Page 75 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

Franny soon parted, explaining that she must return home to prepare her father’s dinner.

“Please excuse me, too,” Josie said. “I must return to my chamber to rest for a moment.” She sent Nicolas a secret glance, inviting him to follow.

He waited for a few minutes before excusing himself.

“Where are you going, brother?” nosey Bridget asked.

He opened his mouth to announce his exciting new prospect but clamped his lips closed because he wanted Josie to be the first to know.

“I must make a few notes in my journal.” This wasn’t a lie since he needed to jot down some details about the column he’d discussed with Mr. Gladstone. Just as soon as he told Josie, he would tell Bridget. Since she and Isabelle were staying for dinner, he would make the announcement then.

Making sure no one followed him, he made his way to Josie’s chamber and slipped inside.

She was seated at a wingback in front of the unlit hearth. She stood, rushed to him, and threw her arms around his neck. Once she’d thoroughly squeezed him, she stepped back. “I have been losing my mind with curiosity. How did your interview go?”

He held out his hands, palms up. “You are looking at the newauthor of the weekday column,Musings of a Gentleman.”

She squealed and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Nicolas. I am so proud of you.”

“I am glad of that. Bridget will be as well, but every other acquaintance of mine will be horrified.”

“Even Jonathon and Agatha?” she asked.

“Probably less so than everyone else. But I dare say I am a reminder that even the aristocracy is one disaster away from poverty.”

“I think you are a reminder that even a person experiencing a bout of bad luck can be resilient and heroic.”

Good God, Josephine Martin was wonderful, and they had not tupped in—he performed mental math—ten hours. He clutched her waist and pulled her to him. Slanting his lips over hers, he swallowed her moan.

With the speed of a white tiger, she leaped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his hips. He considered carrying her to the bed, but that would take precious seconds he had no patience for. He braced her against the closest wall, used one hand and his body to hold her in place, and lifted her skirts. She made quick work of his clothing, freeing his cock in record time. She gave him two quick strokes before shoving him into her channel, which miraculously was already wet.

“Fuck, Josie,” he growled against her cheek as he slammed his cock deep.

The gewgaws on the mantle vibrated, and a nearby picture clanged.

Perhaps he should carry her to the bed so they didn’t put a hole in the wall or destroy the Davenport’s home while rutting like wild animals. And maybe he would have if Josie hadn’t distracted him with her passionate cries and rocking hips.

It was settled. He would slam his gal’s back against the wall over and over again until they both saw stars.

Sweat dripping, his biceps, forearms, and thighs worked in harmonyto absorb her body weight. Her fingernails and teeth pierced his shoulders through his clothing. Taking every bit of his force, she closed her eyes and begged for more.

The gewgaws continued to vibrate, the picture hit the wall a half dozen times, and beneath them, the floorboard creaked. Meanwhile, his muscles quivered, and his blood vigorously pumped through his veins.

“Oh, yes, Nicolas,” Josie cried with her release.

His balls tightened to the point of delicious pain. He snapped his hips back, pulling out just in time to coat her bodice with his seed.

He grunted sated sounds with his release and then panted like he’d run across England. Resting his forehead against hers, he caught his breath. “I love you, Josie.”

“I love you to the end of the world,” she said.

He grinned.

She smiled back. “A celebration of sorts,” she said.

He winked lecherously. “The best kind of celebration.”

He dipped his head for a kiss at the same time that someone rapped on the chamber door.