingers once again moving over her person, this time unbuttoning her boots, which she’d forgotten she was still wearing.

“I need to go,” she said, but made no effort to move.

He untied her garters and rolled down each stocking.

“I can’t stay,” she said, a yawn distorting her words. Cool, butter-soft sheets that smelled faintly of Lord Severn’s elusive cologne were tucked in around her naked torso. She’d never slept nude before. It felt exquisite.

“Just rest, Lorelei.”

“I have to be…somewhere,” she murmured.

“Sleep,” a low voice said.

And that was the last thing Lori heard.