I Kissed a Rogue (Covent Garden Cubs)

by Shana Galen

  She’d wanted him to have warm bread. How could he be angry with her for that?

  “Come inside,” he said, hoping she hadn’t ruined all the foodstuffs and they’d have something to eat. He stood and offered his hand, pulling her to her feet. The cat and the kittens trotted in ahead of them, and Brook lit the few candles he’d bought at the posting house. Lila sat in the chair and pulled off her boots, dropping them in the middle of the floor.

  “I’m covered in soot and ash,” she said, shaking out her hair—again, on the floor. He supposed she expected him to sweep that up. “I need to wash.”

  Brook crossed his arms. “I suppose you want me to fetch water from the well.”

  “I’ll warm it for us.”

  It was the most she’d spoken to him in two days, and he had to admit washing the smell of smoke off with warm water did sound appealing. With a sigh, he headed for the door again. Before he opened it, he turned back. “Do not start a fire while I’m away.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  Tired now, his muscles sore from the exertions in the kitchen, he drew water up from the well and hauled the bucket into the cottage. He carried it toward the fire. Unfortunately, he had to pass the table and chair, and he’d forgotten about Lila’s boots. With the bucket obscuring his vision, he stumbled over one of the boots, dropped the bucket, and landed hard on one knee.

  “Bloody hell!” he roared. “What the devil are your boots doing in the middle of the floor?”

  “I’m sorry.” She swept them up and moved them to a corner where his valise sat. “I’ll move them.”

  Brook rubbed his knee and rose to his feet, eyeing the pool of water on the floor where some had splashed over the rim of the bucket. “Good, and while you’re at it, sweep up this soot, mop this water, and wash the dishes. I’m not your servant.”

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he’d gone too far. Lila’s head rose, her brown eyes burning with the gold of the fire. Her hands settled on her hips.

  “And I’m not your servant.” She held up her bandaged wrist.

  Damn, he’d forgotten her wrist. No wonder she hadn’t done any of the chores. They would all have been difficult with injury. He was such a thoughtless arse.

  “If you wanted me to do any of that, all you need do is ask, and I would have tried, but I don’t take orders.”

  Now was the time to apologize. Brook did consider doing so. He really did. But his damn knee twinged in pain and he was hungry and his eyes burned from the smoke and he’d forgotten how beautiful she was when she was angry. His hunger for her rose in him like a dragon.

  “That’s too bad,” he said, moving toward her, “because you need someone to give you orders. You have no idea how to survive without servants.”

  She didn’t want him, he reminded himself. He couldn’t give her what she did want. And yet he yearned to strip off the dress she wore, stroke her satiny skin, kiss her mouth until it was wet and swollen.

  “And why should I? I’m doing the best I can.” She marched up to him, jabbing the air between them with a smoke-gray finger. Then, seeming to notice the finger, she bent and washed her sooty hand in the water.

  “You’re doing your best to kill us.”

  “Insufferable man!” She rose, flicking water from her hand and into his face.

  The icy water added fuel to his desire, sparking a smoldering anger. Whether he was angry at himself for still wanting her or angry at her juvenile actions, he wasn’t sure. He also didn’t care. He clenched his hands to avoid taking her by the arms and shaking her. She wanted to flick him with water? She’d receive the same in return.

  “You want a bath?” He bent and lifted the bucket.

  Her eyed widened as she realized his intent. “Don’t you dare,” she hissed.

  He gave her a tight smile. “Here’s your bath.” And he dumped the bucket of icy water over her head.

  Seventeen

  Lila shrieked as the cold water crashed over her with all the force of a battle-ax. She tore the bucket out of his hands and upended it over his head, but the lout had left none for her. Lila threw the bucket on the floor, where it thudded harmlessly into a corner. The cats raised their heads and then went back to sleep.

  Brook stared at her with a look of shock, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he’d done.

  “You,” she said, beginning to shiver, “are no gentleman.”

  It was the worst insult she could think of, and yet he grinned, seemingly unoffended.

  “Do you hate me yet?”

  She wanted to say yes. She wanted to hate him. It would have been easier than the pain of regret and the hurt of anticipating being without him. But she didn’t hate him.

  “Hate you? After you save me from the burning kitchen and douse the fire like some sort of hero? Is that how you propose to make me hate you?” Her teeth chattered as she spoke, and she saw him start forward as if he might try to warm her.

  With one look, she stopped him.

  “And this?” he asked, gesturing to her dripping hair and gown.

  She clenched her fists. “This is a start.”

  “Then allow me to finish.”

  She saw exactly what he meant to do in the flash of desire in his eyes. Before she could protest—as though she would have—he pulled her into his arms and pushed her back against the table. His mouth descended on hers, kissing her with a heat that dispelled every single shiver. Warmth, like a small candle flame, bloomed low in her belly, radiating out and making her tingle everywhere.

  His savage mouth slanted over hers again and again, and she responded by clutching his hair in what she hoped was a painful grip and kissing him just as savagely back. When she nipped his lip, he pulled back, pointing a finger at her. “Behave, little vixen.”

  “If you don’t have to behave, neither do I.”

  He glanced down at her wet clothing and swore. “Get that off before you catch cold. You’re shaking.”

  She reached for the dress’s fastenings, but her fingers were clumsy and numb. The pins and tapes eluded her awkward efforts.

  “I’ll do it,” Brook said. But instead of delicately unfastening the white muslin day dress sprinkled with a pattern of purple flowers and greenery, he yanked it off her shoulders. Lila gasped when she heard the material rip.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Warming you,” he said. He yanked the dress down and took her chemise with it. Her already-hard nipples puckered painfully, and when his gaze swept over her appreciatively, she felt a surge of desire so strong she almost moaned. Her dress hung in tatters around her waist, but Brook slid it down, leaving her nude but for her stockings.

  Despite the fact that he’d removed the wet clothing, she didn’t feel any warmer. His hand cupped her hip and moved upward, smoothing the gooseflesh away. When he reached her breasts, he paused and rubbed his large thumbs over the distended tips. Lila’s head fell back, and she moaned.

  “Do you know how angry you make me?” he asked, his voice gruff. “Demanding to be driven back in the coach.” He tweaked a nipple, and she pressed against him, wanting more. “Refurbishing my flat.” He tweaked the other nipple, and her breath caught at the sensation. “Setting the kitchen on fire.”

  His hand ran down her belly, cupping her between the legs. He stroked her, his finger sliding into her wetness. He pushed her back on the table, lifting her on top of it and pushing her legs apart. His finger moved in and out, while his thumb circled her sensitive nub.

  “Do you know how angry you make me?” she said, her voice breathless. “At least the kitchen fire was an accident. The cold water was not.”

  “It served its purpose,” he said with a wicked smile and a long look at her naked body.

  “Not entirely.” She reached for the fall of his trousers, flicked it open, and took his hard length in her hand. Her hands were cold, and he inhaled sharply at the feel of her freezing fingers on his warm flesh. She’d had no opportunity to study him, ha
dn’t seen much more than a glimpse of this part of him. His skin here was slightly darker, the root of his manhood nested in golden hair. The skin was smooth, though hard, and the tip pink and stretched tight until the skin was almost shiny.

  Tentatively, she ran a hand up and down his shaft. His hot gaze met hers, and his hands settled heavily on her thighs.

  “Careful,” he said, voice husky.

  She raised a brow.

  “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

  “I’m not afraid.” She wasn’t. She knew so little of men and their anatomy, but she could see in his face what she did aroused him. She varied her strokes and her pressure until his eyes went dark and his breathing quickened.

  The head of his erection felt like velvet in her hands. She bent and touched her tongue to it, wondering if he would have the same reaction she did when he put his mouth on her.

  Brook made a sound of protest and grasped her hair. But he didn’t pull her head away. He seemed to want to, but there was obviously a war within him and he couldn’t decide which side to choose.

  “No proper wife would do this,” she murmured against that velvet skin.

  “No,” he agreed.

  She licked him again. “But you like it.” She could tell from the way his manhood jumped in her hand that he did.

  “God yes.”

  She swirled her tongue around the velvet tip, and he made a sound of pure masculine pleasure.

  “And you like me,” she said. “Admit it.”

  He paused, and for a moment, she thought he would contradict her.

  “I do,” he finally said. “More than I want to. More than I should.”

  “Yes.” She knew what he meant. “I love you, despite all your insufferable behavior and constant heroics.”

  She swirled her tongue around him again. He didn’t love her. Not yet, but she had to hope, didn’t she? He’d hated her a few days ago, and now he liked her more than he had ever thought he would. Could that not turn into love?

  He had given her so much pleasure, and she wanted to give some of that back to him. She ran a hand up and down the hard length of him. “Tell me what to do,” she whispered. “I want to be the most improper of wives.”

  “Lila, you don’t need to do this.”

  She glanced up at him. “I want to. I find I…” She gave him a small smile. “I find I rather like it.”

  He closed his eyes, and she could feel him pulse in her hands.

  “Put your mouth on me, take me inside.”

  She did as he asked, tasting the slight salty flavor of his skin on her tongue. She drew him in as far as she could, unable to take all of him.

  “In and out,” he groaned.

  She obeyed, finding a rhythm he seemed to like.

  His hands gripped her shoulders, and his breathing sounded harsh and labored to her ears.

  “Suck, Lila.”

  She did as he asked and was rewarded by a deep moan. She would have repeated it all, but he pulled her up.

  “Did I do something wrong?” she asked in confusion.

  “No.” His voice was brusque and harsh, and he jerked her off the table and into his arms. Before she could wrap her arms around him and divest him of his shirt, he spun her around and bent her over the table.

  Her breasts pressed against the smooth wood, still warm from the heat of her body. She turned her head to look at him as he stepped between her legs, kicking them open. Lila’s mouth dropped as she realized how exposed he’d made her. His hand roved over the bare flesh of her bottom, settling between her legs.

  Two fingers dipped inside her, and she couldn’t stop her body from arching back at the pleasure of his touch. The movement brought her in contact with his manhood, the heat of the hard staff brushing against her. She pressed back harder, taking more of him inside her and rubbing against that hard flesh just outside.

  “Give me strength,” he muttered, sliding his fingers out and replacing them with the thick head of his manhood.

  Lila stilled, realizing what he meant to do. Her eyes searched his face, which was flushed and tense with strain. Their gazes collided.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he said.

  She gasped as he pressed inside her, entering her a mere fraction but enough to awaken every single nerve. Need coiled in her belly, need for the fullness of him, while the tips of her sensitive breasts pebbled against the hard table. She dug her fingers into the wood as he gave her a little more of what she wanted.

  He moved so slowly, so frustratingly slowly. She rocked back, trying to take more of him, but his hands caught her hips.

  “Not yet.”

  “More,” she moaned when he only gave her another inch.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said through what sounded like clenched teeth. “You are so bloody tight.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “No, good. Very good. I can’t keep hold of my control.”

  “Then let go.” She wiggled her hips again as best she could with his hands holding her still. “You won’t hurt me.”

  With a groan, he slid into her, filling her so fully and completely that she gasped. This sensation was completely different than what they’d done the other night. If that had been an invasion, this was a conquest.

  And she loved it. Loved the push of him inside her and the slide of him as he withdrew. His hands on her hips moved her body, but she found the rhythm easily enough. She rose on tiptoes to take him deeper, and his hands on her hips clenched. Reaching forward, he took one of her breasts in his hand, fondling the hard nipple. The waves of pleasure flowed through her, each one crashing higher than the next. As his pace quickened, he seemed to swell inside her, and she couldn’t stop the small mewls of pleasure from escaping her lips.

  His fingers on her nipple were as relentless as his thrusts in and out of her. And then his other hand slid over her hip and between her legs to that place where they were joined. He found that sensitive bud and massaged it with the same insistent movements as her nipple. A crippling wave of pleasure crashed over her, making her legs wobble. She pressed her hands against the table for support as he rocked into her again, his fingers still playing her, bringing her higher and higher until she came apart with something between a sob and a scream.

  And still he persisted, his fingers teasing and his hard length caressing every single sensitive spot. She had not thought she could climax again or climax harder, but the wave she rode crested, and her entire body felt as though white heat flowed through it. For a moment she was weightless, senseless, drugged by the pleasure, and then she felt the weight of his head on her shoulder blades.

  * * *

  Brook had felt her climax, the clench of her muscles making him lose all control. He’d managed to hold off long enough to prolong her pleasure, teasing it out of her, but her erotic cries of pleasure and the feel of the plump flesh of her bottom pushing urgently against him finally undid him.

  He pumped into her, coming so hard and long that he could barely keep on his feet. For a moment the room seemed to spin and when he opened his eyes he was panting on top of her, her warm skin like silk under his cheek.

  What the bloody hell had happened? Even as he opened his eyes, spasms of pleasure still assaulted his body. It was the most intense sexual experience he’d ever had, and damn him if he didn’t want to repeat it. He couldn’t. Not right away, at least. Still, what was wrong with him? Shouldn’t he have had his fill of her? Shouldn’t he be sated?

  He gently extricated himself from her and seeing her still bent over the table, pulled her up and into his arms. He turned her, taking her face in his hands and kissing her tenderly. He’d meant it to be one kiss, but he couldn’t seem to drag his mouth away from hers. And his bloody cock was hardening again.

  “I had no idea,” she said against his lips. “That was amazing.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. It had been, and he should leave it there because it could never possibly be that good again.

  “Is it
always like that?” she asked.

  He blew out a breath. “No. It’s never like that.”

  Her honey-brown eyes flicked up, searching his face. He knew what she wanted to see there, knew she hadn’t exaggerated when she’d said she was in love with him. He could see it plainly on her face.

  But he could not love her back.

  He picked her up and carried her to the bed, then stood on the side and pulled off his shirt and trousers. Her gaze slid down his body and now his cock did harden. Her tongue darted out to touch the tip of her lip, and he could hardly restrain himself. Her legs parted slightly, her body unconsciously welcoming him.

  “Again?” she asked, her voice low and sultry.

  In answer, he threw his shirt aside and climbed in beside her.

  Later, she rolled over and gave him a drowsy smile. “I’ve gone all liquid inside. I shall never be able to rise from this bed.”

  “Good. I want to keep you here.”

  Her fingers trailed over his chest, her touch light but no longer tentative. “We have to eat again. In fact, I do believe we forgot to eat supper.”

  “You’re right.”

  “I’ll make us something.” She began to rise, but he caught her arm and kissed her.

  “Stay. I’ll fetch us something. We can eat in bed.”

  “How decadent.”

  He winked. Brook found bread she hadn’t burned to cinders, a bit of cold meat, and the last of the cheese. He gave the mother cat a bit of the meat and brought the rest to the bed with a flagon of wine.

  He hadn’t bothered dressing, and when he returned, her appreciative gaze was on him. He did enjoy the way she looked at him—as though there was one sugared plum left and he was it.

  “This is the last of the wine,” he said, hefting the container to test its weight.

  “I’ll sip sparingly.” She took it from his hands and, pulling the sheet around her breasts, tried to drink it delicately. It dribbled down her chin. She tried to catch it with her hand, but it was a feeble attempt.