Page 44 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

Chapter Ten

Kissing Keir was a much, much nicer way to warm up.

He was the spark of a Yule log, the burn of whisky, a lightning strike on midsummer. How could he be all of these wild and primal things and still the Marquess Blackburn with his unwavering adherence to duty and honor and not-smiling was beyond her.

There was nothing of duty in this kiss.

It was desperate.

Forbidden.

Necessary.

And it burned through her from the top of her head to the tips of her frozen toes. It melted away the cold, the knowledge that this changed nothing, as always. None of that mattered. Not with his hand cradling her nape, digging into the stiff muscles there, twisting in her hair. Not with the soft groan that rumbled in his chest as though she were the sweetest of sweets. As though each taste was the first.

She made sounds of her own, a gasp, a moan. Very nearly a whimper just from the slide of his tongue against hers. It was a deep, slow kiss, one that had every intention of rewriting every single thing she thought she knew about her body. She felt it in her belly, in her thighs, in her ribcage. In the dark corners of her mind where every worry sat waiting for her to let down her guard. She was too much, her curves were too soft, her laugh too loud. None of that mattered. None of it even existed.

She kissed him back, nipping at his lower lip, sucking it into her mouth until his fingers tightened in her hair and he muttered something lovely and filthy.

Not at all the kind of poetry one might expect from the Marquess Blackburn.

As a rule, they did not speak of what burned between them. Not even as it burned between them. But the things he whispered to her now made her thighs clench.

He was Keir, the real Keir that she sometimes thought she saw beneath the inscrutable mask. And then he dragged kisses across her jaw and sucked at the spot below her ear and every single remaining thought fled from her. Every single one. Mere words were left: more, please. Again.

There was only the hard press of his chest against hers as he held her closer, the tightening of her nipples in response. The light scrape of his teeth, his tongue soothing the spot. The arousal pooling throughout her body and making her feel like she were as pliant as melting beeswax all honey and fire.

It was everything. Too much. Not enough.

It would never be enough.

He slipped his hand inside her breeches, sliding his fingers between her already slick and swollen folds. “You’re so wet for me,” he murmured as though she had pleased him.

He never spoke like this. It did things to her she could not have expected. It made her feel soft and feral, all whimpering breath but also teeth. “Keir.”

Saying his name seemed to unlock something in him. The intensity of his gaze burned through her, licked up her spine, tingled through her thighs. He curled two fingers inside her passage, using his thumb to tease her bud, circling it slowly, then flicking over it until she gasped. She arched against him, desperate for more. Her leg muscles quivered as she chased the press of his hand, squirming away at the same time when it was too much. She rode him until her vision sparked, until the pleasure tightened and sharpened inside her.

He bit into her neck and the waves crested immediately, crashing through her.

The ferociousness of it did not ease. She ripped the buttons of his own breeches open, and he sprang free into her palm, hot and silky and hard. She gripped him, not gently, pumping up and down until his breaths were ragged and harsh. He yanked her breeches down, dragging her over his lap, her knees on either side. His fingers dimpled in the curve of her hips. “Ride me, Sybil. Use me.”

The sound of his husky voice was devastating. She fitted him at her opening and then eased down, agonizingly slow, torturing them both. When she was seated, filled to the hilt, she rolled her hips. He jerked up into her, shooting sensations through limbs. She pulled up, dropped back down. His forehead was pressed to her throat and she clung to him, met each movement with a thrust. Her legs burned. He surged up, grasping her waist and taking control, lifting her easily, sliding her back down over his cock until she moaned, intimate muscles fluttering in response.

He gritted his teeth, refusing to come until she collapsed against him, shaking and whimpering. He surged up again, then pulled out and groaned, spending into a handkerchief.

It took some time for Sybil to catch her breath. She was feeling too much.

She pulled her clothes back on and shoved her feet into her wet boots. And then the sun finally won its battle with the wintry clouds and pierced through the gaps in the curtains. It was too bright and too warm and too real.

When she had put herself back to rights, the carriage pulled to a stop.

Keir helped her down without a word.

She darted up the steps to Spinster House, also without a word.

And she quite forgot to ask how he knew where she lived when she was not at home.

Sybil found herself in the Park later that afternoon, after a very few hours of sleep.