CHAPTER SEVEN

"You're looking a little sweaty, darling. Everything alright?" Drake studied Wren's flushed cheeks and chest as they followed everyone back to the main house. Her round breasts heaved beneath the thin bodice, and he could just make out the hard points of her nipples behind the cotton. Short, wispy curls clung to her forehead where a sheen of sweat resided.

It wasn't overly warm for September, which left another explanation for the indecorous state of his little bird.

Arousal.

He'd pushed and prodded during the picnic, slowly caressing each parcel of exposed skin he could find under the veil of her skirt. It'd been meant to occupy his mind from straying toward Miss Sharpe, but the teasing touches had done more than distract Wren.

They'd completely invaded his mind and blood until his cock strained so painfully against his trousers that he feared the flaps of his jacket wouldn't be able to hide the ironhard nuisance, and he'd send poor Miss Sharpe and Lady Halston into paroxysms of shock.

"Gentlemen don't comment on a lady's sweat," Wren scolded. His jaw dropped for a rebuttal, but she quickly raised her hand for him to stop, a corner of her mouth quirking upward. "You don't have to say it. You're not a gentleman. You're a wicked, wicked man."

He nodded. "As long as we're in agreement."

Spying a gardener's shed ahead, Drake purposely plucked at a button on the back of her dress. She jerked at the sensation and reached a hand back to ensure he hadn't displaced it.

"What was that for?"

"To slow you down. We're not going inside the house quite yet, and we need some distance from the group."

Wren's head turned to watch their companions get further and further away. None the wiser that two of their party were missing. "And what exactly will we be doing instead?" she asked breathlessly, a light of anticipation bringing out the green in her hazel eyes.

"You should know I never kiss and tell." His large palm landed on the small of her back and directed her toward the shed. He assumed it was empty, thus making it the perfect location to ease the ache in his cock and officially begin debauching his curvy little wallflower.

"Well, since I'm the one you plan on kissing, you better start telling," she retorted, and Drake couldn't help slapping the round temptation of her bottom, enjoying the squeak and wiggle it elicited.

The saucy chit didn't mince words.

And it was astonishingly arousing.

The sturdy shed door swung open with nary a sound as he ushered Wren inside the shadowy room. It smelled of earth and metal, various gardening tools filling the space. One cursory scan of the room, and Drake shuffled them toward a wooden work bench under the lone source of light—a small window set on the shed's western wall.

"It's time we got to know one another better." He buffeted her back so they both faced the window, a clear view of Farrow's estate laid out before them. One by one his fingers undid the buttons of her dress until the pink fabric fell open to reveal a white chemise.

Wren shivered but didn't stop him from working the straps and sleeves over her shoulders and arms, allowing the top of her dress to flutter down and catch on her wide hips, leaving the pale expanse of her back bare to him.

A soft "Drake?" drifted through the air.

"Don't turn around," he commanded while his hands coasted over the velvet skin and scattered freckles before moving forward to squeeze the softness of her belly. "Where's the fun in telling you my plan when it'll be much more satisfying to show you?" His teeth scraped below her ear and down the slender column of her neck.

Wren leaned into him, silently consenting to more, as her audible breaths increased with the evidence of her arousal. "Drake…"

"Such a pretty picture my little bird makes. But something's missing…" His hands skimmed higher until they cupped her heavy breasts, thumbs circling the puckered nipples. "Lift your dress and show me how you pleasure yourself. I'd help, but my hands are currently full." He tweaked her nipples in reminder.

"I… I'm not sure…" A note of anxiety entered her voice.

"You must obey me, little bird," he said firmly, rocking his erection into the crease of her bottom. "Or else this will all be for naught."

Indecision wracked her limbs as she stood frozen in his embrace. Drake wondered if he'd pushed too hard too fast; they'd only shared their first kiss that morning, and now, he expected Wren to pet her pussy like a paid mistress.

It was on the tip of his tongue to retract his order—to deviate to something less wicked—when she slowly pulled the pink skirt higher up her thighs, bunching the fabric into tight fists. The trust shown in the move brought more pleasure to his bones than expected. For a reason he didn't want to dwell on, Wren's trust meant something to him.

Drake stood transfixed as slender fingers carefully parted the curls on her mound before sliding through the wet folds. The indecent sound of feminine arousal created a vise around his cock, strangling it with a hunger to experience her hot cream for itself.

The moment Wren touched her clitoris a jolt of pleasure pushed her further into his arms, and he grunted at the effect of being cradled by her ass.

"That's right, darling," he praised her as she began a rhythmic stroking. "Remember all those nights alone in your room. How could you resist exploring this luscious body? These soft breasts, your nipples straining for the pinch of your fingers. Such a naughty girl playing with your tits and this dripping cunt." Desperate moans of pleasure vibrated through her body as he spoke, pinching and pulling her reddened nipples.

The gleam of sweat on her shoulder tasted divine as he licked the salty essence. Everything about Wren was divine. Like a sex goddess born to entice men with her generous curves.

"Did you ever taste yourself? Did you suck your fingers between those plump lips and lick away the evidence of your pleasure?"

"Oh, god… Drake!" A shudder wracked Wren's body, her back bowing in release before she sagged against his hard body.

"Give me your hand." The words were husky as he forced them past his dry throat. She lifted one hand, and he smiled at her na?veté. "No, darling, your other hand."

Tilting her head to the side, Wren's brows furrowed at his request, but she acquiesced.

Bringing her hand to his lips, Drake let her watch as he drew two fingers into his mouth, savoring the honeyed flavor of her sex. Banked heat unfurled in her eyes. Unspoken needs traveling between them.

"I don't think I'm quite satisfied yet, and it doesn't look like you are either."

Retreating, Drake removed his jacket and cravat then unbuttoned part of his shirt. Suitably comfortable, he kicked a few stray garden tools away then lay down on the floor. His valet wouldn't be happy with the state of his clothing by the time they returned to the house, but Drake didn't give a damn.

"Place your thighs around my shoulders," he demanded, craving more of the sweet cream between her thighs.

Wren craved more, too. He could tell by the way she licked her lips, the clenching of her legs as if it would relieve the pressure there.

One orgasm wasn't enough for his little spinster.

She needed more, and he'd damn well give it to her.

"Drake, I don't think…"

"Don't think. Come here, and sit on my face." He enjoyed the game of cat and mouse—of pushing Wren past her limits—but they were running on borrowed time. Soon, the party would wonder where they were, and he wasn't about to leave this shed without satisfying Wren. She needed this release just as much as he did.

She glanced out the small window then faced him again. A red blush flooded the top of her skin. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she muttered before carefully gathering her skirt and lowering herself to straddle him.

"There's my good girl." Wrapping his arms beneath her thick thighs, Drake dragged her to his waiting mouth, trying to classify her sweet flavor… Honey? Peaches? Fucking sunshine?

The miniscule light glinted off the drops of wetness clinging to her curls before everything became shadow, her cream coating his tongue as he licked through her folds, searching for the place where her pleasure coalesced.

All of the above.

Wren tasted of pleasure personified.

Finding the engorged button, he playfully teased her. Circling the bud. Flicking it every so often. She released a frustrated growl in response, settling more firmly against his mouth, and he chuckled at her eagerness.

How quickly she surrendered to him.

Letting her dictate their love play, they soon found a pleasing motion of Wren rocking against his lips and chin until her movements grew choppy, less coordinated. A rush of arousal signaled her release, filling his mouth with the most delicious ambrosia, as she cried out, shuddering above him.

His tongue lazily cleaned up the sticky mess she made as best he could before Wren weakly slid down his body to rest her head against his shoulder.

Satisfaction lay thick in the air—his and hers.

Pausing at the thought, Drake realized he'd been so focused on Wren, he'd hardly noticed his own release at her pleasure, his spend seeping through his trousers. Taken aback at the loss of control, Drake mused about the woman in his arms.

He never lost control.

He was well-versed in fucking and could withhold his orgasm as long as needed to satisfy a woman. Except Wren made him soak his trousers with the mere taste of her cunt.

The notion didn't sit well with him.

"You were right. Showing is best." Wren's soft words broke through his uncomfortable thoughts.

"Hmm…" He absentmindedly stroked her temple, brushing little wisps back from her face.

"But what about you? You didn't get to…" She made a vague gesture below his waist.

"I did," he rumbled, disconcerted again at the surprise act. "Your pleasure incited mine."

"Oh." A note of satisfaction infused the one word.

Clearly, she liked that outcome. And he couldn't fault her. It'd be a point of pride for him as well if he made a woman orgasm with nary a touch, but he was a rake—a renowned womanizer. It was expected of him.

Not of curvy spinsters who clung to ballroom walls.

Not innocent virgins with the brazenness and wit of experienced courtesans.

What manner of beguiling creature was Miss Wren Preston? Because she was unlike any woman he'd ever met.