It was as if an awakening was occurring inside her, demanding she follow it, blind.
Again, she ground herself against him. This was madness. And yet she couldn’t pull herself away. Deep, dark places inside her were coiling tight and making demands of her.
Demands she didn’t know how to satisfy, though she must.
Or she would surely perish.
This time, her cry was one borne of frustration.
“Delilah,” he spoke, his low, masculine voice vibrating below her. “I can give you what you want.”
The part of her that must contradict his every word spoke up. “Because you always know best.”
Oh, why had she said that?
Foolish woman.
“Let me touch you.”
And she saw within his golden eyes, certainty.
He knew what she wanted.
And how to give it to her.
“Touch me,” she demanded, asserting her right to have his touch upon her…now.
Long, capable fingers slid up her thigh, and a thin layer of perspiration sheened her skin. Immediately, she knew what had been missing as her eyes squeezed shut—anticipating…craving…needing…
His fingertip glided along her slit, and her eyes flew open, the breath freezing in her chest, as the coiling sensation in her sex pulled tighter.
A smile curled about his mouth. “So wet for me,” he muttered.
Then that fingertip applied pressure to the sensitive flesh that only her own curious hands had encountered in the privacy of her bed.
But his finger caressing herthere—oh—it was different…better.
That finger knew what it was doing as it rubbed her—her entire being centered in that exquisite half inch of flesh—her body collapsing forward, her hands planted on the ground to either side of his head, her face inches from his, his breath hot against her mouth, as he delivered a pleasure that swirled and looped, elusive, taunting…daring her to catch it. Then she managed to grab hold as a sudden burst seized her and exploded in bright light and molten sensation. The hand at her waist released and suddenly clapped over her mouth as she cried out, her quim pulsing against his fingertips.
And not once had his gaze left hers.
She could crumple atop him with satiety. But, at last, the instinct of self-preservation seized her, and she became acutely aware of…
Oh.
She was kneeling on the dirt beneath a stage straddling the Duke of Ravensworth, his long, capable fingers having just brought her to…
Oh.
What had she done?
Committed an act of supreme madness.
And she’d committed that act of supreme madness with…Ravensworth.
She scrambled off him and scuttled away on her bottom, panting for air as if she’d just sprinted fifty yards. “But you’re my nemesis.” Those were the first words out of her mouth.
His gaze pierced and searched hers, but it didn’t flinch. “I’ve never been your nemesis, Delilah.”
