His hands fumbled at the fastenings of his fly, and then he was free, the air of the carriage kissing his hot, overheated flesh. Wetness covered the broad tip, the rest of him purple and pulsing in his palm.

“Good heavens,” she murmured on a shivery exhale, eyes fixed to his crotch. “It’s…beautiful. And b-big.”

Valentine let out a gasp as he stroked over his hard flesh again. The first was hardly the word he’d used to describe a man’s cock, but he was glad she thought so, considering all of this was for her. The savage, hungry look in her eyes, coupled with the tight glove of his fist, made his body tighten.

“I’m close,” he grunted.

“Show me.”

And the sound of her husky voice was all it took before lightning crashed into the base of his spine and he was spilling in long ropes of seed onto his trousers. He worked himself through the release, milking every spurt and every pulse until the waves of pleasure ebbed, and all the while those blue eyes held fast in complete fascination.

“My word,” she breathed, a glowing stare rising to his.

“You’re next, never fear,” Valentine growled and squeezed his still-hard cock, ignoring the wetness that seeped into his pants. “Last chance to change your mind because I am going to ruin you, Bronwyn, for any lover you’ll ever know.”

Her throat worked at the dark promise, but she didn’t tell him no.

Twenty-one

Oh dear God, she was a sodden, sopping mess under her skirts! Just from watching him take himself in hand. It had been beyond erotic, beyond anything Bronwyn had imagined. His staff had been thick and turgid, almost angry in its appearance as he’d throttled the full, impressive length. Her own core had clenched on air with every wicked stroke…the memory of his thrusts deeply visceral, coded into her body like a special cipher made for her.

And when he’d found his release, the expression on his face—that moment of utter bliss softening those hard, rugged features—had been mesmerizing. Plush lips had parted on a moan, and she’d wanted to crash into them. Swallow those sounds for herself. Even now, his passion-glazed amber eyes sought hers, promising nothing but sweet, sinful retribution.

An overheated Bronwyn watched as he put himself to rights, fastening his soiled trousers—thank goodness they were dark—and scowling as his hands brushed the wet fabric.

She let out a wry laugh. “Seems fair that I’m not the only wet one in this carriage.”

Those golden eyes flared, lust gathering anew. “You are a tease, Lady Bronwyn.”

“If I’m not direct with you, Your Grace, you tend to miss much subtler cues,” she said with a coquettish flutter of her lashes. “And besides you like when I’m unspeakably blunt, don’t you?”

“I do.” The soft growl made her thighs quiver with anticipation.