Winter's Woman (The Wicked Winters Book 9)

by Scarlett Scott

  The flames roared higher.

  His lips moved along her inner thigh, nearing her center.

  She ached.

  “I want inside you, Evie,” he whispered against her skin. “I want inside you so badly.”

  “Yes.” She wanted that too. She wanted him desperately. Anything. Everything.

  She was panting with her need, breathless, heart pounding.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, love.” He kissed her mound, and she jerked beneath him, quite shameless. “I am big and you are so bloody small.”

  “You shan’t hurt me,” she promised him, for she knew it was the truth.

  He was Theo, kind and sweet. A tender heart wrapped in a big, lumbering body. He would be gentle. For a man who had been the recipient of such cold cruelty in his life—for he had confessed to her, over the last few months, all of his past, from his mother to Cora, to the hard life he had led for so long—he was astonishingly sweet.

  “I need to make you ready,” he whispered, licking over the incredibly sensitized bundle of flesh he had already pleasured numerous times.

  “I am ready,” she assured him, and would have said more if he hadn’t nibbled on her, sending white-hot desire shooting through her like stars. She jolted beneath him, moaning, shamelessly planting her feet on the bed to drive herself higher, to offer more of herself to him.

  Good heavens. If this was what he wanted to do, she could most certainly become more ready. One of his long fingers was inside her again, probing. He sucked as his finger moved deeper, stretching her. The invasion was delicious. A second finger joined the first, stroking her, readying her. All the while, his tongue danced over her. Making her wild.

  She grasped his hair. Two fistfuls, and tugged. “Now, Theo.”

  He met her gaze and sucked hard, working his fingers in and out. The pleasure was almost painful. A curious mix. Foreign. She needed more. More him. More everything. And she was perilously close to coming undone again.

  Just when she thought she would perish from the endless pleasure he stoked within her, he withdrew his fingers and kissed his way up her body. He lingered on her breasts, sucking and gently biting her nipples as he rubbed the thickness of his rod over her folds.

  When the tip of him rubbed over her pearl, she moaned, her hips moving, seeking more. She was wet, so wet, between her thighs, her flesh swollen and throbbing. He kissed to her throat, then her ear. He slid along her folds, settling at her opening.

  Yes. This was where she wanted him. Where she needed him.

  “Inside me,” she ordered him on a gasp.

  “What milady wants, milady gets,” he whispered into her ear, before catching her lobe between his teeth and giving her a gentle bite.

  She shivered and trembled, eagerness making her mindless. He licked the hollow behind her ear, finding yet another place she had never known was sensitive. It was as if there were a hidden connection between that place and her sex.

  “Oh,” she said on a moan.

  Theo kissed her cheek next, then her jaw. He moved. The change was sudden and intense. He was indeed a big man. Every part of him was large. Especially this part. And she was small. His hips pumped, taking him deeper. He was inside her now, stretching her, filling her, and the sensation of it was unlike his fingers, unlike his tongue. It was…beautiful.

  He held himself still, allowing her to adjust, his chest pressed to hers. His heart was pounding. She absorbed the beats through her breast. He kissed her slowly, lingeringly, cupping her cheek.

  As if she were made of porcelain.

  “Darling,” he said against her lips. “Christ, you feel so good. I am afraid I may lose control.”

  “I want you to.” She kissed him, locking her arms around his neck as she rocked against him, bringing him deeper.

  He thrust again on a groan as his tongue slid wetly into her mouth. She sucked, and he thrust some more.

  Pain edged the pleasure. It was new. Strange. Exhilarating. She felt as if she might break apart into a thousand pieces at any moment. And she also felt as if she would never get enough. He moved in and out of her, and she could feel her body reacting to his. She surrounded him, and he sank into her. They were united and joined in a way they had never been before.

  “Yes,” she told him, her body moving instinctively along with his.

  The tension building within her threatened to explode.

  She was burning, awash in sensation. Nothing could have prepared her for this, Theo’s lovemaking. It was him—loving and intense, sweet and delicious. He started moving faster, driving his hips against hers in a steady rhythm. Withdrawing, then sliding inside again. Faster. Harder.

  She followed his lead, moving with him. Their lips and tongues mated, their bodies connected. His fingers dipped to the place where they were joined, toying with her pearl once more. The pain receded, replaced by nothing but pleasure, acute and beautiful. She was going to come undone. Lose herself again. There was something about the fullness inside her, of Theo plunging deep, that was almost unbearably pleasurable.

  He left her mouth to rain kisses on her throat, chanting her name, thrusting. Everything within tightened, as if drawn into a knot. Bliss exploded inside her, rocking her to her core. It was stronger, better, more powerful. She quaked beneath him, surrendering herself to the undeniable passion.

  On a growl, he began moving faster, taking her in a series of quick, hard thrusts that had her clamping on him again, lighting her from within. He stiffened, pinned her to the bed with one last thrust, and then the warmth of his seed flooded her.

  He collapsed against her, his weight nearly crushing, his heart beating faster than ever. Her sweet beast, tamed at last. She held him to her, kissing the top of his head, then rubbing her cheek over his thick, dark hair.

  “Evie. Sweet fuck.” He was breathless.

  She smiled and stroked his back, holding him to her when he would have retreated. “Sweet fuck indeed.”

  “Hell.” He raised his head, gazing down at her with a look of such undisguised adoration, she melted inside. “You ought not repeat me, love. I’ve a wicked tongue.”

  Her smile grew. “I know you do, and I love it.”

  He chuckled. “Minx.”

  “Your minx,” she reminded him, her heart full.

  “Mine,” he agreed, and then he kissed her again.

  Epilogue

  “For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo,” Devil finished, his throat feeling thick and his eyes strangely watery.

  He was a hesitant reader, and he still stumbled over many words, but he had vastly improved with Evie’s patience and help. It had been her idea to finish Romeo and Juliet together, with Devil reading.

  A decision he regretted now.

  Well fuck me, that’s a bloody sad ending. He had seen it coming, of course, but he had been hopeful all would end differently. That Juliet and her Romeo might find a way to be together and happy after all, just as he had with Evie.

  He glanced up from the volume he had been reading to find his wife watching him with a strange expression. He wanted to kiss her. She was wearing the night rail that was temptingly transparent, but it was stretched over her burgeoning belly, where their child grew. Soon, she would have to have another commissioned, and then she could tempt him with that one instead. He hardened just thinking about it—the forthcoming removal of this one, and what the next one might look like.

  There. That was much more the thing.

  Her nose crinkled. “Are you…weeping?”

  Impossible. Devil Winter did not nap the bib. He never cried. He had not wept a single tear since he had been a lad. Even then, it had not taken him long to understand the fruitlessness of such an endeavor. The woman who had birthed him had cuffed him for his troubles. He was to be seen, not heard, and if he wasn’t picking pockets to pay for the bread on the table, he was worthless to her.

  But his cheeks were wet. He realized it belatedly. No denying that. The play was
terrifically sad. What was a man to do?

  “It is tragic,” he admitted. “Senseless. The two of them should have been happy.”

  “Oh, my love.” There was tremendous tenderness in her voice, in her gaze. “You have such a sweet heart.”

  Maudlin sentiment.

  He growled. “I have something else that is sweeter if you’d care for a taste.”

  Her cheeks flushed the pretty pink he loved, but her smile was secretive and seductive all at once. “If you wish it…”

  He groaned. His cock was painfully rigid at the moment.

  “Not now, love. I was attempting to distract you.” He sniffed, trying to discreetly wipe his eyes with the back of his hand and failing. His big, meaty paws were anything but subtle. “To make you laugh. Didn’t want you to think I’ve gone soft because I got a wee bit teary-eyed over Montague and Capulet.”

  “I could never think you are soft,” she said, her stare dipping to his breeches.

  Damn, but his wife would never cease to amaze and please him.

  “Mrs. Winter, I am shocked,” he teased warmly.

  “Forgive me, Mr. Winter.” She batted her lashes and rose, strolling toward him. She took the book from his hands and then settled herself in his lap. “How can I regain your favor?”

  He had a few ideas. More than a few, actually.

  He kissed her swiftly on that delicious pout of hers, then withdrew. “I can think of any number of ways.”

  “Mmm.” She pulled him back down for another lingering kiss, which she ended abruptly, tearing her lips from his. “Oh dear. I meant to tell you that I wrote Lady Emilia today with my regrets, telling her we shan’t be able to attend your brother’s Christmas country house party at Abingdon Hall.”

  Perdition. This was not a change of subject that pleased him. It still felt deuced strange thinking of Devereaux Winter as his family.

  “Half brother,” he reminded her, stroking a stray curl from her face.

  “It was quite kind of your brother and Lady Emilia to invite us,” she continued, ignoring his correction. “Do you suppose they will be insulted we cannot attend?”

  “I don’t care if he is. You’d have to be spoony to go to Oxfordshire for a house party in the midst of winter. Or at any time, really.” Devil still didn’t care for the monkery. Not one whit.

  “Blade will be in attendance,” Evie pointed out.

  Devil settled his hand on the gentle swell of his wife’s belly. “Because he had no choice. Dom banished him. Also, he’s spoony. Have you ever seen him play with knives?”

  He loved Blade as he loved all his siblings, but Devil was no more pleased than Dom had been by their brother’s recent reckless actions. He had brought scandal down upon The Devil’s Spawn at a time when they could least afford it. Along with the potential for more danger.

  “I still think it was harsh of Dom to send him away.” Evie covered his hand with hers, lacing their fingers together.

  “The monkery is an excellent place for him. Not much trouble he can get into there. Besides, the rest of my siblings will be joining him, aside from Dom.” Devil tugged her mouth back to his with his free hand. Winter swirled outside, blanketing the streets of London in early snow. But he was on fire for Evie, and he’d had enough chatter. “Seems we have some lessons to attend to, milady. I’ve taught you the art of whittling, you’ve taught me the art of reading. But the time has come for us to teach each other the art of—”

  She kissed him, silencing the rest of his words.

  Which was just as well. It would have been quite crude. One could remove the man from the rookeries, but one could never remove the rookeries from the man. Good thing his sweet lady wife did not mind, duke’s daughter and all.

  The End.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading Winter’s Woman! I hope you loved this ninth book in my The Wicked Winters series and that Evie and Devil’s happily ever after touched your heart the way it did mine. As always, thank you for spending your precious time reading my books!

  Please consider leaving an honest review of Winter’s Woman. Reviews are greatly appreciated! If you’d like to keep up to date with my latest releases and series news, sign up for my newsletter here or follow me on Amazon or BookBub. Join my reader’s group on Facebook for bonus content, early excerpts, giveaways, and more.

  There are more Winters on the way. If you’d like a preview of Winter’s Whispers, Book Ten in The Wicked Winters series, featuring dangerously debonair Blade Winter and the lady who steals his heart, do read on.

  Until next time,

  Scarlett

  Winter’s Whispers

  The Wicked Winters Book Ten

  By

  Scarlett Scott

  Don’t miss this special addition to the bestselling The Wicked Winters series, featuring Winter family favorites and a whole lot of holiday steam!

  Blade Winter is a coldhearted assassin with a deadly reputation. After a costly mistake leaves him banished to the countryside for a Christmas house party he has no wish to attend, he is furious. No amount of merrymaking is going to improve his mood. Until he crosses paths with a beautiful brunette he can never have, and suddenly, the prospect of a yuletide rusticating in Oxfordshire is not nearly as detestable…

  Lady Felicity Hughes may be London’s darling, but she is hiding a desperate secret. No one knows she must wed to save her family from penury, and she intends to keep it that way. But before she binds herself in a loveless marriage of convenience, she wants one night of passion. Who better to have it with than the wickedly handsome Mr. Winter?

  Blade knows better than to dally with a lady who is forbidden, no matter how much she tempts him. Felicity is equally determined to get what she wants, even if there can be no future between herself and a dangerous man like Blade. She has nothing left to lose. Except her heart.

  Chapter One

  Oxfordshire, 1814

  There was a female beneath his bed.

  Trouble, warned his instincts.

  A female was what had landed Blade here, in the monkery, at a cursed country house party being held by his half brother Devereaux Winter.

  Not this particular one, though. He would have recognized the ankles. Blade was a connoisseur of ankles. And knives. Not necessarily in that order.

  This one’s ankles were fine boned, nicely turned, covered in pale stockings. He noted those first. He noted her arse second. A plummy handful, that. Too bad it was draped in an unappealing gown of virginal white. Virgins weren’t his sort.

  Innocence wasn’t his sort.

  Blade preferred debauched. Sinful widows, wicked wives. A woman who wasn’t afraid to suck a cock.

  Which was why the miss rooting about beneath his bed needed to go. At once.

  He cleared his throat, hoping the strange bit of petticoats would realize she was no longer alone. But she did not emerge. Instead, she wriggled about, emphasizing the tempting qualities of her ankles and rump. Damn. Too bloody bad he was here to stay out of trouble. Those ankles presented a strong temptation to create an exception to his rule.

  There was a muffled sound emerging from beneath the bed now. He closed the door at his back and strode nearer, drawn by a combination of perplexity and attraction. By God, was the woman having a conversation? Beneath his bed?

  “Miss Wilhelmina, do come,” the strange creature was saying in a sweet, cajoling voice that would have certainly worked wonders upon Blade. She had the voice of an angel, this one. “I shall give you liver, I promise.”

  The devil?

  Blade crouched down by the shapely bottom, curiosity triumphing over patience. “What the hell is under my bed?”

  “Ahhhh!”

  Her scream was muffled, but the jolt that went through her body was evident, as was the undeniable sound of her head connecting with the wooden slats on the underside of the bed.

  She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like an epithet.

  If he were a gentlema
n, he would cease ogling her arse, but he wasn’t, so he kept watching as she wiggled, slowly emerging from beneath the bed. He had never been much concerned about a woman’s derriere, but there was something about this one that was mesmerizing. He imagined cupping it in his hands, shaping and molding it.

  Not now, Blade, you bloody sot. It is not the time to get a cockstand when there is an innocent miss hiding beneath the bed along with a creature she has promised liver.

  As she sidled her way from beneath the bed, he could not help also admiring the manner in which her gown and petticoats were bunching up as she went, revealing more and more of her curved, stocking-clad legs. She was deliciously shapely, but that was not something he ought to be noticing either.

  The duel he had fought with the Earl of Penhurst had been enough for his half brother Dom to banish him from London and their gaming hell, The Devil’s Spawn. Petticoats were dangerous, and he did not need any more problems than those which currently bogged him down.

  Still, it did not help when the creamy skin of her thighs, just above her stockings, was exposed. Nor did it do a whit of good when she finally emerged, a dark-haired beauty with wide, hazel eyes and the most inviting pair of pink lips he had ever seen. To say nothing of her bosom, spilling over the top of her modest gown. Apparently, her foray beneath his bed had also rendered her bodice askew. Her cheeks were prettily flushed. Everything about the woman who had slithered from beneath his bed was delectable.

  This was going to be a problem. He could bloody well sense it.

  “Sir!” She rubbed her head. “It was terribly rude of you, speaking without announcing yourself. I may have done myself great injury.”

  Incredible.

  The baggage was taking him to task. She was a lady, that much he could spy instantly. Her gown was fine, though not as bang up to the mark as Lady Penhurst’s fashion. Her voice was cool, clipped.