The kiss deepened. His tongue stroked hers, coaxing, then demanding, until her thoughts scattered into a million fractals. He shifted, and suddenly his thigh was between hers, pushing up through the fall of her skirts. A shocked sound escaped her throat—low, needy—and he swallowed it with another kiss. The pressure was maddening, just shy of enough, and she arched into it without shame.
The kiss shifted, the heat between them building with the unspoken certainty that this had been coming for some time. The tension, the glances, the fights, the ridiculous masquerade—everything had led here.
“Charlotte,” he murmured against her skin. Her name, low and wrecked, was like a prayer pulled from his chest.
She gasped when his lips dragged down her neck. He licked a path along her collarbone, then bit gently just above the swell of her stays. Her hips lifted in response, chasing him. Wanting more.
One of his hands slipped down, trailing over the curve of her waist, then her thigh, until it found the hem of her gown. He paused, just a breath of hesitation—then slid his hand beneath it, fingers climbing with maddening patience.
Up, over silk stockings. Bare skin. Higher.
She shivered, caught somewhere between surrender and demand. He reached the garter and kept going.
No one had ever touched her like this. No one had ever dared.
And God help her, she didn’t want him to stop.
Charlotte tugged his shirt free of his breeches, fingers desperate now and greedy for skin. His warmth hit her palms as she pushed the linen aside and dragged her hands beneath the armor, and over the firm planes of his back. He groaned when her nails scraped lightly down his spine.
“You’ll mark me,” he chuckled breathily against her mouth.
“Good,” she whispered. “Then you’ll remember who did this to you.”
His hand slid down, curling around her bottom, pulling her flush against him. The heat of him, thick and hard beneath his breeches, pressed perfectly between her thighs. It made her gasp in pleasure.
The barrier of armor was unbearable. But the barrier of that fabric was utterlytantalizing.
Her skirts had ridden high, exposing her thigh to the coarse rug. She reached between them and hiked the gown higher still, baring herself. Now, there was nothing between them but his breeches. She rocked up into him, craving friction. Craving him.
Seth gritted his teeth. “If I don't stop now, I won’t...”
“Then don’t,” she breathed. “I don’t want you to. Auseful fiction, you said.”
But instead of surrendering to it, he shifted, drawing his hips back. She could almost cry out in frustration. The absence was brutal. She barely had time to register the disappointment before he drew back slightly, just enough to slide his hand between them.
His fingers delved between her thighs. She cried out before she could stop herself. He stroked her slowly at first, then circled and pressed, teasing until her hips bucked and her breath came in harsh gasps.
“You’re soaked for me,” he murmured against her ear. “Devil, I could spend hours here.”
She whimpered. His fingers moved faster, firmer, stroking over that aching point of pleasure with unerring precision. She clung to him, panting, her nails digging deeper into his back as tension coiled hard and fast in her belly.
One stroke. Then another.
His mouth found hers again, kissed her until her thoughts dissolved, then traveled lower—across her throat, her shoulder, the sensitive curve just beneath her ear. He set her ablaze with every touch, each change of pace pushing her higher and higher.She gasped his name, over and over, her body writhing beneath him, desperate for release.
“I want to hear you,” he growled heavily. “All of it. Don’t be quiet for me.”
She wasn’t. Couldn’t be. Every touch made her breath hitch, made her hips chase his hand. Then everything snapped. The edge came fast—too fast—and she shattered around him, clinging to his shoulders in a state of agonizing bliss, crying his name against his throat.
She trembled beneath him. Her breath came in gasps. Her limbs felt heavy, boneless, like she’d been undone from the inside out.
He rested his forehead against her collarbone for a moment, his chest rising and falling against hers. Neither of them spoke.
There was no need.
When she could finally move, she ran her fingers through his damp hair, then touched her own cheeks, feeling the heat blooming there. Slowly, reluctantly, she shifted beneath him and reached for her skirts, smoothing the crumpled silk with shaking hands. Her stays were skewed. Her bodice twisted. There was no disguising what had happened between them—least of all from themselves.
Seth stood and straightened his clothes, too, though his shirt still hung loose, half untucked. He raked a hand through his hair, not bothering to neaten it.
