Against her better judgment, she had accepted his invitation.
And against all ration and reason, she had allowed him to take her hand and lead her to this room where he had systematically stripped her bare and made slow, sensual, deliberate love to her. Not just once, but twice.
The hand that had been splayed over her stomach shifted, gliding upward to land on her breast. She glanced down at his hand, taking a moment to admire the long, elegant fingers, the signet ring he wore on his pinkie, the smattering of dark hair on his skin, so very masculine, so much larger than her own.
His hand shifted, his thumb grazing over her already hard nipple, which was separated from his touch only by two thin layers of bedclothes. Her breath caught, sensation pulsing to life. She wanted him again.
But she would not give in, she told herself. She would roll away from him gently to keep from waking him. And then she would slip from the bed and gather her garments, dressing in the semi-light before he rose. Before he made her forget all the reasons she must not linger with him. Why she must not continue sharing his bed. Why she must not allow the tender feelings threatening to blossom like a summer rose.
His thumb stroked over her nipple again, and all her stern warnings to herself fled. Lips fluttered over her nape, then found their way to her shoulder. He was awake. The state of his cock and those teasing caresses to her nipple ought to have told her so.
“Good morning, Venus.”
His voice was a low, delicious rasp. She wanted to hear it every morning. Wanted to fall asleep to it as she had last night.
“Good morning,” she said carefully, reminding herself that what she wanted and what she needed to do were two entirely different things.
“I recognize that tone.” He nipped the side of her throat.
“What tone?” Despite herself, she craned her neck, giving him more space to tantalize her.
He kissed her ear. “The one that says you are already thinking of leaving me.”
“Already? I spent the night here. As it is, poor John Coachman has likely spent a very uncomfortable evening in the alleyway behind your house.”
“I sent him home with instructions to return at dawn. He’ll not have passed the night without the comfort of his own bed.”
He sounded pleased with himself. She’d had no notion he had been so high-handed.
Lottie cast an arch glance in his direction, trying to summon outrage and finding it difficult indeed. “Sure of yourself, weren’t you?”
He smiled, looking not at all slumberous, but rather like a big, menacing jungle cat stalking his prey. “I reckon I was rather confident I might persuade you to remain.”
His confidence hadn’t been misplaced either. For he had convinced her with ease. A few expert kisses, a few knowing caresses, and she had been clay ready to be molded in his hands. He had found a place on her inner elbow that was absurdly sensitive. When he kissed her there, it was impossible to remember her name. It was silly, and yet it was true. Languid warmth pooled between her thighs at the reminder of his mouth roaming hungrily over her body the night before.
She tried to banish the needy sensation, and yet it lingered, not helped by his body pressed to hers, his cock prodding her bottom, his scent tangled around her.
“You persuaded me well enough,” she allowed. “But now, I truly must go. I dare not linger and risk discovery.”
“Or,” he said, drawing out the lone word as he kissed her spine, “you could remain with me for a few moments more. What could be the harm?”
The harm could be significant. To both of them, of course. He had to marry. She wished to hold her head high in polite society. Her affairs had always been kept private. One needed to attend to propriety in such matters, or at least observe the pretense.
“I don’t dare,” she said, but there was precious little protest in her voice or in her body.
He kissed lower and then moved, rolling her to her back as he glided beneath the covers. Kisses rained over her breasts, down her stomach, to her navel. How novel, not being able to see him,only tofeelhis mouth whispering over her bare skin. She was even wetter now, curse the man. But then his lips landed there, at the apex of her thighs, and he kissed her aching clitoris before taking her into his mouth and suckling.
Perhaps a few minutes more, then.
She arched her back, a gusty sigh leaving her as she surrendered to pleasure, legs widening to accommodate his broad shoulders as he wedged himself more firmly between her thighs. Her eyes fluttered closed as his tongue swirled over her, followed by the nip of his teeth. She cried out, bowing from the bed, grasping twin handfuls of the bedclothes.
How could she already be so far gone, on the edge of reaching her pinnacle? It defied reason. He’d had her up half the night satisfying her, wearing them both out until they had fallen into a sated slumber together.
He lapped at her languorously now, as if he had all morning to lazily bring her to her peak. She writhed beneath him, eager, needing more. And when his tongue sank inside her, she hooked her knee over his shoulder, crying out his name.
So close.
She was so close.
