“Sit here,” Jack told her. Maddie frowned. What new game was this? But she’d learned that in matters of the flesh, he knew her better than she knew herself. She did as he said.
“Open your legs,” Jack told her.
Maddie stared at him and didn’t move. But he took her hand, kissed it, and pressed it to her womanhood. “If I can’t touch you, you’ll have to do it.”
Oh, but this was too wanton. She couldn’t touch herself. Not in front of him. “Jack—”
“Open your legs, Maddie. Or should I call you Lady Blackthorne?” The way he was looking at her fired her blood again and hot desire rushed through her. All his touches, all his kisses—she wanted him, wanted pleasure.
And though she still felt shy, she also knew that there was no one besides her husband that she would rather share this intimate moment with. Only Jack. Now and always Jack.
Her hand moved lightly against her flesh, and Jack nodded, his dark eyes even darker than usual. “Do what feels good to you.”
Maddie nodded, wanting to do what would please him, what would keep the desire hot and dark in his eyes. Lady Blackthorne was a seductress. She lifted her hands and cupped her breasts, feeling their weight, watching the nipples grow stiff and hard as her pleasure rose. She pinched one nipple, and Jack’s breath grew heavy. His manhood was rigid and ready as she slid her hands down her abdomen.
Her hands met at the juncture of her thighs and slowly, so slowly, she opened her legs. Jack’s gaze burned into her, making her feel warm and restless. She shifted, parted her outer lips, the way Jack had, and tapped one delicate finger against the sensitive nub that brought her so much pleasure when he touched it.
Jack let out a slow, agonized breath as Maddie began to tease the bud into aching sensitivity. Her eyes still on him, she brought her finger to her mouth, touched her tongue to the finger, and dipped it back between her legs.
“Oh, God, Maddie,” Jack groaned. He touched himself, then brought his hand away, as though wanting to prolong the agony, as though not wanting to miss a moment of her ecstasy.
The moist finger against her tender bud caused a shock of sensation between her legs, the pleasure rippling into her belly and coiling into a tight spring.
She threw her head back and rode the heightened sensation, no longer caring that Jack watched her. She was a slave to the pleasure that built and built but would not peak. She dipped her finger in her mouth again, but before she could touch herself, Jack was between her legs. “I have to taste you,” he said, voice hoarse. And he thrust her legs farther apart and put his mouth on her.
His slick, skilled tongue was her undoing. One touch and she writhed beneath him. Her body shook with small spasms of pleasure. So much pleasure, and yet she knew there was more. He grasped her hips, holding her still as he plundered her gently. Maddie was aware that she was gasping, that her hands were fisted in his hair, and that the coil in her belly was so tight she thought she would die if she didn’t find release.
And then the coil unraveled—not slowly, but in one quick jolt everything came undone. She jerked and cried out with pleasure, bringing her legs closed at the intensity. And still Jack continued to touch her, making her scream with the power of her climax.
Finally, he released her, rising up before her, pushing his hard manhood into her hand. Her hands were slick, and she moved them up and down his shaft, her fingers trembling and unsteady, but he was ready for her. With a cry, he threw his head back and climaxed, his seed spilling onto her chest, where it felt warm and heavy against her breast.
She herself felt warm and heavy. She closed her eyes, only vaguely aware of Jack cleaning her with the linen and soap, brushing her hair back from her face, and lifting her into his arms.
She dreamed of a growling black bear who, when she ran her hand along the soft fur of his head and scratched behind his ears, closed its eyes and purred.
ON THE FOURTH DAY OF the trip back to London, when the coachman announced they were nearing Islington, Jack shook Maddie awake. Somewhere along the way he’d acquired a new gown for her—white with small yellow flowers—and now she straightened it and rubbed her eyes.
“We’re home?” she said, her voice groggy. Beside him, she was warm and adorably disheveled, the yellow bow she’d tied in her hair falling lopsided over one cheek.
“Almost, sweetheart. Next stop is my town house.”
And his bed.
They’d traveled hard these last few days, and he hadn’t wanted to tire Maddie further by keeping her up late at night with his attentions. He hadn’t touched her, and as a result wanted her more than ever. And he still hadn’t made love to her in a bed.
He’d change that tonight.
“Do you think Blackjack knows we’re almost home?” she asked.
Damn. He’d forgotten about the bear. What the hell was he going to do with a bear in the middle of London? If his country house weren’t currently under renovation, he would have taken Maddie and the bear there. The estate had twelve bedrooms and as many beds. He would have liked to explore his wife’s passionate nature in each of them. But as it was, they were forced to return to London—and Bleven.
Jack clenched his fists. He would finally have answers. And revenge.
“I think the bear is the least of our worries,” he told Maddie, who was straightening her hair bow.
“Do you think Lord Nicholas and Ashley have returned yet?” she asked, peeking out the window, practically bouncing with excitement now.
“We’ll know soon enough.”
