Lydia Dare - Wolf Next Door

"How?" she asked. A moment before, he'd been unconscious. And now he was lifting his head from the floor and sitting up, as though nothing had happened. She'd seen the bruise. But now it was gone.

"How, what?" he asked.

Prisca sighed with impatience. "Never mind."

Will moved to sit in the seat of the coach and pulled her up to his lap. "Let me hold you," he said quietly when she tried to pull away. His voice was deep and now roughly textured, which made a tickle climb up her belly. She settled against him.

"Your father

hit

me?" he finally asked.

"Yes, though I don't know why."

"I told him the truth," Will said before his lips brushed the side of her neck. Without even thinking about it, she tilted her head to give him better access.

"The truth about?"

"The night in the cottage," he breathed against her skin.

She sat up quickly. "You did?" Prisca covered her neck with her hand to stop his lips from distracting her. He tugged her arm, trying to dislodge her fingers. She swatted at his hands like he was a pesky fly.

Will finally sighed and leaned back against the squabs, his eyes half closed as he looked at her. "Yes, I did. It was only right." He shrugged.

"And what did he say?" Prisca asked.

"Well, he was angry enough to hit me," Will said sarcastically.

"I'll have to go and thank him tomorrow," Prisca said absently. Her heart warmed.

"For hitting me?" Will cried.

"No. For standing up for me," she replied, leaning forward to kiss Will quickly on the lips. "Don't you see? He stood up for me."

"When I told him the truth," Will murmured.

"Why did you do it?" Prisca asked. Surely, he had a motive. He always did.

Will bent and tugged at the hem of her dress. "Because I wanted unlimited access to what's beneath your skirts," he laughed.

"Will!" she cried, pushing his hands down.

"And beneath your bodice," he said, his voice growing deeper as he tugged at her neckline, exposing the swell of her breast.

"Will," she protested again, though this time she merely covered his hand with her own. "So selfserving," she scolded.

"Speaking of self-serving…" he said quietly as he removed his hand from her breast and replaced it with her own. She began to balk at the intimate touch of her own fingers, until he covered her hand and lined his fingers and thumb up with hers. He tensed his hand, which made her knead her breast.

"Stop," she protested weakly. In truth, it was highly arousing to see his hand over hers, as she touched herself.

"I would love to see you cup your breasts in your hands as you ride me," he rasped. "You could even flick your thumb across your nipple," he said as he moved his hand and caused her to do so.

Prisca closed her eyes. "I'm not ready for this," she whispered, though she felt more than ready.

"Then I'll just have to pleasure them all by myself."

Twenty-Five

By the time they neared the dower house, Will had Prisca's bodice loose enough that his fingers could steal inside and tantalize her flesh. The shimmery overdress she wore restricted him a bit, but he refused to be deterred. After all, it was the first time all day she'd smiled at him, her eyes warm with passion.

Will spent the ride tormenting his lovely wife. His fingers stole beneath her skirt to stroke her quivering flesh until she was just on the edge of completion. Then he withdrew. He could hear the beat of her heart and the way it quickened just before she reached climax. When her gasps turned to little pants, he left her teetering on the precipice.

"Don't stop!" she cried out in frustration as he pulled his finger from her wetness. She opened her eyes to clutch at his hand, pulling it back toward her heat.

He went back to his ministrations with a chuckle. "Greedy little thing, aren't you?" he teased as he strummed across her center, teasing the little bundle of nerves with the pad of his thumb until she finally fell over the precipice, quaking and sighing within his hold.

Will touched his lips to the dewy skin of her neck softly and then said quietly, "Priss, the coach stopped ten minutes ago."

She sat up and looked around and then lifted the curtain, seeing they had indeed stopped. "You could have told me," she hissed. "What will the coachmen think?"

"They'll think I was making love to my wife." He nibbled at her ear. "Which I intend to do as soon as we enter the house."

Prisca lifted her body to move off him but teetered when her legs refused to carry her weight. Will opened the carriage door and stepped out, happy to find that, despite the tent of his trousers, he could still walk. Prisca stepped out, her legs shaking as she took a step. He quickly picked her up and carried her toward the house.

"Put me down!" she cried.

"Why?"

"Because the coachmen will think you intend to make love to me."

Will's heart sped up at her words. "I do," he affirmed.

"But, they'll—" Prisca started.

"Prisca, all the coachmen left, aside from Clarke." Prisca craned her neck to look over his shoulder. He was correct. No coachmen were milling about. Only one man stood at the horses' heads, his stance relaxed as he softly whistled a tune. "The others left when we stopped."

"Did you know that?" she asked, her bottom lip sticking out a bit, making her even more adorable.

"I knew. I heard them when they discussed it."

Prisca exhaled loudly. "Why didn't I hear them?"

"Because I had my fingers inside you and you were a bit preoccupied by it."

She colored prettily in the moonlight. God, he loved it when she did that. In one moment she went from writhing against him to blushing like a schoolgirl.

"But what about him?" Prisca asked. "He

knows

what we were doing!"

"Yes, he does, and his wife will be very happy when he crawls into bed with her tonight, as his ardor will be impressive, I'm sure." Will couldn't keep from chuckling at the look of mortification that crossed her face.

"I'll never be able to look him in the eye again," she moaned.

Will carried her all the way to the master chamber, and only then did he set her on her feet.

"Will, wait," she said, putting one hand on his chest.

She still wasn't ready for this? Ready for him? He was going to die a slow death if she dissuaded him again. "What is it, Priss?" Will brushed his knuckle along her jaw, hoping she would melt for him like she had in the coach.

"I don't think I'm ready to…"

***

Will's jaw fell open, and Prisca very nearly felt sorry for him. But she still hadn't forgiven him for the way he'd trapped her into this marriage. "You seemed ready enough on the way back," he complained.

"I lose all sense of right and wrong when you touch me." Prisca sighed.

"And you think me making love to you would be wrong?" The light of hope that was once present in his gaze flickered out, only to be replaced with resignation. He sighed.

Maybe she should drop her silly pursuit for justice. "Will." She reached for him.

"You'll be the death of me, Prissy," he said. Then he smacked her bottom with the flat of his hand.

"Ow!" she shrieked as she rubbed the offended area.

"But I'll take my punishment."

"You will?" He would roll over that easily?

"I

will

sleep with you tonight, though."

She didn't know how to respond to that, but her heart leapt at the thought. Will laughed as he sat on the edge of the bed and tugged his boots from his feet and very meticulously placed them against the far wall.

Prisca did nothing but gape at him. Did he truly intend to stay with her?

He laid his jacket and waistcoat across the back of the chintz chair beside the bed. Then he slid his black, fitted trousers down his long legs.

Prisca gulped when he pulled the shirt over his head. The sight of him shirtless robbed her of breath. He was splendidly sculpted, all muscle and sinew. Not even the slightest mark marred his perfect form. She couldn't even see the injury from her errant musket shot.