Page 58 of The Companion’s Secret

After a time, those fingers moved to slip loose the buttons of his waistcoat and slide the knot from his cravat. Though he knew he should stop her, he did not. The heat of her touch on his chest was a brand, and he could not resist her claiming. They were here, together, at Stoke, and she knew and still wanted him. Still…loved him. Ah, God.

Laying his arms across the back of the sofa, he opened himself to her, let her have her way with him. What her lips lacked in experience, they made up for in eagerness. As she traveled from his earlobe, along his jaw, down his throat, he could feel her little hums of pleasure vibrating against his skin. Her hair smelled of wood smoke and spring rain and every simple comfort he’d never known. Her fingers tickled through the hair on his chest, then traced his collarbone, before gripping his shoulder for balance as she lifted herself higher and settled astride him.

Then, with one hand on either side of his head, fingers tangling in his hair, she parted her mouth over his. He dropped his hands to her hips, circling first, then kneading, sliding lower, over her thighs, down her legs, to slip beneath her skirts and petticoats and shift on an illicit quest. When his fingers at last found her bare skin, she whimpered, and his self-control began to fray. Using her slight frame to steady himself, he shifted higher on the seat. She was still above him now, but only just, and he met the searching strokes of her tongue with more demanding ones of his own. The silken skin of her thighs invited his touch.

No sooner had he dared to slide his fingers between them, grazing her crisp curls and wet heat, when she moved again, wobbling to balance on her knees as her hands scrambled down his shirt front to the buttons of his fall.

This would not be the leisurely pleasure-seeking of two nights past. Just raw, unvarnished need—a feeling he doubted she had ever let herself own. Something he had never let another see.

At first she did not even break the kiss. Her eyes were closed, her fingers determined as they worked the buttons loose. But when the task was done, she pulled away just enough to see what she’d wrought. One hand dropped to shove his shirttails away and his cock stood between them, hard and eager. Her bright eyes darted back to his—seeking permission, he thought, as she reached out one daring fingertip to sweep up his heated length. But then she snagged her lower lip between her teeth and did it again, her eyes roaming to take in every grimace of pleasure that streaked across his face as she stroked him.

“Taking more notes for your book, my dear?” he managed to tease, before her increasingly sure touch turned the possibility of speech into nothing more than a gurgle of lust at the back of his throat.

“No need. I’m quite sure Granville is not—ah!—anything like this,” she said with a breathless laugh as his own fingers slipped over her damp, swollen flesh. Raising her skirts higher, he pulled her closer, lower, until her wet heat brushed his groin. “Yes-s-s-s.”

He captured that hiss of sound with his mouth as he entered her, relishing the feel of their joining. In this position, he was utterly surrounded by her—her arms, her legs, her sex. Utterly hers. She moved experimentally at first, a trifle unsteady. But with his hands on her hips to guide her, she soon mastered the rhythm, and was well on the way to mastering him. Her hair tumbled loose, and he reached up one hand to tug her bodice down to free her breasts. Releasing her mouth, he caught one pink bud between his lips and sucked as she arched against him.

When the tremors of her climax began, he knew his own could not be far behind. Darkness edged his vision, and he was on the point of surrendering to it when a voice niggled at him. The memory of her voice. The voice of reason.

“Ah, love,” he gasped, digging his fingers into her hip bones to slow her, to free himself. “We can’t—I’ve got to—for your sake—” He could not leave her with child.

“No. Don’t.” Her thighs gripped him tighter, like a rider urging a wary mount over a jump. “I want you—all of you,” she pleaded, sensing his weakening resolve. “Together…please.”

It was not a particularly well-reasoned argument, but he found it surprisingly persuasive. And after another stroke, it was a moot point. He hadn’t the strength to deny her, to do more than meet her downward thrust with an upward one of his own, and he was coming…with her, in her. Beyond reckless. Beyond ecstasy.

Afterward, with her body slumped against his, he let sleep claim him, refusing for once to let his mind go to work calculating odds.

* * * *

Cami wasn’t initially sure what had woken her. A noise? Without opening her eyes, she took stock of her surroundings. The late marquess’ study. Birdsong. Sunlight pressed on her eyelids. Gabriel was warm, relaxed, asleep beneath her. They lay chest to chest, his head tipped back, her arms flung around his neck, one hand dangling off the back of the sofa, her cheek resting against the top of his shoulder. She was—oh, dear—still sitting astride him, and that cool draft suggested her skirts were still hiked to her waist. Between her thighs, she felt heat and stickiness, and she recalled what she’d urged him to do last night. A risk, yes. One of many.

And she would not be sorry for taking any of them. No matter what happened.

She shifted slightly and realized she also felt…him, hard and eager, even in sleep. Before she could decide what, if anything, to do about that, she heard again a strange snuffling sound and something wet swiped across her hand. Licking her. She cracked open one eye and drew in a sharp breath. Titan was standing behind the sofa, his broad head tilted to the side, studying her with sad brown eyes. When she didn’t move, he nudged her hand again, clearly trying to decide whether she was edible, or…perhaps, asking to be petted?

Did she dare?

As if sensing her hesitation, Titan dipped his head, nuzzling under her fingers to make it impossible for her to refuse. His coat was short and tan; the darker mask about his eyes and muzzle was flecked with gray. But silky soft, she discovered as she rubbed her thumb over his forehead, smoothing out the wrinkles there before reaching back to scratch behind his ears. When she paused, he nudged again. Gently. Just as Gabriel had promised.

“Good boy,” she whispered, and his tongue lolled out. “What are you doing here?”

Her brain put together the answer to that question just as her ears told her the truth.

“Ashborough?” The steward’s voice. “Are you down here?”

Cami scrambled to her feet, reaching for her spectacles, jostling Gabriel awake. “Mr. Hawthorne is coming. Get up!”

Thankfully, it took but a moment to shake her skirts down to their proper places and to tuck her less than ample bosom back where it belonged. When she looked up again, Gabriel had paused in his own flurry of tucking and buttoning to give her an appreciative ogle.

“For goodness’ sake, you’re meant to be a notorious rake,” she whispered furiously. “You’ve seen my—oh, just hurry!”

Mr. Hawthorne’s boots could be heard thumping ever closer. “Mrs. Neville said you never made it to your bed last night, and I feared—”

Her hair was a wild tangle she was trying to tame with one hand while digging between the couch cushions for hairpins with the other. Wordlessly, Gabriel held out his wrinkled cravat.

“What are you suggesting?” she hissed. “That we blindfold Mr. Hawthorne?”

His lips twitched, trying to contain a laugh. “For your hair,” he mouthed, gesturing with a swirling motion toward her head.