The Devil May Care (Brotherhood of Sinners #1) by Lara Archer

dream, she climbed atop him as he lifted her skirts out of her way. The seat of the coach was well padded, but not deep, so her knees had to slide apart rather wider than she wished before the backs of her thighs settled over the iron-hard tops of his. As her skirts dropped back down around her hips and legs, the emerald silk was full enough to cover most of her bared flesh, but with her legs spread so far, and no barrier but the fabric of his breeches between her and him, she still felt dangerously exposed.
    And excited.
    What would he do to her now?
    Kiss her? Touch her breasts? Put his hands beneath her skirts? Just because it was a lesson didn’t mean it couldn’t be enjoyable.
    She became acutely aware of her pulse, pounding everywhere through her flesh. The surface of her skin rippled with sensitivity, so much so that she feared when he did touch her, she’d scream.
    “Put your hands on my shoulders,” he said, and she did as she was told, registering the strength and breadth of him, of his body so very different from hers. There was comfort in this proof of his solidity, of his vitality, after all the anxiety of watching Lord Henry chase after him with a blade.
    Sebastian was safe. And, against all reason, all sense, he made her feel safe, too.
    The heat of his body, the subtle, musky scent of him, deepened by his exertions during the fight, seemed to charge the air around her. The world contracted suddenly to the small space they shared, its boundaries defined by the outlines of their bodies and that envelope of warmth.
    As it turned out, he did none of the things she’d expected him to do first.
    Instead, his palms cupped her buttocks through the silk of her skirts and drew her down more firmly into his lap, pressing that most sensitive place between her legs against the fall of his breeches.
    A sharp, delicious jolt went through her—he was hard there, too, and swelling harder and larger with the contact.
    He made a growling sound. “I told you my blood was up.”
    Oh, Lord . Her own blood seemed to be thundering in her ears, and running a mad, looping course through the rest of her body, filling her with a hot, sweet, blooming feeling. He’d touched her in that spot once before, with his hands, through the silk of the plum gown, and it had nearly undone her. This was somehow even more intense, with her legs fully spread, and that part of him rising up so insistently against her.
    For a moment, a streak of fear shot through her, and she nearly sprang off of his lap.
    But she swallowed hard, steeled herself. Brave, remember ?
    Other instincts were pulling at her, too, not just her fear. There was a deep, physical draw, an urge to get closer to his body. She chose to follow that. Drawing a quick breath for courage, she gripped his shoulders, and rocked her hips downward, pressing harder against him, increasing the pleasure.
    Sebastian let out a harsh, shuddering sigh.
    The muscles of his thighs tensed as though he wanted to thrust against her, but he made no effort yet to do so. Instead, his palms skimmed up her sides, from her hips to her waist to outside of her breasts, and then up the curve of her neck to her jawline, all so light and quick she barely had time to register the sensations. Her body tingled everywhere at once. Her head whirled as though she were perched high atop a tower, perilously far from safe ground.
    “Sweetheart,” Sebastian breathed, so soft and low she seemed to fall down into the sound of it. She wanted his mouth against hers.
    He didn’t kiss her, though, just kept up that light, quick stroking, his fingers teasing her, tracing her, following the line of her jaw to her chin, then sweeping down again, brushing her throat, the line of her pulse, the ridge of her collarbones, and finally the upper curve of her breast.
    “Oh, yes, so soft,” he whispered. “Here, for instance.”
    Breathing became more complicated. Her very lungs seemed to be trembling, and her heart as well, and