“Do you want me to touch you?” he asked, his voice a seductive rasp.
She writhed against him, her body seeking answers her mind didn’t comprehend, and kissed the protrusion of his Adam’s apple, then the underside of his jaw. “Youaretouching me.”
And she liked it. Far too much.
“Not like this,” he said, a hint of amusement lacing his tone.
She kissed his sharp cheekbone. “How?”
“Beneath your gown. I’ll find the place where you ache, between your legs. Stroke you there, pleasure you. Do you want that?”
Her curiosity was profound, but no more so than her desire. He could ask her anything and she would agree to it, willingly and desperately.
“Yes,” she murmured into his ear, relishing this shocking proximity they were sharing.
How would she ever be able tonottouch him after this? To look upon him without remembering in vivid detail what his lips felt like beneath hers?
He rolled them together, somehow keeping them on the cushion of the divan, before her frenzied brain could form further coherent thought. And then she was the one on her back, with the heady weight of Ridgely anchoring her to the cushions. He braced himself over her on his forearms, a rakish sweep of hair falling over his eyes as he looked down at her with a gaze burning hot with the same restless longing inside her.
“You’re still in control,” he told her, his voice low. “Whenever you want me to stop, say the word, and I will.”
She nodded, mesmerized by him hovering over her, the underside of his jaw beckoning to her lips until she set them upon it, kissing him.
He stiffened, then rubbed his cheek against hers. “I’ll go slowly.”
She inhaled again, filling her lungs with the clean, lovely scent of him. “If you go any slower, I’ll burn up before you finish.”
Ridgely chuckled. “Patience, darling.”
Darling.
How wicked the endearment sounded in his dark, deep voice. How much preferable toinfant, his customary jibe at her age. If only she could insist he forever referred to her thus, from this moment forward. But this was just a temporary madness between them, and she knew that even if she made the demand, Ridgely would never comply.
He moved his knee to the outer edge of her thigh, balancing his weight as he reached between them, pulling her gown and petticoats past her ankles, over her calves. Good heavens, her stockings were on display. And he was watching his progress with an expression of great concentration, as if nothing would tear his gaze from her slowly revealed flesh.
Where did he intend to touch her? The wait only served to heighten her awareness of him, the vital heat emanating from his big, powerful form. His fingertips brushed her shins as her muslin and linen traveled north until her garters and the tops of her thighs became visible. He was still watching her with undivided intensity, drinking in the sight of her splayed limbs as if he wished to emblazon it upon his memory.
But surely he would stop there, leaving her some modesty.
No, he didn’t. Her hems drifted past her hips and pooled at her waist, cool air kissing her bare skin.
“Ridgely, I…” She was breathless again, but not from kissing. From anticipation. From need.
It shocked her to realize how much she wanted him to touch her there, at the juncture of her thighs. At the center of her very being, or so it seemed.
“Trevor,” he reminded her, slanting a glance toward her from beneath his long, lowered lashes. “Shall I stop?”
She would die if he did.
“No,” she murmured, licking her suddenly dry lips before swallowing hard. “Don’t stop.”
“Beautiful,” he said thickly, stroking her inner thigh as he continued bracing himself on one forearm, their bodies aligned.
She had never thought of that part of herself as anything more than serviceable. Limbs and feet to take her where she wished. A body with needs she quietly met in the dark haven of her bed at night. But never had she dreamed how decadent it would be for a man to see her thus, to eat her up with his hungry stare as if she were the most bewitching sight he had ever beheld.
His praise made her blood sing. She hadn’t realized she’d been clamping her thighs together—a nervous reaction, she supposed, uncertain of what to expect—but now she relaxed, allowing them to fall apart, showing more of herself to him.
“My God,” he said, awe in his voice as his fingers stroked higher. “So pretty and pink. And glistening. Is this where you ache, darling?”
