Whip-fast her hand lashed out and grasped his wrist with surprising strength.

Ian froze. Daisy’s eyes had gone wide and panicked, fear warring with desperate longing. Tension vibrated down her arm and into his wrist, and his heart kicked in his chest.

“I don’t know what will happen either,” he whispered, his breath growing as agitated as hers. In truth he could go limp, fail again, or perhaps fall so far and deep for her that he would not recover. And yet. “Let us discover it together, love.”

Her throat worked on a swallow, but her eyes… they filled with trust. Pride swelled in his chest. The grip on his wrist eased, and slowly, surely her hand fell to her lap.

Ian held her gaze and then he pulled. The delicate fabric tore to her waist with a rending sound that shot through the tense silence.

“Sweet Jesus.” It was more a prayer than anything. She was gorgeous. Full, creamy, teardrop-shaped br**sts that thrust upward. Perfect tawny ni**les the size of sovereigns that invited a man to linger. His hands covered the curve of her waist where her tender flesh had been abused by the binding corset. He smoothed his palms over the red marks, and she hissed as though his touch burned.

Perhaps it did, for he felt himself burning up from inside out.

“Poor lass,” he whispered, brushing his lips over a red groove on her sweet belly. “Ye should be free and unbound like this always.”

Her helpless laugh was cut short as he kissed his way up, his mouth following the path made by his hands. A groan escaped him as he cupped her lush br**sts. His thumbs slid over the silken tips of her ni**les, slowly, back and forth until they grew stiff and wanting. He gave them a little pinch, and her eyes squeezed shut, her lips parting on a gasp. The sight almost killed him.

His mouth fastened over one flushed tip, and she moaned, arching up into him. Ian’s breath was unsteady as he drew the stiff nub in deep, learning her taste, the feel of her. She was delicious, maddening. He gave her a little nip. She squirmed against him, and he knew he drove her as mad as he felt.

Blood running hot and viscous as honey in his veins, he licked his way over to the other neglected breast and nibbled and sucked it until she was tugging at his hair.

She was so primed that he could probably make her come by doing this alone. Hell, he was dangerously near spilling his seed as it was. And wasn’t that enough to make him shout in triumph? But it was too fast. Giving her one last, suckling kiss, he took a breath and sat back on his heels.

Beneath lids lowered in dazed arousal, she watched him, confusion clouding her eyes even as she waited to see what he would do. The coach rattled over a rough patch in the road, and her br**sts bounced lightly, her ni**les dark and wet from his ministrations. Ian almost fell upon her again, wanting to suck and tweak those swollen tips until she came apart in his arms. He fisted his hands at his side because he wanted more. Much more. She deserved more.

“Lift your skirts.” His voice was guttural, brutal in its command.

Her soft mouth fell open, her eyes going wide. But he saw the flash of heat in those blue depths. They stared at each other, their breathing heavy and fast.

“Lift them high and show me your sweet cunny, Daisy-Meg.”

A little gasp escaped her lips, her gaze turning fever bright at the demand. He held her gaze unflinchingly, the silence so thick it pressed upon his chest like a hand. For one lurching moment, he thought she might refuse, and then slowly, oh so slowly, her hands moved. Trembling fingers fisted her skirts, and lust surged like victory through his gut.

His muscles clenched as she gathered up her gown, the rustling of satin overloud in the silence. Trim ankles came into view, then the elegant line of her shins covered in red silk stockings. Ian wanted to laugh in delight upon seeing her naughty choice in hosiery, but he couldn’t catch his breath. He licked his dry lips.

“Higher.” It was a growl.

She struggled with the fabric, bunches of it slipping and sliding in her hands. Poor girl. Her br**sts bobbled as she arched up, making room for the mass of her skirts on the bench seat. The lacy ruffle of knickers peeked out. The frilled edge of the gown eased over her dimpled knees. Ian swallowed hard, his shoulders shaking despite his wish to be still.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered on a pant.

Shyly, she bit her bottom lip as she spread her thighs. The scent of her desire made his head light. Her h*ps came forward on the seat, the white length of plump, linen-covered thighs opening like flower petals to the sun.

“Wider,” he said when the shadowed apex of her thighs remained hidden to him. His c**k throbbed with impatience, wanting to push and thrust. He took a deep breath, willing it to calm. No longer was it a question of could he finish, but could he refrain from finishing too soon.

She made a little sound that had his fingers digging into his thighs for control, and then she moved, parting, revealing herself to him.

“Ah God.” His hands shook as he put them on her thighs. Framed by the slit in her combinations and a nest of honey-gold curls, pink lips, as pouty and plump as her mouth, glistened in the dim light. “I could eat ye alive, mo gradh.”

And then he did. Spreading her legs wider still, he kissed those lips, his tongue laving through her slickness.

“Ian!” Her back lifted off the squabs, mewling sounds breaking from her as she undulated against his questing mouth. She was honey and salt and so succulent the animal in him wanted to sink his teeth into her.

He gripped the soft abundance of her arse and hauled her closer. The way her h*ps gently rocked in time with his kisses drove him on, and he devoured her. His mind went dark, his flesh turning to liquid fire, and his heart threatened to pound right out of his chest. She was going to kill him.

Chapter Twenty-nine

He was going to kill her. Surely one could die from pleasure.

Daisy bit her lip to keep from screaming out. Slick and hot, his tongue lapped at her, each long lick sending heat coursing down her thighs.

Sagging against the seats she blinked up at the carriage roof, her breath coming in shallow bursts. Her damp palms clutched at the mass of her skirts for fear that they would slip and hinder his efforts. Dear God, nothing ever felt so good, so sinfully good as this. Sensation overwhelmed her, drawing her focus to the wet sounds of him kissing, sucking, to the air caressing her ni**les still wet and throbbing from his earlier assault, and his tongue—his clever, devious tongue.

Her hand fluttered down to weakly cup the silky back of his head and keep him close. A whimper left her as he did something particularly decadent with his mouth, and she pushed herself into the kiss. He rewarded her by doing it again, a slow swirling glide that had her writhing. A growl rumbled low in his throat. His big hands clutched her bottom, holding her still.

She was utterly open to him, her thighs trembling and her sex pulsing. “Ian.” It was a plea.

He made a noise as if he were as helpless as she, but he did not stop, his mouth moving over her in a maddeningly steady rhythm, surely designed to torment.

In a haze, she saw his hand go to the fall of his trousers, his arm jerking as he worked to open the buttons and free his cock. Cock. She remembered when she’d learned that word. It was the same day she’d learned what it could do, how it made her feel, the heat and fullness of it inside of her. Before her marriage, she’d loved men, loved their bodies, their taste. A lump rose in her throat. She’d nearly forgotten.

Her gaze drifted down to the dark head between her legs, the sight of it making her insides clench. This man, this man above all others, drove her to distraction. She wanted Ian’s c**k now, driving into her, taking claim. Heat rippled up her torso, and her pleasure spiraled toward a precipice.

“Ian…”

He tilted his head, the strands of his thick hair spreading over her thigh in an auburn fan. He blinked up at her, slow and languid, as if he hadn’t a care. But the devil lurked behind his innocent expression, sly and ready to tease. “Yes, sweet?”

Perspiration trickled between her br**sts and down the small of her back. She licked her lips, forcing the words past her labored breaths. “I want…” She couldn’t say it. Her cheeks burned as she looked at him in supplication.

His breath stirred her wet curls, making her twitch. “What do you want?”

Oh, the horrid bastard. She tried to nudge closer, but he held her back.

“You.” She gasped as he planted another soft, searching kiss on her sex. “You. Now… God!”

Beneath the shadow of his lashes, his eyes were a blue flame, wicked and wild as they pinned her. “What is it that you want me to do?”

A shiver wracked her. He wanted the words. The look in his eyes told her he knew that deep down she yearned to say them, that the very idea of saying them made her burn hotter. Anticipation gathered in her limbs and made her heart pound as she thought of the words, the most sinful way to ask.

An evil smile curled Ian’s mouth. “Well?” His tongue snaked out to flick over her swollen flesh, and she arched off the seat.

“Please…”

Slowly, he kissed his way up her torso. His lips closed over her nipple, giving it a light suck, and she moaned. “Please, what?” he whispered around the trembling tip.

His h*ps moved between hers, and she felt him there, the crown of his c**k pressing against her entrance. He did not move, but fisted the sides of her skirts as his forehead rested on hers.

His lips hovered over hers, his breath an unsteady pant. “Tell me.”

The carriage lurched, rocking as it turned up an incline, and Ian’s c**k nudged against her opening. He grunted, his throat working on a swallow, but he held steady. Waiting. She closed her eyes for a brief moment. She could feel his power, the restraint that had the muscles of his shoulders shaking. When she opened her eyes, their gazes collided.

With a flush of white-hot heat, she said the words that gave her power and set her free. “Fuck me.”

His groan filled her mouth, mingled with her gasp as he plunged home, a smooth, gliding thrust that seated him to the hilt just as the carriage lurched to a halt. The penetration, the intimacy of it, nearly undid her right there, but the unmistakable sound of the coachman jumping from his seat made her freeze. A muffled curse left Ian as he too went utterly still.

Barely able to breathe or to think past the sensation of being filled with him, Daisy blinked up at Ian in horror. Ian stared back, his expression a virulent mix of pained impatience and growing wrath. Footsteps sounded just outside the coach door.

“My lord?”

“Leave off, George,” Ian shouted in a strangled voice. A bead of sweat trickled from his temple down to his twitching jawline.

He glanced at her and moved his h*ps a fraction, a slight pull that sent a delicious ripple through her core. Murmuring a sound of impatience, he grazed his lips over hers, intent on exploring, but the coachman’s strained voice ruptured the thick silence.

“But my lord…”

“I said leave off!” Ian’s plea broke on a groan, his head falling against her neck as he struggled not to move. “Christ, I’m going to kill him.”

“It’s Lady Archer,” said a frantic George. Daisy’s heart seized. “My lord, she is out of her carriage and headed this way.”

“Oh God!” Daisy shot upward, her nose colliding with Ian’s chin as she shoved at his chest hard. “Get off. Oh do!”

Dislodged, Ian fell back with a curse as Daisy scrambled to get her skirts down. Her bodice lay gaping, her breast swaying in humiliating fashion. Miranda was here! Her sharp voice was just outside the door as she argued with George to let her pass.

“Damned meddling woman,” Ian muttered as he tucked himself into his trousers. He moved to help Daisy but she smacked at his hands. He batted hers back. “I’m faster.”

Wasting precious seconds, they slapped at each other’s hands in a battle to re-dress her bodice until Daisy threw her hands up in the air. “Forget it. There’s no time to re-lace the corset, and the bodice won’t close without it. What are you doing?” she hissed as he began to pull off his coat. “Put that back on.” A knock rapped on the door, and she jumped within her skin. “Bloody hell!”

“Daisy? Are you in there?”

Ian’s smile was quick and tight as he kissed the tip of Daisy’s nose and then swung his coat around her shoulders. “Chin up,” he said as she struggled to put her arms through the long sleeves. He tucked a curl behind her ear. “And look the devil in the eye when she has a go at you.”

Miranda’s eyes widened as Daisy stumbled out of the coach, now parked in Ian’s drive. Daisy took Ian’s advice and met Miranda’s reproachful look with a lift of her chin, though she could not quite pull off the pose with the dignity she wanted as her hair was tumbling down around her shoulders and her frame swayed on unsteady legs.

She clutched the edges of Ian’s coat tighter together. “Not a word,” she said when Miranda made to speak. “Not a single admonishment, Panda. Or I’ll march right by and finish what I started in the privacy of Northrup’s home.”

The strangled sound of a masculine laugh came from behind her as Miranda’s brow lifted. Ian, finishing the act of buttoning up, leaped down from the conveyance and gave her sister a courtly bow. “Lady Archer, a pleasure as always.”

Miranda’s mouth pursed. “I doubt it very much in this instance, Lord Northrup.” Her green eyes cut to Daisy, wonder and wariness warring within their depths, but she took a deep breath and her expression fell to grief. “Oh, Daisy.”

In an instant, Daisy pulled her into a hard embrace, heedless of her disheveled state. “What is it, pet?”

Miranda’s arms held her just as tightly. “Winston,” Miranda said against Daisy’s hair. “He’s been attacked by the werewolf.”