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Authors: Nicola Cornick
Tags: Fiction, Historical
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the half-finished meringues and leftover fruit and moving their game into another league entirely. She felt strawberries squash against the back of her bodice and their rich, sweet scent stung the air.
“My gown!” She liked this dress too much to let some impetuous lover spoil it. But it was too late.
“You’re rich enough to buy another.” His voice was lazy. He completed the ruin of her clothes by tugging the bodice down to her waist so that her breasts were exposed. The material of the gown ripped, but before she could complain, she felt the cold, slippery caress of strawberries rubbing against her naked skin and then his mouth, licking, sucking, tasting her. She squirmed breathless and unbelieving beneath his ministrations,feeling the lust spiral tighter and tighter within her belly, trying not to cry out in disbelief and pleasure at the expert touch of his lips and hands. The door was open, she recalled hazily. Anyone might come in. The servants… They were always listening at keyholes, bearing tales. She had taken some risks in her time—indeed, to her it was part of the fun of the game—but this man was reckless to the point of madness. She had had no idea, no suspicion… Gregory knew of her little indiscretions, but he would divorce her if the scandal were too great. His pride would demand it. She simply had to put a stop to this. But oh, it was too sweet, too pleasurable to end…
His hand was beneath her skirts, on her thigh, and she ached to feel him within her. But then something touched her slick heat, something hard, smooth and broad, sliding inside her, icy cold encased in her warmth, the hilt of the frozen sword from the ice sculpture. The shock, the sheer illicit, erotic thrill of it made her half rise from the table with a gasp that was a mixture of astonishment, disbelief and wild excitement.
“You cannot do that—”
“I can.” He was easing her back down amongst the smashed meringues and scattered strawberries, leaning over to kiss her even as he threw up her petticoats, spread her wider and worked that wicked sword hilt inside her. He tasted of champagne and strawberries. She could feel the ice melting against her inner thighs, running in rivulets down her skin even as the heat inside her blazed to impossible levels. She arched upward and came in one huge, overwhelming roll of sensation, biting down on one of her embroidered napkins to preventherself from screaming loud enough to wake the whole house.
When she came to her senses she realized that there was fruit in her hair and she was lying half-naked in a pool of melted ice. Dev was laughing down at her. In the half light he looked young and vital and very, very wicked. Lottie’s heart skipped a beat.
“You enjoyed that?”
“Oh, you…” Lottie was disconcerted to realize that she felt rather more for him than simple gratitude. She struggled to push aside some unfamiliar emotions and achieve her customary languor.
“Well, darling,” she murmured, “what a find you have proved to be!” She reached for him and was gratified to discover that he was very hard for her.
“Not here,” he said, scooping her up into his arms with an ease that was very seductive. “What do you say to a tryst in the gardens?”
“The summerhouse is nice at this time of year,” Lottie murmured as he strode toward the door leading out to the terrace. “Actually, I find that the summerhouse is nice at any time of year.”
A LEX G RANT SAT IN THE OFFICES of Churchward and Churchward, lawyers to the aristocratic and discerning, in High Holborn, and tried not to feel too impatient. This had most decidedly not been part of his plan. Since he was still kicking his heels in London waiting for his next commission from the Admiralty, he had decided to ignore all the tempting offers from the ton to grace their social events and to spend the day visiting a former colleague at the naval hospital at Greenwich. But when he had arisen that morning, his
“My gown!” She liked this dress too much to let some impetuous lover spoil it. But it was too late.
“You’re rich enough to buy another.” His voice was lazy. He completed the ruin of her clothes by tugging the bodice down to her waist so that her breasts were exposed. The material of the gown ripped, but before she could complain, she felt the cold, slippery caress of strawberries rubbing against her naked skin and then his mouth, licking, sucking, tasting her. She squirmed breathless and unbelieving beneath his ministrations,feeling the lust spiral tighter and tighter within her belly, trying not to cry out in disbelief and pleasure at the expert touch of his lips and hands. The door was open, she recalled hazily. Anyone might come in. The servants… They were always listening at keyholes, bearing tales. She had taken some risks in her time—indeed, to her it was part of the fun of the game—but this man was reckless to the point of madness. She had had no idea, no suspicion… Gregory knew of her little indiscretions, but he would divorce her if the scandal were too great. His pride would demand it. She simply had to put a stop to this. But oh, it was too sweet, too pleasurable to end…
His hand was beneath her skirts, on her thigh, and she ached to feel him within her. But then something touched her slick heat, something hard, smooth and broad, sliding inside her, icy cold encased in her warmth, the hilt of the frozen sword from the ice sculpture. The shock, the sheer illicit, erotic thrill of it made her half rise from the table with a gasp that was a mixture of astonishment, disbelief and wild excitement.
“You cannot do that—”
“I can.” He was easing her back down amongst the smashed meringues and scattered strawberries, leaning over to kiss her even as he threw up her petticoats, spread her wider and worked that wicked sword hilt inside her. He tasted of champagne and strawberries. She could feel the ice melting against her inner thighs, running in rivulets down her skin even as the heat inside her blazed to impossible levels. She arched upward and came in one huge, overwhelming roll of sensation, biting down on one of her embroidered napkins to preventherself from screaming loud enough to wake the whole house.
When she came to her senses she realized that there was fruit in her hair and she was lying half-naked in a pool of melted ice. Dev was laughing down at her. In the half light he looked young and vital and very, very wicked. Lottie’s heart skipped a beat.
“You enjoyed that?”
“Oh, you…” Lottie was disconcerted to realize that she felt rather more for him than simple gratitude. She struggled to push aside some unfamiliar emotions and achieve her customary languor.
“Well, darling,” she murmured, “what a find you have proved to be!” She reached for him and was gratified to discover that he was very hard for her.
“Not here,” he said, scooping her up into his arms with an ease that was very seductive. “What do you say to a tryst in the gardens?”
“The summerhouse is nice at this time of year,” Lottie murmured as he strode toward the door leading out to the terrace. “Actually, I find that the summerhouse is nice at any time of year.”
A LEX G RANT SAT IN THE OFFICES of Churchward and Churchward, lawyers to the aristocratic and discerning, in High Holborn, and tried not to feel too impatient. This had most decidedly not been part of his plan. Since he was still kicking his heels in London waiting for his next commission from the Admiralty, he had decided to ignore all the tempting offers from the ton to grace their social events and to spend the day visiting a former colleague at the naval hospital at Greenwich. But when he had arisen that morning, his
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