“I suppose I ain’t bad for an East End scoundrel.”
She rose on her toes and planted her mouth on his, kissing him until they were both breathless and the scandal sheet fell to the floor. “You are not bad at all, Mr. Sutton,” she said when the kiss ended. “In fact, you’re quite good.”
“Hush now.” He kissed the corner of her lips. “That’s our secret. Can’t have all London thinking I’ve gone soft.”
“No chance of that,” she said wickedly, slipping her hand between them to cup his rigid length through his trousers. “This part of you is definitely hard.”
He growled and pressed himself into her eager palm. “Damn it, Octavia, I can’t fuck y
ou on my desk again. You’re in a delicate condition.”
She stroked him the way she knew he liked, the roundness of her growing belly only slightly in the way. “That did not stop you last time, husband.”
He kissed her soundly. “I reckon it won’t stop me this time, either, wife.”