Page 42 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

She moaned, and his tongue slid into her mouth.

Holy bollocks. His tongue was in her mouth! Her feminine folds dampened at the sensation of hot velvet exploring. She followed his lead, and soon, their tongues swirled and danced together, creating a brewing storm.

As the tempest built, their tongues fought for dominance. Teeth nipping, tongues licking, hands grasping, he backed her up until shebumped into something. He grabbed her around her waist and lifted her off the ground like she was as light as a feather.

None too gentle, he placed her on the large empty table in the center of the room. Still kissing him with unbridled passion, she slid her bum to the edge of the table and wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him closer.

The most scandalous, wonderful thought hit her. If she hadn’t had on a nightdress, and he slid out of his trousers, her cunny would be pressed against his hard bulge. More liquid dripped between her thighs. Oh, she was sinful, which was rather an interesting discovery.

While Nicolas trailed kisses over her cheek and down her neck, she licked his chiseled jawline. Both salty and citrusy, Nicolas Wentworth tasted better than any sandwich or biscuit she’d ever eaten.

Nibbles in the hollow of her neck distracted her from her explorations. She closed her eyes and gave into the sheer bliss of the hands and mouth making love to her neck and shoulders.

His breathing grew more ragged, and his touch more insistent. Josie’s world became a confusing blur. Thought abandoned her. All she could do was feel. Strong fingers gripping her waist. A thousand textured kisses peppering her neck. His steely manhood rubbing against her knee.

She needed more. Of what, she didn’t know, but the ache would destroy her if she didn’t get whateveritwas, and she suspected thatitmight involve him filling the emptiness in her core.

“Please, Nicolas,” she begged, not entirely sure what she was asking.

Her request broke the haze ensconcing them. Gasping for breath, he stepped back. His eyelids hung heavily over unfocused pupils.

After blinking a few times, he seemed to return from his stupor. “We must stop.”

But kissing was much like pugilism. Both were sweet sciences that required daily practice. She reached for him.

He caught her hands and squeezed. After all of this, why wasn’t he allowing her to touch him?

“Josie, you must return to your room.”

“But I need more kissing lessons,” she said, feeling quite proud that she’d made her needs known.

He groaned. “If we don’t stop right this second, you are going to get more than a kissing lesson.”

Something akin to a lightning bolt shot through her body.

He let go of her hands and backed up. Once he was a few feet away, he exhaled. “I will put the remaining food in the larder. You return to your chamber.”

Bloody friggin’ bull bollocks.She harrumphed. No man was going to tell her what to do.

“I am quite serious, Josephine Martin.” His tone broke no argument. “Do not think my mild manners will protect you from the beast you have awoken. He is ravenous and wild and not gentlemanly in the least.”

Was this a promise or a threat? A shiver wracked her spine.

Composing herself, she hopped off the table. “Fine, Meddlesome. You shall get your way tonight. But you have awoken a feral she-beast. Fair warning, she wants what she wants, and really and truly is not and never will be a simpering lady that you can shove away to suit your own needs.”

Shoulders back, she retrieved her candle, then strolled past the gawking lordling. She was fairly certain he grumbled an unseemly and uncharacteristic, “Fuck me.”

Also, certain that he did indeed want her, she grinned. Making Nicolas drop his priggish mask had just become her new reason for being.

Chapter Eighteen

Last night, Nicolasplayed with fire, lost control of the situation, and had been incinerated by lust. The damn scorching sensation continued to plague him into the early morning. Even now, sitting in the dining parlor eating breakfast, he burned. What had made him think he could shamelessly flirt, engage in a few harmless kisses, and stop? One did not taste ambrosia without whetting their appetite.

He’d felt like a dashed fool when Josie had called him “Meddlesome” and stormed off. Obviously, she didn’t know what it was like for a man to want a woman so much that she was all he thought about, or the discipline it took to shove that lust deep. Hell’s Bells, he couldn’t just throw her down and pound into her until neither of them saw straight. The bottom line was that as much as he craved to touch and be touched by her, he would not behave like a boorish scoundrel.

Her presence almost too painful to bear, Josie sat across from him, sipping coffee and daintily picking at her eggs. Meanwhile, Lady Davenport chatted away about her upcoming party, and Davenport buried his face in the newspaper pretending to read.

While Josie acted the part of a lady, Nicolas pretended to be a gentleman who was not having lascivious thoughts. It seemedeveryone at the table under the age of twenty-five was feigning something at this awkward meal.