Here, now, was her chance. This moment, this man, were hers for the taking.
They seemed to move as one. Or perhaps she moved first. Perhaps he did. All Bridget knew was that in the next breath, their lips met in a kiss. It was slow at first, a sweet meeting of mouths, his lips fitting to hers, his lower lip between the seam of hers. The kiss was languorous. Decadent. They took their time, devouring each other long and slow. Savoring.
Their tongues had not even touched, and she had never experienced a more intimate kiss in her life.
He made a low sound of need, and she felt it in her core. The kiss deepened, their mouths opening, hands wandering over each other’s bodies in worshipful caresses. He wore nothing but a nightshirt and she her chemise, leaving two thin fabric barriers between them. Their tongues tangled. One of his hands found the hem of her chemise and dragged it upward, his warmth trailing up her calf, over her knee, all the way to her thigh.
His caresses traveled higher still, until his fingers brushed over her sex. The breath hissed from her lungs, her body jerking into his touch. Just one glancing caress, and she was ready to come undone. He had touched her before. Had pleasured her before. But something about this time, this enchanted morning, with the walls separating them briefly torn down, heightened her excitement into a brilliant, blinding crescendo.
He kissed her hard and deep before tearing his mouth from hers, his breathing harsh. His gaze was almost black as he met hers. “I want you, Bridget.”
Four simple words.
Wicked.
Words she ought to ignore.
Words she felt between her thighs as a rush of wetness, a hungering for more. He had promised to be a gentleman, and he had kept his word last night. But by the tempting morning light, she did not want a gentleman. She wanted a man, unrepentant and wild, dangerous and delicious. She wanted him.Dear God, how she wanted him, her heartless duke, the enigma she had married, the answer to every question rioting inside her.
Bridget kissed him again, kissed him hard and deep. Kissed him until her lips were bruised, and their breaths mingled in heavy pants. Kissed him as his fingers found her aching flesh with ease, parting her folds, discovering the knot at her center. He touched her there, a stroke, a swirl, and she felt as if she were lit up from within, as if she were glowing, a house on fire, burning with her own, destructive need.
“I want you too,” she whispered back.
He tore his nightshirt over his head, then he hauled her chemise away as well. As one, they moved until Bridget was on her back with Leo atop her. Naked flesh came into contact with naked flesh. Something firm and hard and hot prodded her lower belly. New kisses began where the old kisses ended.
They were voracious, equally matched in their passion. Her hands were on his shoulders, his back. In a sudden burst of daring, she found his buttocks, and his flesh was as firm and tempting as it had appeared the evening before when she had shamelessly watched him get into his bath.
His tongue was inside her mouth, and she sucked. Moaned. Her hips moved in their own rhythm as his questing fingers continued to play with the bundle of flesh that was so receptive to his touch. She jerked against him, wanting more. Wanting harder, faster, more, more,more.
Olc. Wrong.This was so wrong.
She knew it, and yet, she could not stop…
Ceart. Right.
It was also so right. So very, hopelessly, unbelievably, deliciously right.
He broke the kiss, dragging his mouth over her throat like a brand. Open and hungry. Licking. Sucking. Biting. And she could not get enough. Beneath him, she bucked and writhed.
“Bridget,” he whispered her name, half prayer, half epithet, as he kissed the curve of her breast, palmed and cupped it. His tongue swirled around her nipple, making it stand erect, causing her breath to quicken.
A pulsing ache pulled in her belly, almost as if a cord within her had been drawn into a triple knot. “Leo.”
Her fingers found his hair, smooth and silky and thick. She tugged, earning a groan from him, and then she recalled that he liked pain. Did it make him feel alive? Make his blood rush through his body? Make him weak? Guided by instinct, she raked her nails down his back, then dug them in, scoring a path back up to his shoulders once more.
He sucked her nipple into his mouth, the hot, wet tug almost undoing her. He stroked her with increasing swiftness and pressure. She moved against him, arching, thrusting, overwhelmed by sensation. She wanted more. She wanted everything.
As if he heard her unspoken request, the tentative teasing of his caresses changed. He slicked his forefinger over the swollen bud of her sex, flicking over it in rapid, strong motions, finding the sensitive place beneath the plump nub. He worked her there, applying firm strokes with an increased pace that made her wild. Bridget jerked against him, thighs spread. The tip of his middle finger found her entrance, dipping against her channel with delicious pressure only to withdraw. Every instinct inside her told her to move her hips, bring that finger inside her. But when she tried, he had already removed his touch.
It was maddening. She wanted him. All of him.
And she wanted him now. Inside her. Claiming her. Bringing her to the edge before she shattered in delicious release. He sucked her nipple once more before kissing a path of fire down her body. His hands found her inner thighs, spreading them wide. His gaze was hot upon her, the most private part of her. A part no one had ever seen.
She knew she ought to feel some semblance of shame for allowing herself to be so revealed before him, but she could not summon anything more than a raw, unadulterated wave of desire. Not even a protest. Not a sound. All she could feel was how badly she wanted that sinful mouth. All she could do was revel in the possessive way he looked at her, as if she were his, as if he wanted to devour her.
“More beautiful than I imagined,” he murmured, and she was not certain if he spoke the words to himself or to her.
He had thought about her, then? Had he lain alone in his bed at night as she had, thinking of this passion between them, longing to give in? She lost the ability to wonder any more when he kissed the curve of her belly, then trailed a scorching path to the apex of her thighs. Then lower still, not stopping until his beautiful head was framed by her pale, spread legs.
