“Shall I stop?” he asked, his voice husky and laden with the same desire she felt coursing through her veins.
Never, said that traitorous voice within.
“If you wish,” she forced out, her pride taking the reins.
“Do you truly want me to stop?” He sucked on her flesh.
She stifled a moan. His hands had stilled on her breasts. Her nipples ached with the need to be touched. Every part of her was alive in a way it had never before been. His presence at her back, his mouth on her throat, his touch upon her body—it was nothing short of glorious. Nothing could have prepared her for this carnal onslaught.
He removed his hands then, his lips, too.
“Answer me,” he demanded at her back.
His tone brooked no argument. He was giving no quarter.
“No,” she whispered.
“No what, princess? You will have to be more specific. I want to be certain I understand you.”
“No, I do not want you to stop,” she gritted.
The admission was torn from her.
Her reward arrived in the form of his long fingers expertly opening her robe, leaving it gaping, and his hands, returning to cup her breasts. Bare skin upon bare skin this time. His fingers toyed with her aching nipples. She exhaled the breath she had not realized she had been holding. Shelikedhis hands upon her.
Heaven help her.
“I have been waiting all day to do this,” he murmured in her ear, catching the lobe between his teeth.
Simultaneously, his right hand slid down her belly, gliding over her in the whisper of a caress. He paused for a moment, so very near to her center and all the frustrated longing building within her.
And then, his hand settled over her.
The shock of his touch there was electric. She nearly jolted away from him. Her instinctive reaction was to press her thighs together, but all that accomplished was trapping his hand.
“Relax,” he coaxed.
How could she do so when he was touching her there? In her most intimate place? When her entire body felt as if it were doused in flame?
“What are you doing?” she asked, breathless. Frozen. Unable to move. His hand remained wedged between her legs.
She should shove him away. Release her grip on him. Flee. But she could not.
“Touching my wife,” he whispered in her ear.
His finger moved, gliding through her folds, sending sensation skittering through her. His thumb found an incredibly sensitive place and pressed.
She moaned.
The sound was foreign. Embarrassing.
She wished she could call it back, but the earl—Sin—was doing wicked things to her. Things she had never known she would want.
“I told you, I am not ready,” she managed to say.
His other hand remained on her breast, caressing, toying with the hardened peak. His thumb moved again. He licked behind her ear. “Relax your legs for me, sweet. I want to touch you properly.”
She swallowed. There was more? She could not even fathom it. Her heart was racing. The ache in her core grew by the second.
