He groaned against a new bolt of lust, making his cock twitch. “I told you to stop saying that word, Miss Winter.”
“Perhaps you ought to call me Christabella, Your Grace.”
Yes, he could hardly continue to think of her in such proper terms when he wanted to make love to her against this wall, could he?Damnation, he was a scoundrel. He had always thought his brother was the rogue. But it seemed his inner rogue had just been released.
“Christabella,” he said, forcing himself to remember he was a gentleman.
It was not an easy feat. All his honor had vanished the moment his lips had met hers.
“Much better.” She smiled, revealing the dimple he found so alluring.
“If you do not leave this chamber in the next minute, I cannot promise I will not kiss you again,” he warned.
“If you do not kiss me again, this will hardly be practice, will it?” she asked impishly.
As usual, she was no help.
And he wanted her all the more for it.
“If I do kiss you again, I am not certain I will be able to control myself,” he felt compelled to warn.
“Now I am intrigued, Your Grace.” Her grin deepened. “You must kiss me once more to satiate my curiosity.”
“Gill,” he told the minx, for he longed to hear his given name on her lips. But not as much as he longed to kiss her again.
Before she could respond, his mouth was on hers once more. He tried to be tender. To slow himself. But he was ravenous for her. All the years he had waited were worth it, for the revelation of her lips responding to his. For the miracle of her, teasing and tempting. She reached him in a way no other lady before her had.
He should be terrified, he thought. But instead, he felt free. He felt, in fact, unlike himself. So unlike himself, he caught her skirts in his hands, balling the soft fabric in his fists. He lifted it to her waist. Raised her hem as he fed from her lips. With one hand, he kept her gown trapped between them, raised to reveal her limbs. With his other, he explored. Sleek stockings, more feminine heat, her lush curves molding to his palm.
He sank his tongue deep into her mouth, gratified when she moaned and her fingers tunneled into his hair. He had no inkling if he was doing this properly. He was acting on instinct, listening to the sounds she made, paying attention to the subtle cues she gave. When she kissed him harder, he knew he was on the right path.
Just as he knew, when he dragged his palm past her garters, to the place where her stockings ended and her delicious bare skin began, that he was onto something very good indeed. Something wicked.
Something right.
He had seen a woman naked before. The courtesan Ash had paid to spend the night with him had worn nothing but a thin dressing gown, which she had removed. But he had not felt the tremendous burst of need he felt for Miss Winter—for Christabella. Instead, he had been terrified. His affliction had rendered him so ill at ease, he had been forced to withdraw from the chamber.
The lady had been paid well for her time and her silence.
It had been the sort of coin he and Ash could ill afford. And that had been the end of his brother’s attempts to see him lose his cursed virginity. Gill was heartily glad for it now, because the uncomfortable interview paled in comparison to the sensation of Christabella in his arms, her lips moving against his, kissing him back with a fervor to match his own rampaging need. To the warmth of her inner thighs.
Good God.
The breath left him as he moved higher and she parted her legs to accommodate him. One moment, he was kissing her, stroking her leg. The next, he was about to spend in his breeches as his fingers met her most intimate flesh. Her mound was hot, covered in the silkiest thatch of hair. He cupped her there, knowing he should not. Knowing there was no way he could not.
Also, not knowing what the devil to do next.
She moved her head to the side, breaking the kiss, her breathing heavy and ragged. “Gill?”
His name.
Oh, Christ.She had said his name. And he was touching her cunny. Or something very near it. There was more to it than this, hidden facets he needed to explore. That much, he knew from the books he had read.
His cock was harder than coal.
He swallowed, then moved his fingers tentatively. He found a slit. Slick flesh. The discovery filled him with more roaring need. She moved her hips against him, bucking, seeking more, it seemed.
He rubbed his cheek against hers, inhaling the cloud of sweetness surrounding her coppery tresses. “Do you like that?”
