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But Lady Jenny Markham was the one who was going to dutifully marry Conrad and live out the rest of her glacially polite days in precisely the manner her father wanted. Quiet gentility, companionship without emotion, like well-appointed rooms in silent houses. It would be a very pretty grave she was walking into. She knew that.
Tonight, she was only a woman. And Dylan had already done things to her that didn’t make sense, that she couldn’t even begin to process, and that had taught her that she was more alive and more hungry than she’d ever dreamed possible.
And she wanted to take this challenge, not because she thought that she wouldn’t like the things he wanted to do to her. But because she wanted him to do them. Now.
She pulled off the soft shirt she wore that managed somehow to look a lot fancier that it was. Then she shrugged out of the tighter tank she’d worn beneath it, that kept her breasts in place without too much fuss. She sighed a little as she pulled it up and over her head, because the fabric dragged against her nipples and it was like lightning stormed through her in response. And it turned out her nipples had a direct line to her clit, and she couldn’t tell the difference, anymore, between what hurt and what might just make her come again.
The bathroom floor was covered in a thick, gorgeous rug, so she kicked off her shoes, then stripped herself of her jeans. Remembering all the while that he’d done it once tonight already.
And he’d already ripped her panties off, so that was it, she was naked. And the sheer illicitness of it, to stand in a bathroom, of all places—naked, in public, when anyone could walk in—
Jenny had to steady herself with a hand on the counter. She stepped back into her shoes, carefully because she kept shivering, and moved to the sink, as ordered.
As ordered.
The words seemed to take on weight and heft, and she was glad she was bending over because she could prop herself up. And maybe not topple over, that way. The heels made her hips hitch up higher, leaving her angled toward the door to the hall that was directly behind her. Whoever walked in—and God help her, it could beanyone—would see her spread out before them.
Her ass and her pussy were on full display, and there was nothing she could do about that. There was no hiding it, or pretending for a moment she wasn’t doing exactly what she was doing.
The heat inside her leaped into a bright flame, and burned.
Hot. Long.
Jenny dropped her head, letting it droop down toward her elbows. Her hair fell all around her. She shut her eyes.
And then she waited.
And she was shivering, though she wasn’t cold. She could feel the air all around her, and she had never been naked in a public place before—because of course she hadn’t. And anyone could walk in. And even if the only person who did walk in was Dylan, that was its own problem, surely, because what did he plan todo—
The door swung open and a flash of ice cascaded over her, dousing her with a thousand pinpricks of pure fear.
And then in the next moment, the stunning heat of shame.
Jenny was frozen. There was no sound. She heard the door swing shut, and it had to be him. Surely it needed to be him, because anyone else would react to the sight of her. A stranger would make some kind of a sound, some kind of embarrassed cough or laugh—
But there was nothing but silence.
And her breathing was beginning to sound high-pitched and labored. She couldn’t tell if she was hot or cold, but she was sweating either way. Her toes were curling up in her shoes, which was making her hips lift higher, and if it wasn’t him, would whoever it was think that it was an invitation—
Of course they would think it was an invitation—
“Very nice,” Dylan said, and the relief that swamped her then was as sharp and thick as what had come before. It almost knocked her sideways. “I wasn’t sure you could follow directions, Jenny. I’m proud of you.”
And he was behind her, then. She even thought she could feel the heat he generated, though he didn’t touch her.
“Look at you. That pussy is so wet. So needy. There’s only one thing for it.”
Jenny had lost the power of speech. She’d left it somewhere in that neat pile of her clothes, and she thought she would die... If he touched her. If he didn’t. If he didn’tdo somethingwith her, because the fact he’d even mentioned her pussy made it throb. And she could feel a surge of raw, molten need overtake her again.
Then he touched her at last, coming up flush behind her so she could feel the scratchy material of his jeans against the curve of her ass. And his hands moved, running up the length of her spine, then down again. As if he was memorizing her. Then down the length of her arms, too. One hand moved to the nape of her neck, his thumb moving in a restless sort of demand, and she didn’t understand how this small a touch could undo her so completely.
She felt moisture in the corners of her eyes again, and she knew that it was tears. Though she was nothing so simple as sad. Jenny couldn’t contain all the things she felt inside. They wouldn’t fit.
He shifted again, and reached out. She heard him pick up something from the array beside her. He let go of her for a moment, though he still stood close behind her. He unzipped his jeans and the sound of it was like a scream, there in the hushed confines of this bathroom.
Then she felt him, silken hot and hard like steel against the curves of her ass.
And this wasDylan. That was Dylan’s cock, huge and hard behind her, and it was Dylan who she’d come all this way to see, when she had no idea what she was asking for. Just as he’d told her she didn’t.
