In a moment.
Perhaps in a few minutes.
A year, a decade.
He didn’t know when he could bear to drag his mouth from hers. Mayhap never. A lifetime.God.She felt so good, pressing her womanly curves into his body as she curled close—so wonderfully, perfectly close. And lush, her breasts crushing into his chest, her arms wrapping around his neck, fingers threading through his hair, then catching handfuls and tugging. A little bit wild suddenly, his innocent minx. As if she could not be near enough, could not have enough of his lips and tongue and teeth, his body that wanted inside hers so badly that he ached with it. They moved together, frantic and restless, hands traveling over each other, kisses breathless and greedy. Not just eager, but desperate. She made a low sound of need that went directly to his cock.
Somehow, it seemed as if he must have nothing but her mouth forever, as if no kiss would ever be this rousing, nor this necessary, all sweet innocence laced with carnal seduction. He must kiss her or perish from the need. No other kiss, no other woman, would do.
Only Virtue.
He kissed her voraciously, forgetting to be gentle, forgetting to be a gentleman, forgetting everything but her and the way she opened for him, her tongue boldly seeking his. She tasted like sugar and that, too, seemed right. Because he wanted to eat her up. He wanted to lick her and devour her and revel in her. To savor her like the most decadent confection he’d ever known.
Trevor had been so perilously close to death mere hours before, but this, the woman in his arms, the heady sigh of delight she made when his hands coasted up the small of her back and he settled her firmly against his raging cockstand, these were all reminders of how very alive he was. Of how precious each breath, each second, was, none of them guaranteed.
Some dim, gentlemanly part of his brain told him to slow down. This was not like the game they’d played in his chamber, when he’d known she was watching from beneath his bed and he had taunted and teased her, nor was it like their kissing lesson. This was different.
But then his innocent little lamb caught his lower lip in her teeth and nipped him, and his prick promptly told his conscience to go to the devil.
Restraint, control, honor, ability to think straight… All were lost.Gone.
Without even knowing how he’d managed the action, Trevor had taken her into his arms. He’d lifted her from the floor, and he was carrying her over the Axminster, his whirling thoughts a flood of possessive need. Thinkingmine, mine, minewith each step that he took. He wanted to consume her, to carry her away, to keep her only for himself.
She’d driven him to the edge of madness. Living in his house, leaving her scent and her books where she’d been, like a wraith haunting him. Tempting him at every turn. Smiling at him with those full, pink lips, the lips that any courtesan would have given her eye teeth to possess, so plump and full and inviting. Invading his territory. Watching him disrobe.
Kissing him.
She hadn’t known how to kiss the first time. He’d pretended to laugh at her, had acted as if her lack of instruction amused him. In truth, it had inflamed him. Had driven him here to this precipice of ruinous want, where the desire to make her his was stronger than ration or reason.
He wanted her with a furor that seized him in its relentless grip. And why could he not have her without ruining her? Why could he not revel in being alive, in the sensual abandon of her kiss? It all made complete and utter sense to his fractured mind as he kissed her with painstaking care and laid her on the Grecian divan, his body following hers.
The sofa was oversized, the cushions leaving room aplenty for him to join her so that they were both situated on their sides, facing each other. The fur she’d spread over him was still atop the cushions, and it was sleek and plush beneath them. All he could think about was Virtue naked on a fur by the fire, wearing nothing but diamonds at her throat as he sank into her.
The thought drove him as his lips sought hers with wicked, singular intent. He wanted her mindless. Wanted to seduce. Not fully, he reminded himself. He would put an end to this. Soon. But first, there was Virtue and the fur and her succulent lips, and he was settling them together on the sofa, their bodies fitting together everywhere they should. So smooth were his motions, guiding them as one, that their mouths never parted. They kissed as if the world itself were about to upend, and these final, fleeting moments might be all they had remaining.
He did something he didn’t ordinarily do when he kissed a woman and opened his eyes. Virtue’s eyes were closed, her thick, luxurious lashes fanned against her cheeks. She was beautiful. Every part of her. He didn’t want to miss a detail. Not a second.
And then, because he had to see more of her, he broke the kiss, dragging his lips reverently along her jaw, to her creamy throat. How finely and delicately she was formed. If he were an artist, he would paint her like this, lying flushed and gorgeous on a library sofa, the innocent in the act of being deliciously debauched. He would capture the sweep of her jaw, the precious curve of her ear. A few curls had sprung free of her elegant chignon, the hint of dishevelment utterly entrancing.
He lowered his head and buried his face in the miraculous place where her neck and her shoulder met, unimpeded by the open, blue satin spencer she wore atop her white muslin gown. She had a tiny beauty mark there that captivated him. He kissed it, then inhaled deeply of her glorious scent.
The desire roaring through him hadn’t abated one whit.
Instead, the fire was raging, the flames licking ever higher as his hand traveled from her fine-boned shoulder to cup one of her breasts. The heavy roundness spilled over his palm, even constricted as it was by her stays. And through the layers of her gown and undergarments, there was no mistaking the pebbled nipple. She was so responsive and soft and lovely, a sigh leaving her as he caught her earlobe in his teeth and nipped as she had done to his lip.
Then he couldn’t resist kissing the hollow behind her ear, his tongue dipping to taste her there. She shivered and pressed closer to him, saying his name.
“Ridgely.”
But that was his title.
He didn’t want that. It seemed wrong whilst they were entwined thus and he was intent upon giving her pleasure. Because he’d decided somewhere between holding her wrists and guiding her to the divan that he was going to do everything in his power to show her what passion was truly like. Just this once. Nothing irreparable. He wouldn’t take her innocence. No, that wasn’t his to take. But kissing her, bringing her to the heights of bliss…this, he could do.
And he could do it so very well.
“Use my given name, darling,” he murmured into her ear. “I give you leave.”
Just this once, he wanted to say. Should have said. Just as he should have gathered up a shred of honor and left her alone on the divan. But he didn’t do that, either.
