A Wicked Wager (Avenging Lords 2)

The jolt of pleasure was wild, explosive. All thoughts abandoned her as she writhed in his lap, as she curled her fingers around his neck and urged him to continue. The hard evidence of his arousal pulsed beneath her sex and the desperate urge to mate with him made it impossible to keep still.

“Take me now, Devlin. Don’t wait.”

She did not need to say it twice.

His fingers slicked over her sex. She came up on her knees as he took himself in hand, watched him intently as the head of his manhood eased inside her. For a few seconds, her body resisted the intrusion, but he was patient, surprisingly gentle for a man so large.

“God, Juliet, you’re so wet, so tight.”

Juliet swallowed. “Is that a good thing?”

A chuckle escaped his lips, and the solid length inside her pulsed with amusement, too. “It means I’m struggling to keep control of my desire.”

“Oh.” He pushed a little deeper. “Oh.” The word meant something entirely different this time.

“Hold on to me. I need to thrust harder.”

She clung to the rippling muscles in his arms as she welcomed the whole length of him into her eager body. The sudden stab of discomfort tore a gasp from her lips while he moaned with pleasure.

Devlin stilled and held her close. “You must be the one to move. You must be the one to gauge how best to proceed.”

After taking a moment to catch her breath, she nodded. “Then you must guide me.”

He clasped her buttocks, lifted her slightly and lowered her down. “Move like this.”

The more times she rose and fell to sheath his manhood, the easier it became. With her discomfort soon forgotten she found a rhythm that left them both groaning and panting.

Their damp bodies moved together in exquisite harmony. There was no pain, no anguish, no wishing she might be somewhere else instead. For all her mother’s experience, it seemed she knew nothing about relations between a husband and wife.

But it was not the shudders of ecstasy that stole Juliet’s breath when she came apart in Devlin’s arms. It was not the rush of possessiveness when he cried her name and spilt his seed inside her. It was the sudden realisation that she had not lied before God. She had given herself to her husband, cherished every moment they spent together. And her heart swelled in the knowledge that she fancied herself a little in love with Devlin Drake.

Chapter Eleven

“I think we should begin our search for the letters in your bedchamber.” Juliet offered Devlin a beaming smile before biting into her toast. Fixated by the way her mouth moved, he watched and waited for her to swallow. “How fortunate that you did not think to remove your brother’s belongings when you claimed the master room.”

Devlin stared at her, wondering why the hell desire thrummed through his veins during something as simple as a conversation at breakfast. His rampant imagination saw him swiping the crockery to the floor, lifting his wife onto the table, gripping her thighs and driving home, driving into the only place he’d ever felt a profound and lasting satiation.

“Mrs Barbary would not dispose of Ambrose’s belongings without permission,” he said, shifting in his seat to ease the throbbing erection pressing against his breeches. Damn. This would not do. He could not look at Juliet without recalling her passionate reaction to him the previous night. “And since my return, I’ve been too preoccupied with my wife to undertake the task.”

Juliet must have noted the sensual undertone in his voice for her porcelain cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink. After a failed attempt, she looked him in the eye. “Is that a complaint?”

“Most definitely not.”

Guilt stabbed his chest. The many letters he’d received over the last three years informing him of Miss Bromfield’s predilection for gossiping had fuelled the fire of vengeance. Now, the bubbling inferno was reduced to a simmer. Knowing that a woman was his weakness did not sit well with him.

Ambrose deserved better.

Ambrose deserved justice.

But that was not the only reason for his sudden pang of shame. His hypocrisy was laughable. Juliet’s honesty and loyalty to her husband—a man she had known for a week—roused a deep level of affection within. While he, on the other hand, had not been truthful about his reasons for marrying her and needed to address his failing as a matter of urgency.

“Besides, I doubt we’ll find the letters from your sister to Ambrose in my chamber,” Devlin said, pushing all thoughts of bedding his wife from his mind.

“And why is that?”

He told her about the baron’s unexpected visit to Blackwater, his demand to have the letters returned, Mrs Barbary’s refusal to grant him entrance and the consequent theft. “I suspect the baron hired a man to break into the house. The thug ransacked the room. Had he found the letters, your father would have had no need to hire a man to threaten his own daughter so violently.”

Juliet fell silent.