“Have you ever pleasured yourself, Izzy?” His thumb grazed an especially sensitive place. “Have you touched yourself?”
Her cheeks went hot. His eyes burned into hers. “Yes.”
He made a deep sound in his throat that could only be called a growl. “I want to watch. When you are my wife, I want you on my bed, naked, and you can show me what you do to yourself. How you like to be touched.”
She rather liked the wayhewas touching her now. Except for the barrier of her night rail and dressing gown. “I will,” she promised, for he could have made any request and she would agree.
He had done something to her. This desire was more potent, more mind-muddling, than anything she had ever felt with Arthur. But then, Arthur had never dared to touch her so intimately either. Perhaps this was what would happen if any man touched her thus.
No.
The absurdity of such a thought.
Anglesey’s thumb rotated over her and the knot of pleasure tightened and pulled, banishing the supposition anyone else could make her feel such an intense riot of joy at this sensual contact.
“There are mysteries in you, aren’t there?” He kissed the corner of her lips, an echo of the torment he was inflicting upon her elsewhere. A taunt. An assurance of more. “Press your back to the bookshelves.”
His directive was abrupt. As abrupt as the removal of his hand. Her release had evaded her, but she longed for it now. Needed it in the same way she needed her next breath. Her head was filled with flame and lust. Never had she recognized in herself this earthiness, this need for passion. But he had brought her here, to the brink of madness.
He had brought her here, and she would not flee.
She found herself moving, obeying him. A few steps in retreat, and her bottom hit the wall of books. He followed her, the low light flickering over his angular cheekbones and strong jaw, dancing in his eyes and making them seem almost as dark as the midnight sky.
“Lift your hems for me, Izzy.”
She swallowed down a knot of yearning and grasped fistfuls of fabric, raising it to her knees. Cool air licked at her ankles and calves, but she was on fire. Burning for him. Ruled by this sudden, strange desire.
His gaze lowered, taking in her bare limbs. She was not wearing stockings, and she was acutely aware of her toes on display. How awkward and plain they appeared against the sumptuous library carpets. How odd.
Anglesey was not bothered by them. He sank to his knees before her.
“Higher.”
His low command prompted her. The hems of her dressing gown and night rail glided over the tops of her thighs where she paused once more. Surely he did not mean to seeallof her? Izzy was not sure how she felt about such a revelation. Could he not just…kiss her there with his eyes closed?
“More,” he urged. “Higher.”
Apparently, he did mean to see all of her. And she was powerless to stop this runaway train now that it had begun. Her body would not allow it, not until she found some semblance of release.
Her heart thudded hard, but she did as he asked, lifting the cumbersome fabric to her waist. More cool air greeted her revealed skin. She shivered as his eyes raked over her greedily. As his hands landed on her thighs, his touch tender, almost reverent.
“Beautiful,” he praised, then dropped a kiss on her inner thigh. “I want to taste you, Izzy.”
Her knees nearly gave out at his words.
Was he asking for permission? She had already given it, but perhaps he feared he had shocked her. And hehadshocked her. But in a tantalizing way that only served to make her want him more. Was she a wanton? How had she never known this side of her existed?
He did not wait for her response, which was just as well, for she lost all capacity for coherent speech when his golden head dipped between her thighs, and he kissed her. Kissed her there, where she was aching for him. Kissed her, then made a deep hum of satisfaction and pressed his face deeper into her cunny.
His tongue flicked over her. Quick, light licks.
The accumulation of anticipation and desire overflowed. Pleasure rushed through her, making her knees go weak until she slid down the bookshelves, her inner muscles clenching as the feverish release overtook her. Her vision was a swirl of darkness and light as she slumped to the floor, incapable of remaining upright. Anglesey went with her, his lips and tongue never leaving her even as the ripples of her pinnacle shuddered through her.
He alternated between licks and sucks, tormenting and teasing her overly sensitive flesh. A moan escaped her. She wanted him to put an end to this delicious agony, to take his beautiful mouth from her, and yet she simultaneously never wanted him to stop.
He grasped her thighs in a firm but gentle grip and suddenly pulled her toward him. The abrasion of the wool carpet on her bare rump and back stung for a moment, and she had no doubt she would have a red mark there later as proof of her sins. But then he cupped her bottom in his hands and sucked hard, and she no longer cared.
He made another low groan of enjoyment, as if he were savoring her. It was animalistic and raw. Perhaps by the morning light, she would be ashamed, but there was no time or place for that now. Anglesey—Zachary—was the center of her world. His tongue and teeth and lips were fast bringing her to another peak of pleasure.
