Lyon by Elizabeth Amber Page B

away from him, he comes behind you. And moves your hair aside. And puts his lips here, along your throat.”
    Something brushed the tendon behind Juliette’s ear. Lush, masculine lips. She angled her neck inviting more and they followed the downward slope to kiss the ridge of her shoulder.
    Yearning traveled in their wake, and she waited to hear what he would say next. Would die if she did not.
    â€œHe touches you and you feel his warmth through the lone garment you wear. Most customers merely lift up the front of your shift and push their way inside you. But this one. His touch is different. Slow.”
    Lyon’s groan blended with her gasp as his hands went lower, bunching in the fabric at her hips to grasp and rock her against him. Caged in his trousers, his shaft was a thick, knotted bulge that nestled along her rear cleft and soared to sear her spine. Strong capable fingers teased and rustled and massaged, seeming intent on memorizing the rounded shape of her dèrriere.
    Every sentence he spoke wound Juliette’s emotions tighter and tighter in her chest. She clasped her hands at the front of her waist, nails biting into her skin.
    â€œHe waits for a sign that you’re ready for him. That you want what he offers. He asks if he’s your first that day and you lie, thinking he wants to be. But he hasn’t a care for such matters. He enjoys an experienced woman…”
    Juliette’s lips parted, and she stared straight ahead, unable to look away from the painting that inspired him. For the first time in years, she was actually responding to the physical touch of a man. He’d come to her as a phantom earlier tonight, but now he was all too real.
    Seeking relief, she shifted ever so slightly, igniting the slick, pleasurable drag of the nether lips high between her legs. They were swollen, puckered. Wet with her own gush. And gasping for want of what he could provide.
    It was as though she were on the bridge again. The memory of his size and shape moving inside her channel was vivid. The real thing was hard at her back. He could lift her skirts and be inside her. So easily.
    Her head lolled back on the strong shoulder behind her and she covered his hands with hers. And ever so gently, she squeezed.
    A guttural bellow from the next room shattered the spell Lyon had woven around them. Gina’s customer had found his release.
    Juliette straightened in Lyon’s hold, staring blindly at the wall. “Stop. Th-that’s enough.” She dropped his hands and fisted her own between her breasts, shielding her heart against her own emotions and from whatever he would say next.
    What had she been thinking? Valmont would come and she had learned scant news in the vein of what he wanted. Nor had she voiced her own questions.
    Lyon’s breath stirred her hair. “It was you on the bridge tonight, was it not?” he demanded softly.
    She spun within the circle of his arms and pulled him close.
    â€œAnswer me,” he repeated, holding her away.
    â€œYou know it was,” she gritted.
    â€œYou could see us,” he stated, searching her eyes.
    â€œ Oui ! For pity’s sake!” Clasping a hand at his nape, she forced his lips down to hers. “Speak to me only in whispers,” she scolded, nodding toward the mantel and its peepholes. “The walls have ears, even here.”
    Lyon adjusted his legs wider. His paws dropped to cup the cheeks of her rear, lifting her to his heat. Hungry lips slanted over hers and it felt like a homecoming. Everything was at risk yet she had never felt safer and more protected. Except for the snap of the fire and the intermittent sound of their heated moans, quiet reigned.
    â€œThat creature with you. I saw how she was made,” Juliette managed between kisses. Was that besotted voice really hers?
    â€œUmm.”
    She cupped his strong jaw in both hands and drew away just enough to part their lips. Amber glinted at her from