Permission. All that, and he still sought permission to tup her. As if there was anything in this world that she wanted more.
“I suppose,” she managed breathlessly, “I might be able to spare another minute or two.”
He grinned as he flipped her atop him, cuddling her to his chest as he made short work of the ties binding the flaps of her gown together. In seconds, the soft muslin tumbled free from her shoulders. He hiked up her skirts, raising the gown and her shift together, up over her hips, her chest, her head. The garments fluttered to the floor beside the sofa with a soft whoosh.
He positioned her so that she was seated upright, her knees on either side of him. Without delay, he whipped off his dark gray dress coat, his blue silk waistcoat, his white cambric shirt. Now his upper body was as naked as hers was.
She ran her palms over the muscles of his arms, his shoulders, his chest. He coaxed her forward until her breasts dipped toward his waiting mouth. He licked and suckled. When she once again gasped for breath, he slid his hands from her breasts down toward her core and began to tease again with his fingers.
Her body quickened instantly, swirling her back up to the edge of the precipice. Before she tumbled anew, she fumbled for the fall of his trousers, releasing the stiff member that had been pulsing against her.
Once freed, she expected him to drive the action. Instead, he grasped her hips and placed her just over the tip, but did not surge upwards to penetrate her fully.
“You lead,” he said, his voice strained and husky. “That way you can control the speed and the depth.”
A sense of primal feminine power flooded her, and she sank onto his shaft without delay.
He moaned in relief, dark lashes fluttering as his eyes rolled back in pleasure.
She experimented with speed and depth and angle; sometimes slow and deliberate, sometimes fast and hard, sometimes shallow and teasing, sometimes so deep her mons ground sensuously against him. Each position brought even more pleasure than the last.
“Good God,” he muttered, his passion-drunk eyes locked on hers. “I hope you’re as close as I am. We have approximately thirty seconds before I explode.”
Knowing she had done this to him was all it took for her body to give a little clench of delight. He let out a groan, as though willing himself not to let go yet, and placed his thumb just above where their bodies joined, teasing her back.
She came at once, her inner muscles spasming around him as he drove deep within her.
The moment she collapsed forward, sated, he yanked his shaft out from between her thighs, cradling her to his chest with one arm as the other swiped his handkerchief up off the floor and over his member. Reuben spent himself into its folds, hips jerking.
He tossed the soiled cloth aside and wrapped his arms about her, holding her close, as though she was even more precious to him now, than she’d been when their bodies had been joined.
His heart thundered against her ear, its galloping beat steadying slowly as his breath and hers returned to normal.
Nothing else was normal about this. Gladys had felt seen, desired, cherished in a way she had never before known—and was loath to lose again. She didn’t want this to be the last moment in his arms. The very thought was enough to clog her throat with unshed tears.
Her quest for vengeance had brought her more pleasure than she had ever dreamt—and was also about to bring her unbearable pain.
Walking away from the man she loved might or might not wound Reuben…
But Gladys would be destroyed forever.
Chapter 18
Get up, Gladys scolded herself. Get up and walk away.
But how the devil was she supposed to pry herself out of the warm embrace of a man who was holding her to him as though she was the single most precious thing he had ever encountered?
Her gown and shift were still on the floor, next to the toppled hourglass. Nothing encased her bare limbs but a pair of silk stockings, tied above the knees with red ribbons. She should have been freezing. Instead, she was cozy and warm, nestled against the heat of Reuben’s firm body like Count Whiskers nuzzling into her lap to be petted.
And he was petting her. One of his hands rubbed her back, less like a massage and more as if he was assuring himself she was really there and not a remnant of a dream. His other hand occasionally stroked her hair, one idle finger toying with the loose ringlets that had escaped from her long-destroyed chignon.
The sporadic gooseflesh that danced upon her skin had nothing to do with the temperature, and everything to do with her own disbelief that even after having finally achieved his wicked way with her, the ton’s most infamous rake showed no signs of wishing her to be gone so that he could resume the hunt for his next conquest.
By all appearances, Reuben had no desire for her to leave his embrace, much less exit his rooms and his life. All of which made this the perfect time to do just that, striking when he least expected. Perhaps tossing a disparaging comment over her shoulder as she flounced out the door.
But Gladys could not currently flounce anywhere. She was too boneless, too sated, too safe and sound and snuggled. The low fire crackling in the grate wasn’t half so lovely as the comforting warmth emanating from every inch of Reuben’s body.
“I should go,” she murmured.
