Lavisham’s grip tightened.
I really should explain. I am no courtesan. Only the clumsy nitwit who crushed Lady Randall’s hyacinths.
Difficult to speak though when surrounded by so much magnificent duke. Josephine parted her lips, meaning to force out the words that she was not a courtesan. Nor had his friend Anders sent her. She was merely Josephine Harrington, here to retrieve?—
Lavisham’s mouth slammed onto hers.
A grown, masculine and pleased sound vibrated from his chest as his lips moved, lazy and sensuous, over hers. Nipping along her bottom lip, he coaxed her mouth to open to his questing tongue. Deepening the kiss, he bent Josephine over the desk, lips possessive and giving no doubt as to his ultimate intent. The pleasure from his mouth was so…wonderful, that Josephine sighed into all that muscled warmth without thinking.
Lavisham was devouring her, and Josephine wanted him to.
Cupping her plump backside, he squeezed one cheek as if testing a melon, fingers dipping into the crease between them, which had Josephine’s breath catching in her lungs.
I should stop this. Stop him.
Josephine whimpered, low and throaty as Lavisham lifted her effortlessly to the desk, pausing only to reposition his hands and her body, all the while his mouth never leaving her own. Buttons popped off the coat she wore, rolling off the desk to scatter across the floor.
“Oh, look at that,” he whispered. “Oops.”
The shirt beneath the coat hid very little, as in, nothing at all. In hindsight, a corset might have been appropriate but had seemed ridiculous under a shirt and coat, especially as she was already so…compressed. But now…
Broad fingers brushed over the edges of one nipple, teasing and rotating around the edge until the small peak grew so hard, she imagined it tearing through the fine lawn of Isaiah’s shirt.
A shredding sound reached her ears as one breast was popped free. She could just make out her nipple, engorged and bobbing in the dim light.
“That’s lovely.” The heat of Lavisham’s mouth enveloped the aching tip, sucking and licking until Josephine panted, grabbing at his shoulder. His hand caressed the globe of her breast, before stroking down her stomach to her waist.
Oh, he really should stop.
That was Josephine’s final, coherent thought before absolute pleasure jolted from her tortured breast to the space between her thighs. His teeth bit down on her nipple, eliciting a sharp cry, before another twist of honey pulled at her.
“Aren’t you warm? I should fix that, shouldn’t I?” The flat of his palm landed squarely over her mound, the leather breeches her only protection from his questing fingers. He rotated the heel of his hand back and forth, paying particular attention to a specific spot.
The friction of the leather, stroking the ache inside her, had Josephine’s hips rocking in tandem with his hand. “Oh,Your Grace.” The sensation was so exquisite, so on the edge of something marvelous, she would have done anything for him to not stop.
“Oh, indeed.” He worked the heel of his hand against her with more purpose, tongue flicking out to tease at the nipple of her breast. “So perfect, aren’t you?”
Pleasure bloomed hard and fierce, funneling into something so sharp that when it crested, a small scream tore through Josephine as the sensation broke apart. Waves crashed over her. Legs kicking, hips twisting, body arching up for more.
“I’m not even unclothed,” she blurted out, panting as the ripples slowly faded, leaving her weak and sated. But by no means completely satisfied.
Dear God, what have I done?
“The first course.” Lavisham smiled wickedly before his mouth claimed hers once more, his much larger form settling between Josephine’s thighs. “I’m going to have to cut these off.” Lavisham nipped at her ear, tugging at the breeches. “I’ll enjoy doing so.”
Josephine’s entire being leapt at the thought of more. Along with the sting of mortification.
Mother always said her daughters were bound to cause trouble and ruin reputations with their buxom, overgenerous forms.
How disappointing to know her mother had been right.
Pushing against Lavisham’s chest—half-heartedly since her body was still throbbing from his ministrations…and honestly, part of Josephine didn’t want him to stop—a light flashed outside the window. The glow of a lantern bobbed up and down fanatically, as if begging for attention.
Oh, God. Willa.
She’d completely forgotten about Willa.
“Your Grace,” Josephine said as forcefully as she could. “This has been an interesting interlude, but I fear I must go.”
