Jeremy chuckled in triumph as Harriet faltered. Her chest was heaving, eyes sparkling, and she could not find the words to vocalize the wicked and scandalous thoughts that Jeremy had thrust into her mind. Then she tilted her head, studying his laughter. Without breaking eye contact, she gathered her shift at the front, pulling it up until it was bunched about her waist.
Jeremy felt his own eyes go wide.
“Would it be something like this?” she asked as her hand moved.
She bit her lip hard enough to leave white spots where her teeth dug in. Her breath started coming in short, harsh pants, growing increasingly ragged and rapid.
“Allow me,” he said smoothly.
He swept behind her. Harriet gave an involuntary squeak as he reached down to take her hand. He threaded his fingers through hers, adjusting her grip with deliberate pressure until she felt the change—until the movement was no longer hers alone but theirs together.
Her breath came faster. Lips parted, head tipped back, throat exposed. Jeremy’s other hand rose to her breast, cupping, stroking, coaxing her into arching against his palm. Heat flared where his body touched her hips, the rigid line of him straining unbearably against his breeches. It was impossible to ignore now. He pressed closer, needing her to feel exactly how much he wanted her.
“How… do you know?” she gasped.
“Observation,” he whispered at her throat, his teeth grazing her skin. “I took careful notes. The most effective method seemed to be...”
He broke off, spinning her to face him. In one swift motion, he pulled her shift over her head and cast it aside. Then he dropped to his knees. Before she could draw breath to protest, his mouth was on her.
Thought fled. Games vanished. Jeremy's lust was a raging inferno inside him now. He held it in check, barely, feeding its fire with the pleasure he brought to Harriet. Yet every stroke of his tongue was measured, merciless in its purpose. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she writhed against him, biting back moans until they escaped as breathless cries.
“I have… dreamt about this so many times, since…”
Beyond the dressing room, subdued voices reached them, the sound of actors projecting their speeches to fill the auditorium. The play was forgotten utterly, as was their reason for being atthe theater at all. Jeremy lost himself in the giving of pleasure, until Harriet was falling upon him, her limbs liquid and her body limp.
Harriet could still feel the echoes of Jeremy inside her body—the phantom press of his mouth between her thighs, the way he had murmured her name against her skin like a prayer and a sin all at once. Her legs were trembling beneath her shift, her breath coming shallow and quick, but the need in her hadn’t faded. It had shifted.
He had worshiped her. And now, she wanted to return the offering.
She blinked up at him, dazed, lips parted.
“Let me,” she whispered. “Let me do the same for you.”
Jeremy stilled, his broad chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. A sheen of sweat gleamed across his collarbone, and the muscles along his arms twitched with tension, as though he were forcing himself not to move, not to seize her again and press her to the wall.
“Harriet…” His voice was rough, warning, but his eyes betrayed him—dark, wild with heat, impossibly soft.
“I want to see you,” she said. “Touch you…Allof you.”
The silence stretched between them, heavy with what had already happened and what hadn’t. Then, at last, he gave a single nod.
Her hands moved to the fall of his breeches. Her fingers fumbled the buttons, the fabric damp with the heat of his skin, and Jeremy said nothing—only watched her with a gaze so intent, so focused, it felt like it stripped her bare all over again.
She peeled the material down slowly, breath held, heart hammering.
He sprang free, hard and flushed and utterly… magnificent.
Harriet stared.
A flush rose up her throat. Her breath caught, and she bit her lower lip without realizing it.
He was thick. Longer than she’d expected. The head was already glistening. Veins pulsed beneath the smooth skin, the weight of him heavy and alive, twitching slightly under her gaze.
Her first thought was that he looked powerful, like every line of muscle and sinew had been carved by hand. Her second was that she wanted him. All of him. In every way she could take him.
“You’re… large,” she said faintly.
He let out a strangled noise—half laugh, half groan—and leaned back against the table behind him, knuckles braced on the edge.
