“Very good,” he whispered. “You see, your body knows what it wants. Now, right there—” he said as her finger stroked her core. “Rub small circles, slowly.”
She whimpered as a wave of pleasure rushed through her. The sound made her cheeks flush, but she could not stop. The more she touched herself, the more she wanted. Like an itch she needed to scratch.
A slow ache built deep inside her, curling, building, tightening.
“Victor,” she breathed.
“I am here,” he assured, his voice rough.
She did not dare look at him. She could feel him watching her, his presence like heat on her skin. Her breathing quickened. Her thighs trembled.
“More,” he urged quietly. “However you need. Don’t be afraid.”
She obeyed, her fingers circling, pressing, tracing her pleasure until the warmth coiled so tightly it bordered on pain. She gasped, biting her lip.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Let go. Let it take you.”
The pleasure crashed over her, stealing her breath. Her back arched off the bed, a small, helpless cry escaping her lips. The world blurred and brightened, every nerve coming alive. She felt heat, release, trembling relief. She shuddered, her breath catching again and again.
She had never felt anything like it. Nothing so powerful.
As she sank back onto the pillows, her chest rising and falling, her eyes heavy, she felt warm tears on her lashes. She did not even know when they had formed.
“Gwen,” Victor whispered.
She opened her eyes.
He looked undone.
Not outwardly. Outwardly, he lay perfectly still, one forearm tucked behind his head, the other resting on the coverlet between them. But his eyes burned.
He looked hungry, desperate for control. As if he wanted to devour her and had barely held himself in check.
“You are…” He stopped, his jaw tight. “You are extraordinary.”
Her heart throbbed painfully. “You taught me.”
“No,” he said. “I merely guided you. You did everything.”
He closed his eyes briefly, as if steadying himself.
She realized then that he had given her a gift. Something intimate. Something he could never take back.
And he had not touched her once.
That knowledge warmed her more deeply than anything else.
CHAPTER 22
Victor woke to warmth in every direction. Not the polite warmth of a banking fire or the measured comfort of his bed in Greystone House.
For a few delicious, disorienting seconds, he refrained from questioning it. His body registered only the pleasant weight against his chest, the faint tickle of hair beneath his chin, the way his arm curved naturally around a narrow waist.
Then his mind caught up.
His eyes shot open.
Gwen nestled against him as neatly as if she had been made to fit that space. Her cheek rested just above his heart. Her right hand had slipped beneath his shirt at some point, her fingertips curled lightly against his ribs. Her warm breath fanned the linen.
