“I’m just saying I can abstain if you can.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Then take the bet. You’ll be richer for it.”
“I’m not betting with you. You’re totally unscrupulous.”
He was more than willing to take the blame for their mutual passions if it would serve his cause. “You’re right, forgive me. I’ll turn over a new leaf, I promise. I’ll be virtue itself.”
She looked at him suspiciously. “Why are you doing this? ”
He would have liked to think it was for sex, but it didn’t look as though sex was on the menu and yet he was still interested. “God knows,” he honestly replied. Then he smiled. “Perhaps it’s the challenge.”
“Here’s a challenge for you.” Her voice was cool. Everything was a game with Fitz. Curiously, she’d been hoping for an answer based on earnest feelings. Which only proved that she wasn’t cut out for the fast life. “Go without something you want for a change.”
“Something being you.”
“Yes, me in all my fascinating guises,” she lightly asserted, taking pleasure in Fitz’s mutinous expression. “Consider me the one who got away.”
“What if you didn’t get away?” A gentle query despite his moody gaze.
“But I already have. I’ll be quite alone tonight, although I’m sure you won’t lack for female companionship.”
A predatory gleam came into his eyes. “What if I already found the female I want? ”
“If that was directed at me, I doubt your suit would be persuasive,” Rosalind said, overconfident and naive about men who considered themselves exempt from ordinary rules of conduct.
“Surely you could use five hundred pounds.” A man’s argument, blunt and to the point.
“Of course I could, but unlike the other ladies you dally with, I’m not for sale,” she smugly noted.
He was motionless save for a slight arch to his brows. “Everyone’s for sale.”
“Really? You think so? ”
“I know so. The price just varies.”
“You’re a cold bastard.”
“And you’re one hot little piece,” he drawled.
Her smile was dazzling, cheeky, flaunting in its presumption. “But unfortunately not available to a rogue like you.”
“You didn’t seem to mind a rogue’s touch last night or the night before,” he smoothly noted.
“Perhaps I’ve had my fill, no pun intended,” she archly replied. “You’ll find someone else to warm your bed, I’m sure.”
She shouldn’t have continued to provoke him.
Those who knew him better wouldn’t have been so rash.
In a few quick strides, he circled the end of the counter, pushed her against the wall, pinioned her with his body, and bending his head so their eyes were level, said taut and low, “Don’t fuck with me.”
“Unhand me this instant,” she hissed. “Someone might come in.”
“I’ll lock the door.”
As he turned, Rosalind looked past him and froze. “Oh, God help me, Lady Harcourt’s about to come in!”
Fitz glanced at the door and swore.
“Do you know her?” Rosalind breathed, her panicked gaze on the entrance.
“Of course.”
“Hide, hide,
Responding to her terror, Fitz dropped to the floor. “Get rid of her,” he hissed, sitting against the high counter facing her, his legs on either side of her feet, his head conveniently at the juncture of her thighs.
“And if I don’t? ” She took orders poorly.
“Then maybe I’ll come up from under your skirts and wish dear old Adelaide a pleasant afternoon,” he threatened, flicking the hem of her skirt in warning.
She shot him a wrathful look. “Monster.”
His smile was impudent. “Sorceress.”
“Good afternoon, Lady Harcourt,” Rosalind sang out in a voice slightly breathless at the last for Fitz had lifted her skirt, slid his hand between her thighs, and easing it between the divided legs of her drawers, rested his fingertips ever so lightly on her cleft.
“Good afternoon, my dear.” The elderly woman closed her parasol and set it by the door. “I do hope you have some new sermons from Cardinal Newman.”
“Indeed, Lady Harcourt. They’re on their usual shelf.” Unable to move with her ankle securely in Fitz’s grasp, Rosalind prayed Lady Harcourt didn’t ask for help.
“Lock the door when she leaves,” Fitz whispered.
“I will not.”
“Consider, darling, you might prefer not fucking with spectators looking on.” He was gently caressing her pouty sex, delicately inspecting the extent of the tenderness she’d alluded to, deftly arousing her passions.
“Fitz, don’t,” she breathed. “Please… don’t.” But she swallowed a gasp for he’d slid the tip of his finger inside her the merest fraction and made contact with the bud of her clitoris. Every carnal nerve in her body violently swooned in response and instantly quivered for more.
“There now, you’re getting nice and wet,” he murmured, his voice softly approving, as if she’d accomplished something praiseworthy. Her clitoris was swelling, his fingers were being drenched, her vagina was pulsing, and her protests notwithstanding, she was definitely receptive.
“Stop, Fitz”-Rosalind slapped his head-“not now. She might see.”
If the lovely Mrs. St. Vincent hadn’t been squirming and rocking against the deft pressure of his fingers, he might have taken her protests to heart. Glancing up, he whispered, “Hush, darling. You don’t want Adelaide to hear you. By the way, you have the most welcoming little quim. I’m getting hard just thinking about trying to get inside.”
“Oh God,” she softly wailed, attempting to suppress the ripples of pleasure spreading outward from Fitz’s silken touch, mortified that she was melting inside when any self-respecting lady regardless of-oh Lord, what was he doing? “Don’t, Fitz, for God’s sake, don’t!”
“I won’t if you don’t want me to, darling,” he whispered, having eased her labia open with his thumb and tucked her skirt hem into her waistband with his other hand. “It’s up to you, of course.” And leaning forward slightly, he slowly measured the length of her distended clitoris with the tip of his tongue.
Gasping in shocked surprise, she jammed her palms against his head. But the pressure of her hands quickly relaxed as his tongue skimmed the twitching nerves of her clitoris and his long, slender fingers sunk palm deep inside her and stroked her throbbing vagina.
A moment later, sliding her fingers through his dark, ruffled hair, she gave herself up to a wholly new gluttonous pleasure, moving against his mouth, needing to ease the uneasable ache.
He felt her move, felt her clitoris swell, renewed his attention to her clit with single-minded professionalism, bringing her quivering little nub to full-blown, ready-as-could-be tumescence. She was slippery wet, her stimulated flesh moistening his fingers, the sleek fluid trickling down her thighs, and he hoped like hell Adelaide found her damned book of sermons quickly because Mrs. St. Vincent was getting really worked up and she wasn’t the patient type. Not that he was either, ergo his impetuous journey here after Clarissa’s. It appeared that Mrs. St. Vincent’s pussy, for inexplicable reasons, was the current magnet for his cock.
There was no reasonable explanation for his obsession, but then again, none was required.
Consummation alone was his holy grail.
“Mrs. St. Vincent! I don’t see the cardinal’s books!”
“Just to your… right… Lady Harcourt!” Rosalind called out, her voice faltering with her passions near fever pitch, with Fitz’s talented fingers inciting a frantic, shameful desire, with her senses beginning their impassioned, headstrong march to delirium. “Stop… oh God… please,” she whimpered.
