Page 7 of Brigand

He rumbled a groan and thrust something hard into the curvesof her bottom. She shuddered as she realized what that rigid length was.

He went stone still at the movement and then, holding hertight with one arm over her belly, he began fumbling with her skirts, yankingthem up over her knees.

Oh, she fought him, scrabbling, writhing, desperatelyclenching at her petticoats to keep them down. To no avail. He stroked her barethigh, skated upward. Hot, panting breath scalded her neck.

“No! No!” she wailed, but the gag consumed her plea.

And he found her.

“Ahh.” The dark satisfaction in his tone terrified her, evenas the harsh sensation of his coarse fingers rubbing against her most tenderparts sent rivulets of delicious agony trickling up her spine. He dandleddeeper and found her font, dragged the dampness up and circled her aching nub inan excruciating caress.

As he stroked her, he turned his attention back to her neck,her nipples, plying her with pleasure. She couldn’t bear it. It was awful. Itwas wonderful. It was unlike anything she’d ever known.

A pressure built in her belly. She tried not to undulate herhips, tried not to moan, but she couldn’t help it. Her nerves screamed formore, though her mind, her heart, denied the bliss. He increased his pace,barraging her with one exquisite sensation after another.

His lips roved to her earlobe. He nibbled, nipped. Hiscaresses became harsher, harder. The plucking at her breast firmed to pinches,tugs. A sharp slap to her labia broke her. The storm within her crested. Sheexploded. Ecstasy flooded her, rode her, took her.

All thoughts of this man, this carriage, this indignity,fled as absolute bliss descended.

He continued caressing her as her crisis waned, drawing itout, tormenting her. Reminding her that though she had not wanted his touch, ithad delighted her.

She fully expected him to ravish her then. To yank off hisbraes and force himself into her wet and ready body. But he did not.

He rearranged her skirts back over her legs and settled heron the opposite banquette and stared at her with a hungry, feral light in hiseyes. He lifted his fingers and sniffed. Then slowly, one by one, drew theminto his mouth and sucked them dry.

And offered her a mocking smirk.

He was a beast. A horrible, awful, hideous beast. And shehated him.

Ach.

He shouldn’t have done that.

But Ewan couldn’t dredge up a shred of regret.

He hadn’t intended to go so far, only to pull her onto hislap and frighten her a little, let her experience a fraction of the terror he’dfelt on account of her betrayal. But then she’d been in his arms, so soft andprickly, wriggling against his cock, an armful of fragrant woman. And he’d lostthe reins.

And holy fuck. How responsive she had been.

Oh, certainly, she’d fought him. What lady of Quality wouldnot? But her body had responded. Her nipples had firmed after a single pass.And swelled exquisitely as he continued to torment them. And hell. Her cunt hadbeen dripping wet. Dripping. Wet.

And how she’d come. Moaning and weeping and heaving in hislap.

God. She’d come so beautifully.

No. He shouldn’t have done that.

Because now his cock was aching. He wouldn’t be able toexpunge the memory from his mind.

And fucking Violet Wyeth was not part of the plan.

He was going to marry Kaitlin MacAllister. He needed to. Hewas desperate to finally attach some semblance of respectability to his name.Without it, his sister Sophia would never make a decent match. Ewan had beenworking toward that end for years and now he was very close. He would not alterthe plan. Could not.

So he probably shouldn’t have done that.

Because now he only wanted more.

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