A Week to Be Wicked (Spindle Cove, #2)

by Tessa Dare

With a curse, he grabbed her hand and dragged her touch where they both wanted it. The relief was immediate, intense. And nowhere near enough. “Goodness.” She spoke the word in an awed, highly gratifying tone that made him wonder why he didn’t debauch virgins more often. “It’s so very . . . stiff.”

“I do love rocks, as a matter of fact.” A coquettish smile crept into her voice. “I find them utterly fascinating. I’m forever taking them in hand. Exploring their every ridge and contour.” She skimmed a petal-soft fingertip over the head of his cock, tracing the flared ridge of the crown and the dewy slit at the tip. Then her touch teased down his length, all the way to the root. “Some of them have very interesting veins.” “I don’t suppose you ever—in the name of science, of course—put these utterly fascinating objects in your mouth?” She froze. “What?” He slapped a hand over his eyes. This—this—was why he had the rules about virgins. The lewd request had just flowed out of him, in a lascivious drawl. “I’m drunk, Min.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “Forget I said anything.” “How could I forget you said that?” Her hand gripped his cock tight, as if she could wring an answer from its tip. “What a suggestion. Do women really . . .” She swallowed, audibly. “Really?”

He cupped her cheek in his hand, traced her parted lips with his thumb. “You,” he whispered hoarsely, “have the most goddamned erotic mouth I’ve ever seen. These sweet, plump lips drive me wild. It’s impossible to look at you and not . . . not wonder, how it would be.” Her eyes went wide. “You’ve wondered.” He nodded. “Oh yes.” “Y-you’ve actually spent time—” “Hours, probably, if you added it up.” “Thinking about—” “This.” He slid his thumb between her startled lips, pressing it deep into her hot, wet mouth. “Yes.”

He writhed on the bedclothes, grappling for restraint. No restraint to be found. Rutting bass-tard that he was, he reached for her and did what he’d been longing to do for ages. He tangled his hand in all that dark, silky hair and made a tight fist. And then he guided her, teaching her how to please him.

Now that curiosity had been satisfied and her own need slaked, he expected her to recoil from him. Surely she’d realize how callously he’d just used her, and what liberties he’d taken with her body and her trust. He fully expected her to hate and loathe him with a renewed—nay, unprecedented passion. When he finally summoned the fortitude to lift his head and gauge her reaction, he found her replacing her spectacles. Her expression did not hint at hatred or loathing, but rather . . . Scientific interest. Of course. “Oh, Colin.” She dabbed a fingertip to his sticky abdomen, then rubbed her fingers together, as though testing the quality of his seed. “That was fascinating.”

“About last night.” She flinched. “Must we discuss last night?” He buttered his toast in slow, even strokes. “I think we must. Some apologies are probably in order.” “Oh.” Nodding, she swallowed hard. “I’m sorry for taking advantage of you.” He choked on his bite of toast. “No, really,” she went on. “You were exhausted and more than a little drunk, and I was unspeakably shameless.” He shook his head and made noises of disagreement. He washed his toast down with a quick sip of tea.

“Anyway, I’m satisfied now. You know, in terms of my curiosity. After last night, I’m sure I’ve seen all there is to see.” His voice darkened in a thrilling way. “Believe me. You haven’t seen a fraction of what I could show you.”

He paused to wipe his brow and toss a comment to his fellow laborers. From the way they all laughed, she supposed it must have been a good joke. Minerva found herself caught between admiration and envy. She seemed doomed to move through life feeling the perpetual outsider, whereas Colin could fit in anywhere. But for the first time, she saw his charm in a different light. Not as lubricant, of either a social or sexual variety, but simply as an expression of his true self.

“I thought you were the one who argued against having any expectations at all. Isn’t that your grand life philosophy? You said expectations lead to disappointments. That if you expect nothing, you’re always surprised.” He gave a bark of laughter. “In that case . . .” He turned to her. His hazel eyes sparked with intensity. “Surprise.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “You’re marrying me.”

Where they lived, it rained almost constantly. Several times a day. So they had words for light rain, and heavy rain, and pounding rain. Something like eighteen different terms for storms, and a whole classification system for mist.” “Why are you telling me this?” His touch skimmed idly down her arm. “Because I’m standing here, wanting to give you a fitting compliment, but my paltry vocabulary fails me. I think what I need is a scientific excursion. I need to venture deep into some jungle where beauty takes the place of rain. Where loveliness itself falls from the sky at regular intervals. Dots every surface, saturates the ground, hangs like vapor in the air. Because the way you look, right now . . .” His gaze caught hers in the reflection. “They’d have a word for it there.”

A word for a sudden, cataclysmic torrent of beauty with the power to change landscapes. Make plains out of valleys and alter the course of rivers and leave people clinging to trees, alive and resentful, shaking their fists at the heavens.” A hint of sensual frustration roughened his voice. “And I will curse the gods along with them, Min. Some wild monsoon raged through me as I looked at you just now. It’s left me rearranged inside, and I don’t have a map.”

“Why don’t you read me your presentation again, and I can pretend to pose thoughtful questions?” She laughed a little. His voice warmed. “No, truly. I like listening to it. I can’t pretend to understand every word in your presentation, but I don’t have to be an expert to know you’ve something important to say. I don’t need to be a geologist to understand that it’s well-written and carefully reasoned. And the way you pronounce all those polysyllabic words?” His thigh nudged hers. “Makes me rock hard, every time.”

“Well, we must have some distraction in the meantime.” She perked. “I know. Let’s list naughty-sounding mathematical terms.” In her most tarty, breathy voice, she whispered, “Parabola.” After a pause, his fingers squeezed hers. “Tessellation.” “Binomial.” “Why stop there? Trinomial.” “Now that’s just wicked.” “That’s nothing. I’ve been saving this one.” He leaned close to whisper in her ear. “Annulus.” Laughing, she crawled into his lap. “Oh, Colin. This is why I love you.” His hands went to her waist. “For God’s sake. Because my adolescent mind always wandered to ribald places when I should have been attending my studies?” She shrugged. “Did I need a better reason?”