Page 63 of The Countess Caper

And then he pressed her palm over the bulge in his trousers. Her gaze flew to his. She couldn’t help but squeeze, lightly. He groaned.

The sound soared through her.

His voice was harsh when he spoke again. “Is this pretending, Tessa? I’m so hard for you, have been so hard for you since you stole my bloody carriage, that I am half afraid for my health.” He jerked his hips forward a little. “One night was never going to be enough.”

She licked her lips. “For someone who does not speak much, you certainly know what to say.”

“I prefer showing you.”

He pushed her skirts up to her knees, dragging his thumbs up her stockings, over the ribbons, and pressing into her skin. She fumbled for the fall of his breeches and those hateful buttons until he sprang free, smooth and hot and thick. She wrapped her fingers around him, stroking up and down.

“Now who’s trying to kill who?” he muttered.

He lifted her breasts free of her short stays and her dress, and the cool air puckered her nipples. He closed his lips around her, sucking a nipple into his hot mouth greedily. She arched, tightening her grip on him. He licked at her slowly, peppered with kisses and pulls, and his voice. That voice. “Are you wet, Tessa?”

She was embarrassingly wet.

Only she remembered she had decided not to be embarrassed. She nodded.

His fingers brushed against her, once, twice, then parted her slick folds. “Is this for me?” Her breath stuttered. He slid a finger inside her, stopped. “I asked you a question, Tessa.”

“Y-yes.”

His fingers stroked higher, and she clenched around them, moaning. He bent his head to her breasts again, sucking on her nipples with the same rhythm he circled her bud with his thumb.

She came apart with very little warning. A searing heat, a build of pressure, and then she was falling. Her climax pulled at her with the sudden, secret force of an undertow dragging her out. And when she resurfaced, Roarke was laying her against the opposite seat, kneeling as he pushed her legs apart. “One more,” he said. “You can give me one more.”

He licked up her quim, and quivers and trembles followed every flick of his tongue. He dragged it through her folds, using two fingers to fill her, pushing in, pulling out, over and over again. His mouth was gentle at her bud, a tiny lick, a soft nuzzle, and when she thought she could not bear another second, something in him snapped. He sucked hard, rolling it without mercy, fingers never faltering. The noises he made were indecent, filthy. Satisfied.

It pushed her over the edge again, and the orgasm rolled through her in sharp, deep waves until her thighs trembled. Roarke turned his head, kissing the quivering muscles before drawing back and sitting down like any earl at a supper party.

Tessa pushed up, feeling mildly drunk. “My turn,” she said.

Roarke tucked himself back into his breeches, but he was hard and straining.

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re going to let me touch you, Roarke Noble.”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

He wiped his beard with his handkerchief, looking smug.

“Because we’re here.”

Tessa emerged from the carriage feeling like a wanton and not minding it one bit.

Roarke followed, every bit as resigned and silent as he usually was. But she knew he was affected now. He shifted. She grinned. His gaze flicked down to her. “Careful, little devil.”

She kept grinning. “Why start now?”

She was almost certain he was fighting a smile. And then absolutely certain when he lost. She wanted to keep those rare smiles forever. It fell away when he turned to the castle. He kept them for her, and it made something melt inside her chest. The world got his glowers and his calm, unbreaking stoicism, but he smiled at her. Even in those moments when most people stopped smiling at her. Especially then.

He really was the most dangerous person in her life.

And he wasn’t even the one who had tried to stab her in the throat.

“Shall we?” Roarke asked drily. “Because you know how much I love a house party.”