Free RendezvousWithYou by Cecily French

Chapter One
    London, 1816
     
    Wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied ?
    A rich scent rose from the small piece of paper she clutched
and her heart leaped in excited expectation of the satisfaction to come.
Beneath the skirt of her dressing gown, a dull ache started between her legs
and a warm flow of fluid signaled the beginnings of her excitement. Mercy, all
she had to do was think of him—his prick inside her, pounding away while his
hands cupped her bottom so she could feel every last, blessed inch of him—and
she became aroused.
    And heaven help her, there was a lot of him.
    Perching on the stool, she read over the message again in
the flickering light from the candle on her dressing table, admiring the way
the handwriting covered the paper in a sprawling but neat script. She shivered
in delight, recalling the power of his hands. Soon those hands would be on her,
stroking, teasing, tweaking until he had her screaming to use something more
than his hands to finish their coupling.
    Would it be hard and fast, or slow and agonizingly
delicious?
    Or both?
    Meet me at the appointed place tonight at eight o’clock.
Don’t be late .
    She would have it both ways. She would demand it from
him. Her smile in the dressing table’s three-sided mirror took on a saucy tilt
as she considered how she would him make do her bidding. Should she take her
new riding crop with her? That would certainly surprise him.
    And not only would she have him, if she were lucky and he
proved the lover she knew him to be, she would be one thousand pounds richer by
the end of the night. A delicious thrill of naughtiness coursed over her. She’d
never done it for money before.
    And a thousand pounds! She could certainly use it.
    Her maid would not return to help her dress for tonight’s
affair so she slid the silken robe from her shoulders, past her hips to pool at
her feet. Her breasts gleamed with a pearly luminescence, her nipples rosy
against her pale skin. She hesitated, and then stroked one of her nipples,
rolling it between her fingers. A sigh issued from her throat. Touching herself
was not quite the same as having him do it.
    “Perfection,” he had murmured this afternoon as he moved his
mouth from one breast to the other, his tongue working a wicked suckling magic.
“Delicious.”
    Her hand slid down to her belly and stopped. Dare she bring
herself to satisfaction before joining him later? Her cave’s inner walls ached
and she slid her hand lower to touch herself.
    Would it arouse him if she told him she had used her own
hand to take her to pleasure’s heights?
    Somehow she thought it would.
    She stood and put the stool aside, then dragged an oversized
brocaded chair from the corner of the room and set it before the dressing
table. Sitting, she draped her legs over the sides of chair, opening them wide,
and gazed at the pale blonde thatch of hair covering her mound. She slid one
hand between her thighs again while the other gripped the arm of the chair, and
fixed her thoughts on the man she would see within the hour. A creamy wetness
coated her fingers as they centered on the tight bud he called her “sweet
spot.” They traced, they tickled, they pinched. In the mirror, her expression
turned heavy-lidded and dreamy while her breathing sped and she recalled how he
touched her there.
    “You are a miracle of design,” he had told her as his
fingers fondled her clitoris. “Built to hold a man’s cock. A man would be a
fool not to want to bury himself in your sweetness .”
    “ Then do it. Give me your cock. Give me all of you.”
    “Not yet. My hand is going to make you scream before I
give you the rest of me.”
    She whimpered, unable to stop from fingering her clitoris
harder and harder. She slapped her other hand over her mouth to stop her
scream. Her panting filled the room and she waited for her heart to slow its
furious pace.
    Oh, yes. They would have to do it in a chair later tonight,
with her sitting in his lap, guiding his cock