“Not this time.” He plucked the mug from her hand and set it aside. Then, he removed one of the pillows from behind her back and tossed it to the floor. “Lie back, and put your legs across my lap.” He waited for her to scooch into position before slipping a hand under the blanket, beneath the hem of her skirt, to rest on her ankle. “It’ll be fun this way. Like a quest.”
She gave him a skeptical look, but her lips curved faintly. “If you say so.”
His fingers traced up her leg, pushing aside her petticoats, until he found her ruffle-edged garters. With a practiced twist, he unhooked it and began rolling her stocking down her leg. He couldn’t wait to feel her thighs, her supple calves. God, how many times had he dreamed about them wrapped around his waist? He would stroke them, tease them, ease them apart until she was quivering and ready for more. Except…with each inch of skin revealed, Olive grew increasingly rigid.
He paused his exploration and glanced up. “Relax,” he said soothingly.
“I’m trying,” she whispered, her voice tight.
Damnation. This wasn’t what he wanted for her. Not stiff compliance, not strained nerves. She deserved to melt. To burn. To revel in her own desire. Either she was swept away, or rule number one forbade him from continuing.
He rubbed a hand over his brow, scouring his brain. How did one seduce a virgin? None of the women he’d been with before had needed to be romanced; they’d all known exactly what they wanted and what he could give them. That was how he’d preferred it, but once again, Olive was changing how he did things. How he wanted to do things.
Kisses. She needed kisses.
Wasn’t that how he’d made her hear music? He bent to brush his lips against hers, to encourage an encore of the first time. She opened at once, inviting him in, but there was no fire. It galled him to admit that their kiss was tepid at best. Something was still holding her back. But what? What was he doing wrong?
And then he realized.
Every time she had softened for him, every time she’d flushed and melted, it had been after he’d praised her. Complimented her. Drawn attention to something she’d done well. It hadn’t mattered if it was begrudging or heartfelt—they all had the same impact. His käraste responded to words. For her, they were as potent as touch. He wasn’t certain she knew that about herself; he was certain she wouldn’t know how to ask for it.
A ripple of unease tightened his abdomen. He’d never been a talker in bed. He much preferred to let his body control the conversation. But if Olive was willing to overcome her discomfort, then so would he.
“Your legs are like a gazelle’s,” he announced roughly.
“What?”
Ah, hell. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Your legs. I think about them a lot.”
“You do?”
“Often when I’m supposed to be working. Or sleeping,” he admitted, gaining confidence with her rapt attention. “The first time I dreamed of you, they were wrapped around me. I woke up hard as a pickax, and I had to take myself in hand before I could sleep.”
Color rushed to her cheeks, but her legs softened marginally across his thighs. “You dreamed of me?”
He shot her a look. “I dream of you far too often.”
“Is it always…carnal?”
“Always.” Talking wasn’t as difficult as he’d feared. All he had to do was say exactly what he thought in that moment, which was easy considering every blessed thought in his head belonged to the bright-eyed woman watching him hopefully. “The problem is that when I wake up, I’m left wondering how soft your skin really is.” He slowly dragged a knuckle up her calf, humming his appreciation. “Now I know you’re as soft as a petal.”
She sighed, her legs easing, becoming heavier across his lap. Encouraged, he bent to kiss her. Slowly, delicately. He sipped and tasted, enjoying the remnants of chamomile tea. He brushed his fingertips across her supple calves, featherlight and teasing, and her tension began to unravel. Soon, she wasn’t merely enduring, but clinging to his neck. Meeting his lips. Kissing him back.
Yes. This was how it should be.
“You’re so lovely,” he murmured against her mouth, undoing her second garter and dancing his fingers up her inner thigh. She shifted her hips, gifting him more access, and he claimed it at once, sliding upward until he was almost at the apex of her thighs. “I can feel your heat through your drawers. I can’t wait to touch you there. To stroke your sweet pussy. Make you feel so good.” She mewled, low in her throat, and the throaty sound echoed through him. “Do you want that, too, min käraste?”
She nodded, her forehead bumping against his. “Yes.”
Relief made his limbs feel weak. He ignored the painful throb in his trousers, ignored the selfish ache clawing through him. Olive first. He parted her drawers carefully, questing inside until his fingers brushed damp curls. She gasped when he stroked along her seam.
“You’re so wet. So sweet. God, I want to see—" She tensed, and he soothed her immediately. “No, not yet. That’s all right. We’ll just feel. Just enjoy.”
He slid a finger over her slick folds. She gasped, her back arching. He buried his lips against her neck, half kissing, half mumbling nonsense words as he petted her. He dipped his fingertip inside her slit, coating his fingers with her arousal before sweeping upward to circle her clitoris.
“Emil,” she moaned, legs restless in his lap. “Emil.”
“I know, käraste. I know.” He pressed kisses up her neck. “You’re doing such a good job.”
