The Art of Ruining a Rake Read Online Free

feel a familiar thing happening. Building from the place where his tongue met her flesh. He worked his tongue faster and she couldn’t stop, couldn’t look away, couldn’t keep her body from contracting and arching toward him. Suddenly, pleasure burst within her. She cried out, then clamped her hand across her lips, while the sound of her panting seemed to grow louder and louder until it overcame the staccato pounding of her blood.
    It was as much his panting as hers, she realized. His cravat billowed as he rose from his knees. He loosened the fall of his breeches. His member sprang forth and she reached for it.  
    Today, now, she pleaded silently, refusing to ask him aloud . I can no longer wait for you.
    Her whimper caused a breathless laugh to issue from his lips. He slid her even farther down so that she had to cling to him. And oh, how she held him tight. She’d never forget this bittersweet anticipation as long as she lived.
    She hooked her heels around his thighs and silently begged again for him to hurry.
    One of his large hands gripped his length. The other splayed across her back. He poised himself to enter her. But he didn’t, not yet. “Tell me,” he insisted, his brow marred by a frown.
    She clung to him. Ached for him. All the while, she resisted him. “No.”
    He watched her with those penetrating eyes. “I did miss you,” he rasped, and plunged himself into her.
    Her heart sank to the floor. As though she’d fallen too far, too fast. He thrust himself deep into her again. And again. He held her so close, she could almost believe they’d been merged into one. Was she wrong? Had shemissedhim?
    No. She would never have allowed herself to. She couldn’t risk it—
    A knock sounded at the door. The same door she’d always encouraged her staff to enter without hesitation, for she abhorred formality in all things. Roman paused his punishing rhythm as her life stopped around her. She knew one true, terrible moment of destruction, of sensing her meticulously constructed plans about to come crashing down.
    Mr. Mowry and Mr. Strickett entered, followed by a third person.
    Mr. Strickett’s wife.
    Lucy buried her face against Roman’s chest. He clamped his hand against her head and held her brow to his cravat. She fought a surge of hot tears. She wouldn’t cry. This wasn’t happening. She couldn’t have allowed herself to lose everything in a moment of weakness.
    His voice rumbled through his chest. “If you don’t mind, please leave .”
    Horrified laughter gurgled through her. She swallowed it back before it burst out. Surely, he hadn’t just said that.
    Lightly, he squeezed her head. Whether because he knew she’d almost snickered aloud or to prevent her from showing her face, she didn’t know. But it was a small comfort that he held her at all.
    In the background, Mrs. Strickett continued to make shocked noises and no one made any move to leave.
    Roman cleared his throat. “Mr. Mowry, that was your cue to show our visitors through the door.”
    “Y-yes, my l-lord,” her retainer stuttered, clearly stupefied to find his straitlaced employer with her skirts hiked to her thighs and a gentleman between her knees. “Please, sir, come this way. The drawing room is right through here.”
    “I say!” Mr. Strickett finally exclaimed.
    “I do, too!” Mrs. Strickett agreed.
    Lucy prayed she’d sink straight through the desk. She wanted to disappear. This wasn’t happening. It was a nightmare. She’d fought too valiantly against the madness lurking in her blood to embrace it after one brief glimpse of Roman.
    But she didn’t wake up. This was real.
    Roman cupped her head and made murmuring sounds only she could hear. Oddly, his heart was hammering, too. He was just as frightened as she was. Why? Wasn’t this exactly the sort of thing he was always doing? Ruining innocent girls, leaving scandal and mayhem in his wake?
      Shuffling noises ensued as Mr. Mowry attempted to back Wilhelmina’s