Between the Devil and Desire(Scoundrels of St. James,Book 2)(84) by Lorraine Heath
Jack stepped onto the locomotive, carrying Henry on board and watching his eyes widen. The expense of the railway car and paying for this extra privilege had seemed frivolous at the time, but now Jack thought it was well worth it.
As he walked back to his private railway car, he slipped a crown into a pocket here and there. Yes, nimble fingers had their uses. His only regret was that he wouldn’t be near to see the delight on the faces when the people discovered the unexpected coin.
He opened the door to his car, stepped in, and grinned at the sight of Olivia sitting on the couch. “That’s exactly where I pictured you when I took possession of the car.”
He tossed his jacket onto the chair, began unbuttoning his waistcoat.
“What are you doing?” Livy asked.
“Taking advantage of the time we’ll have alone before the next stop.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life.” He tossed the cravat onto the chair, barely noticing when it slid to the carpeted floor.
The whistle sounded, and the train began to rock over the tracks.
“I suppose a kiss or two—” she began.
“I’ve told you before, Livy, I’m not a man who settles for only a kiss.”
“No one can see in. No one will hear us. It’s our own little room. It’s just on a railway track.”
“But it’s all bumpy.”
“Which might make it all the more fun.” Chuckling, he moved in and began to nibble on her ear. “I don’t know why you’re arguing. You know you want to do it.”
“I do,” she sighed. “I do, but my clothing—”
His two favorite words in all the world. “No one will know.”
He couldn’t believe he’d actually decided that first night that she had too many buttons to bother with. Considering the delectable body those buttons hid, they were well worth the trouble, and his nimble fingers were quick to get them all undone. He didn’t plan to remove all her clothes, because he didn’t think they had time for that. But there was time to loosen various ribbons so he could fill his hand with her breast, scraping his thumb over the dark nipple. He placed his mouth over hers, delighted by the eagerness with which her lips parted and her tongue parried with his.
As he urged her down on the couch, it occurred to him that her fingers had become almost as nimble as his. He’d not noticed his buttons coming undone until she was shoving his shirt back off his shoulders.
“We don’t have time for everything to go, sweetheart,” he murmured, before sipping at her mouth once again. Easing his hand down, he worked up her skirt until it was bunched around her hips. He skimmed his fingers along her thigh, relishing the velvety feel. He took his hand higher, to where the warmth waited for him.
Moaning, she writhed beneath him. He unbuttoned his trousers, freed himself with a groan, and eased himself closer to heaven.
His clothes were less of a deterrent for her, and he felt her hands skimming along his skin. No woman had ever touched him as she did—as though she appreciated every inch of him. One night she’d kissed him from his big, ugly feet to a scar on his cheek—the faint remnant of the morning she’d attacked him with a poker. No matter where she began kissing him, she always stopped there, and he wondered if it would always be her final destination, a reminder of a time when trust between them hadn’t come easily—when he’d even discouraged it.
He couldn’t remember now why he’d been so reluctant to encourage anything between them. In some ways, it seemed years ago, in others only a few hours ago. With all her ticking clocks, time should have been the one thing between them that remained steady, but everything seemed to want to change.
His opinion of her, his desire for her.
He wasn’t normally an impatient man. He’d learned on the streets that more and greater rewards came with patience, but he’d hardly been able to wait until he could take Henry and Ida to the locomotive. Now he was with Livy, alone, and again the time was ticking away.
She was begging him to take her. His modest Livy, his proper Livy, was urging him toward completion. There was barely room on this couch. He had to wrap her legs around his waist, place one foot on the floor to give himself leverage so he could get the angle he needed, then he was plunging inside her, feeling the hot, silky wetness of her surrounding him.
He rode her hard, the motion of the train whispering at the back of his mind, giving him a cadence that he matched. For some reason, he thought of the people in the open railway car. He covered Livy’s mouth, absorbing her scream as her body tightened, pulsed, and throbbed around him. It was all he needed. His body bucked, the pleasure intense, almost painful. It was always more with her, more than he’d ever had, ever known.
Everything with her was different. Everything was better.
As he buried his face in the curve of her neck and shoulder, he heard the train whistle signaling they’d soon be arriving at the next stop. “Damn.”
Livy’s hand rested against his cheek, limp as though all energy had been drained from her. “I’m not certain if this was a very good or a very bad idea.”
He lifted himself up, then dipped down to buss a quick kiss over her lips. “A good idea.”
Olivia sat on a blanket, watching as Henry—barefoot—darted into the sea up to his ankles and darted out again, with Ida keeping a close watch on him.
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