Wicked and the Wallflower by Sarah MacLean

Author:Sarah MacLean
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-06-18T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

She was so sweet, heady and lush and soft like that spun sugar from all those years ago. She was sin and sex and freedom and pleasure and something more and something worse, and he was lost in the feel of her lips and the taste of her when she opened to him like she’d been waiting her whole life for him.

Felicity Faircloth was perfection—the first taste of it Devil had ever had.

She tasted like a promise.

She sighed and he groaned, pulling her tighter to him, his fingers tangling in her hair as hers came to the rough stubble of his cheek, her nails scraping across it until she was pulling his head down to her, as though she’d been waiting all her life for this kiss, and she meant for it to be worth it.

Goddammit, he wanted to make it worth it.

He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her tight against him so quickly, so thoroughly, that she gasped. He released her lips and said, “I wanted to hold you like this earlier, when we were watching the cargo move,” he said.

Christ, why was he telling her that?

She came up on her toes and pressed her forehead to his. “I wanted you to hold me like this,” she whispered.

How could he resist that?

He returned to her lips, playing over them gently, softly, teasing her with his tongue until she sighed, opening to let him in, all sweet, silken heat and lush promise. And then Felicity Faircloth, plain, spinster, wallflower, kissed him back, meeting his tongue, matching him, like a fallen angel.

Like a fucking goddess.

And he reveled in it, in her pleasure, in her sighs and moans and the shiver that went through her when he opened her coat—no, his coat—and put his hands to her. She broke their kiss on a gasp. “Devil.”

“Are you cold?” Goddammit, of course she was cold. They were surrounded by ice.

“No.” She panted the response, her hands clutching his shirt in one fist and pulling him closer. “No, I’m blazing.”

Her grasp almost undid him—she was magnificent, a queen in the darkness. He knocked the lapels of his coat aside, resisting her pull to watch his hands on her, on that pretty white and pink frock that didn’t belong anywhere near this place that was too dark and too dirty and too sinful for her. Felicity didn’t belong here, but it didn’t stop him from touching her.

“You are blazing,” he said, his gaze tracking the movement of his hands, up the sides of her bodice to the neckline, where silk gave way to impossibly soft skin. He touched her there, where breath came hard and fast, revealing her pleasure. “You don’t need lessons in fire. You’re an inferno.”

She nodded. “I feel it.”

He almost smiled. “Good.”

“Would you—” She stopped, and then, “Would you kiss me again?”

Yes. Christ. Yes. “Where?”

Her eyes went wide. “Where?”

“Shall I show you where you might like it?”

Her lips curled in a magnificent smile. “Yes, please.”

Far be it from him to deny a lady.

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