Lady Wicked: Notorious Ladies of London Book 4

by Scott, Scarlett

  An undiluted string of curses fled him. The louder and more inventive, the more satisfying. He pounded his fist on the floor to punctuate each one.

  “Fucking dragon cock!” Pound.

  Did dragons have cocks? He supposed they would have to. If not, who gave a damn? They were mythical creatures.

  “Shit, fucker, damn.” Pound.

  His humiliation was complete. Had he hit his head in the fall? Likely. What else to explain this madness descending upon him? The agony in his big toe? Julianna?

  He rolled to his back and raised his throbbing foot to discover blood trickling down the toe, his nail partially lifted from the bed.

  “Oh, hell. Oh, fuck.” Pound, pound, pound.

  He had almost broken off his toenail. Little wonder it smarted like the devil. He hated the sight of blood. It made his head spin.

  “Shelbourne?”

  The husky, worried voice interrupting his misery was the last goddamn voice he wanted to hear tonight of all nights, particularly as he lay on his back on the carpet of his chamber, with a decimated toenail, throbbing toe, and persistent erection.

  Not his own stupidity and clumsiness, nor the pain, had been enough to distract his stupid cock. It wanted what it wanted. He ought to have visited Charlotte. But he had not seen her since Julianna had reappeared in his life.

  Had not wanted to.

  It would appear he had not answered his new wife quickly enough. She had already invaded his space, his privacy. And now she was hovering over him in some sort of wispy night rail that made him want to tear it off her with his bare hands. And teeth.

  He growled at her. “Get the fuck out of my chamber.”

  “What happened?” she asked, ignoring him. “I heard a crash and then some angry cursing and banging. Is something amiss?”

  Hell, yes. Everything was amiss. To begin, in an echo of the first night she had appeared in his library, she was upside down and he was on his back while she presided over him. He was not amused by the similarities.

  He hoisted himself into a sitting position and spun on his arse to face her, hesitant to stand on his aching, bleeding foot just yet. “I kicked the damned chair leg, and now I am bleeding. All is well. Go away.”

  Her gaze flicked to his toe.

  He was wearing a dressing gown, but despite the fall he had taken, his cock was still covered. That was all he cared about. His legs were bare, so, too his feet. She could look her fill at those, but he would be damned before he allowed her to see the unfortunate effect she had upon him. Thankfully, the manner in which he had swiftly settled himself hid his rampant erection.

  “Are you in your cups again?” she asked.

  He deserved that question, and he knew it. Had earned it with his own boundless capacity for diversion in all the wrong places.

  Still, it nettled. “Sober as a fucking teetotaler. Now… Get. Out.”

  Mayhap if he enunciated, she would take her luscious curves and her almost transparent gown and her flowing red curls and her freckles and her full, kissable lips and her glorious, fuckable body and go back to where she belonged. Leave him to his misery.

  But no.

  The new Lady Shelbourne was on her knees at his side. And her scent hit him like a fist to the gut. Only a fist to the gut that made his prick more rigid than iron. Lily of the valley. Damn her.

  “You are bleeding.”

  He ground his molars. “I will live.”

  “Your nail is…”

  Her words trailed off. He hazarded another glance at his bleeding toe. Dizziness assailed him. Hell. He liked to think himself strong. But all that red, dripping…

  “I will live,” he gritted.

  “You are pale, Shelbourne.”

  “Fuck! Get out.”

  She flinched, and he hated himself. Hated the situation in which they found themselves. Hated that he wanted to kiss her.

  It was the strangest urge.

  Not strange, really. He was more attracted to her than ever. Since he had kissed her, all he had longed to do was kiss her again. And again. And again.

  “I should tend to your toe,” she said.

  “Julianna,” he managed past the lust roaring through him, the need which was fast replacing the pain.

  Her gaze met his, her countenance sweetly concerned. And fuck her, because he wanted to kiss her all the more for that. When had anyone fretted over him aside from his sister Hellie? Never.

  “Let me help you, Shelbourne.”

  “If you want to help me, you will return to your chamber before I do something truly stupid.”

  There. He had warned her. She should run back to the safety of her chamber and her empty bed. Far from him. Because if she dared to remain, he could make no promises. She was trespassing in dangerous territory indeed.

  “Something stupid,” she repeated. “Such as?”

  Oh, hell. He was doing everything in his power to send her away. But she would not go. Mayhap this was purgatory. He had died in his sleep, and he was doomed to be tempted and taunted by this woman for all eternity without ever getting to feel her body beneath his again.

  “You want to know, Julianna?” he asked coldly, holding her gaze, his toe utterly forgotten now. “Truly?”

  Her lips parted. She swallowed.

  “Do you?” he prodded, feeling ugly.

  Ugly and vulnerable and randy as a stag in rut. What the hell was the matter with him?

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Yes?” he repeated, incredulous.

  She nodded, nibbling on the bow of her upper lip just as she did whenever she was nervous. “I do, Shelbourne. I want to know.”

  “Kiss you,” he rasped. “But I will not stop there tonight. I will kiss you and kiss you until neither of us can think. And then I will take you to my bed and fuck you all night long. That is what I will do if you remain here another minute longer.”

  She said nothing. She knelt by him, still as a statue and yet made of sweetly scented, warm, desirable flesh. Good God, he felt her presence like a touch. Like an ache. A visceral need. He had to feel her.

  “Julianna.” He reached for her, cupping her face.

  “Your toe,” she whispered, eyes going wide.

  But she did not move.

  “To the devil with my toe.” Her skin was soft and smooth. He could not stop his thumb from tracing her cheekbone. Could not stay his head from tipping toward hers.

  Her eyes fluttered closed, and her forehead dipped, touching his.

  But he was having none of that. He wanted her gaze on him. “Open your eyes, Julianna. Look at the man you married.”

  Her lashes lifted. Brilliant blue stung him.

  That was how it felt when her gaze burned into his, like the sting of a bee. A jolt, pain, and then, inexplicably, more.

  Not so much like an angry insect hell-bent on protecting itself; no bite, no sting, no ache. Instead, he felt only that same sense of rightness that had been there since the first moment their paths had crossed. So long ago now. A lifetime ago, it seemed.

  “What if…”

  She began, only to allow her words to trail away.

  Maddening.

  “What if?” he nudged her.

  “What if I want you to kiss me?”

  Her husky query stole the breath from his lungs. But the rest of him was violently alive. He was doused in flame. His cock was making a tent of his dressing gown, no doubt about it. And the desire deep within could not be denied.

  Her breath coasted over his lips in the prelude to everything he wanted. Everything he needed. God, and how. He needed her more than whisky. More than wine. More than anything or anyone.

  “You are certain?” he asked.

  “Shelbourne.” Her hand fisted in the lapels of his dressing gown, pulling him even nearer.

  “Say it.”

  He wanted the word. Wanted her yes. Her surrender, full stop.

  Her tongue slid over her bottom lip. “Yes,” she whispered.


  Thank Christ.

  His mouth was on hers in the next moment. The kiss was incendiary. Her lips were supple and giving. She clutched his shoulders. Slid closer. Kissed him back. He kissed her harder in response, angling his head, licking the seam of her lips until she opened for him. Until her tongue tangled with his. She tasted of the sweetness of biscuits, the tartness of blackberries, and tea.

  She had eaten the peace offering he had sent her, and the knowledge pleased him.

  He forgot about his toe. Forgot he had toes.

  Sidney pulled her into his lap. She straddled him, her nightgown riding up her thighs. His hands found bare skin. Glorious, soft, seductive bare skin. Their kisses turned frenzied. Almost violent. She kissed him as if she wanted to consume him. He kissed her as if he would die if he did not have her mouth on his, as if she were the breath and the life force of him. Her riotous curls were long and heavy, a sweetly scented curtain falling around them.

  He could not stop his touch from gliding higher. Following the heaven of her parted thighs. His fingers found sleek, feminine flesh. And wetness. Christ, she was dripping. Soaked, all from their kisses.

  The discovery was potent, sending an answering surge of desire through him. He worked her pearl, slicking her dew over the responsive bud as she jerked and moaned into his mouth.

  In that moment, it was only the two of them. No time, no distance, no betrayal or pain. They were back at Farnsworth Hall that charmed summer before everything had changed. How easy it was to forget. To pretend.

  But there was one thing which required no pretense, and it was the pure, agonizing need for her spurring him on. He had never wanted a woman the way he wanted Julianna. Not before her, certainly not after her. And he had her now. Mayhap not the way he had wanted, but he had her. She was in his arms, in his lap, his house.

  Soon to be in his bed.

  If he could even make it there. He was not sure he could. He was wild for her.

  Crazed and drunk with lust.

  Had to have more. Could never have enough.

  He traced her seam, parting her folds. Her cunny was wet and welcoming. Hot. So bloody hot. And good, so goddamn good. He had missed being inside her. Had missed her lips. The taste of her. Sidney was going to make up for that now.

  He sank two fingers inside her. She clenched on him tight, dragging him deeper. He regretted he had never had the opportunity before to learn every place where she was most sensitive. He was going to make up for that.

  And enjoy each exquisite moment.

  He fucked her with his fingers now, adding a third, working in and out of her as she moaned and chased his hand, hips rolling against him as she sought more, urged him to go faster and harder.

  His thumb stroked over her swollen clitoris, working her back and forth, finding the place she seemed to like best. More moans told him he was doing excellent work. She fed him kisses and needy, throaty sounds that drove him to the edge of madness. Heat blazed up his spine, and it was all he could do to keep from spending right there, without once thrusting his cock inside her.

  She was greedy, wanting more, rocking on him, riding his fingers, her mouth demanding, her tongue writhing against his. The air was perfumed with her desire. She came on a cry, clamping on his fingers so hard, his ballocks tightened and his cock twitched with his own need for release.

  He would be inside her soon. But not yet. He wanted her pinnacle more than he wanted his own. He intended to prolong the pleasure and intensity. To make her desperate and mindless and boneless. He curled his fingers, finding a new place where she was deliciously sensitive. She contracted around him in sweet spasms. He rubbed her pearl with increased dedication.

  He was going to make her spend twice. And then he was going to lick her into another frenzy. He wanted to undo her, this woman who had been so far from him for so long.

  She writhed, riding him. It was the single most erotic moment of his bloody life. And he was having it here on the floor, on the day of his wedding, with his wife.

  With Julianna.

  Surreal.

  Wonderful.

  He tore his lips from hers and kissed down her creamy throat, sucking, licking, biting. His mouth traveled over her collarbone, but he was thwarted from her bare shoulder by the linen of her night rail. With his free hand, he caught the prim-necked garment and tugged. Buttons popped free and rained on the carpet.

  He did not give a damn. And from the way she was moving against him, those breathy sounds of pleasure spurring him on, neither did she. He gave her nightgown another tug, and more buttons spilled. The swells of her breasts were revealed.

  And thank the Lord and all the saints in heaven.

  He had been right that first night. Her bosom was larger now than it had been before. Glorious is what her breasts were. Full and perfect. Tipped with hungry pink nipples that were stiff and beckoning for his mouth.

  He obliged. Lowered his head like the supplicant he was, worshiping at the altar of a goddess. He sucked her nipple hard, and she spent again, shuddering violently as she reached her crisis.

  It was glorious. He sucked harder, and then he withdrew his fingers from her at last as the remnants of her release danced through her. What a sight she was, cheeks flushed, mouth swollen, hair a wild tangle about her beautiful face, breasts hanging from her torn bodice, and her pale legs bare, wrapped loosely around his waist.

  Her eyes were dazed with passion, her breaths ragged.

  Good. He wanted to keep her like this, drugged with desire. Unable to think straight. Hell, he wanted them both this way. He kissed the tantalizing curve of her breast before moving them as one until she was beneath him on the carpet and he was settled between her parted thighs. His cock nestled against her mound with aching precision.

  But he was going to torture them both first.

  “Sidney,” she said, breathless.

  His Christian name. That was a start. However, he sensed the words which were about to follow were none he wished to hear. So he kissed her swiftly. And then he began kissing his way down her delectable body.

  When he reached her stomach, he lifted the hem of her nightgown to her waist, allowing it to pool there. Her hips were rounded and full, her legs open to reveal the glistening, pouting lips below.

  “Shall I stop?” he rasped, glancing up at her with his mouth hovering over paradise.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Thank Christ,” he murmured.

  * * *

  “Oh dear, sweet heavens.” Julianna closed her eyes against the sight of Shelbourne’s handsome face between her legs.

  She could not look. It was too much. He was too much. Already, he had brought her to the heights of pleasure two times. Every part of her was aflame. Vibrating. Glowing.

  Electric.

  His tongue swirled over her throbbing center. Gently at first, the caresses so tantalizingly light, it was pure torture. She could not keep still. Although the rational part of her knew she should not be here in his chamber, that she should stand firm and refuse to allow him this liberty with her body, the rest of her was helpless to stop him.

  Because she had never wanted anything more than she wanted his beautiful mouth on her most intimate flesh. It was wicked. It was sinful. And yet, she felt vibrantly alive. Dangerously close to coming undone again. She was insatiable for him.

  She had known she never should have come to his chamber. That she should have ignored the thumps and bumps and muffled curses. Keeping her distance from him was imperative if she had any hopes of girding her heart. But distance had proven impossible when she had seen him there on the floor.

  He found her pearl and sucked, then nibbled lightly at her aching flesh.

  When his tongue slid inside her, she planted her feet on the Axminster and arched, back bowing from the floor, seeking more. He groaned against her, cupping her bottom in his large hands and holding her captive as if she were a feast for him alone. He lapped at her, licked her, nipped her.

  Mad
e her desperate.

  Mindless.

  “Julianna.”

  He had stopped. She had been almost there, ready to splinter into pieces. She wriggled against him, urging him on without words.

  But still, he persisted. “I want your eyes on me. I want you to see how sweetly you come for me. How wet you are, all over my lips and tongue.”

  His coarseness should have shocked her, but she was beyond caring. Instead, his words made her yearn for him all the more. She opened her eyes to find him there, lips so close to her exposed flesh. She should have been ashamed, but she liked it too much.

  He blew on her pearl.

  A stream of hot, tempting air.

  She whimpered, hips twitching. “Sidney.”

  “You want me, don’t you?” He flicked his tongue over her once. “Tell me.”

  Of course she wanted him. But she also had her pride to cling to.

  He licked her again, the caress barely there. “Tell me, chérie. Tell me you want my tongue on you, that you want my cock inside you. We both know it’s true.”

  “I…”

  The words would not emerge.

  She would not give him what he wanted. She owed herself that much, did she not?

  His wicked tongue slid over her once more. “If you do not tell me, I will stop, and you need to come badly, don’t you, darling? Despise me all you like, but your body still knows it is mine.”

  He was right. Now that he had brought her pleasure twice, she should have been sated. Instead, she was voracious. She wanted him inside her. And she did not care what she owed herself. Did not care about her pride. Her body was a traitor and so was her heart, and both of them were humming with the need for him.

  “Yes,” she bit out. “I want your tongue. I want your cock. Give me both. Make me come.”

  “Fuck,” he growled, and then his tongue was in her, his fingers biting into her rump with almost painful determination. He licked her so thoroughly, she thought she might swoon. Then he turned his attention to her pearl, making love to her with his mouth as his fingers dipped into her channel once more. As he sucked, he worked deep. So deep. Deeper than she had imagined he could be.