"Noticed?" His voice dropped. "Eleanor, I nearly forgot how to form complete sentences. You walked into that room and every thought in my head scattered like leaves in a storm."
Her breath hitched. "Oh."
"Yes. Oh." He leaned in, brushing his lips against hers—softly at first, then deeper when she sighed into the kiss. "Though I must confess," hemurmured against her mouth, "as beautiful as you were in that gown, I much prefer you like this."
"In my nightgown?"
"Without any clothing at all."
Eleanor felt blood pool between her thighs. "Aubrey—"
He kissed her again, more insistently this time, and she responded with an eagerness that sent heat flooding through him. Her fingers found his hair, tangling in the strands as she pulled him closer. The book tumbled forgotten to the floor.
He helped her lie back against the pillows, his hands trembling slightly as he untied the ribbons of her nightgown. She watched him with trust and desire mingled in her eyes, and the combination nearly undid him.
When he finally eased the fabric aside, revealing the curve of her breasts, he forgot his pain and paused simply to breathe.
"You're so beautiful," he said hoarsely. "So damned beautiful."
He kissed her throat, her collarbone, then lower, taking his time, learning what made her gasp and arch beneath him. Her skin was impossibly soft, warm and fragrant, and when he drew one nipple into his mouth, she made a sound that shot straight through him.
"Aubrey," she breathed, her fingers tightening in his hair.
He lavished attention on her breasts, alternating between gentle kisses and firmer caresses, until she was writhing against the sheets. Then his hand drifted lower, skimming over her stomach, her hip, the curve of her thigh.
He touched her through the fabric of her nightgown first, feeling the heat of her, and she gasped at the contact. Then he gathered the hem in his fist, drawing it up slowly, giving her time to stop him if she wished.
She didn't stop him.
When his fingers finally found bare skin—slick and hot and wanting—they both groaned.
"Eleanor," he breathed, kissing her deeply as he began to explore. "God, you’re so wet."
"Don't stop," she gasped against his mouth. "Please don't stop."
He didn't. He stroked and circled and teased, paying attention to what made her moan, what made her hips lift seeking more. She was responsive and uninhibited in a way that drove him wild, her hands clutching at his shoulders, his back, anywhere she could reach.
"I want—" Eleanor's breath caught. "I want to touch you too."
"You don't have to."
"I want to."
Aubrey shifted, giving her access, and nearly lost his mind when her hand slipped beneath his nightshirt, her small fingers wrapping around him with tentative confidence. He was already hard, had been since he'd entered her room, and her touch was exquisite torture.
"Like this?" she asked.
"Yes. God, yes, exactly like that."
They found a rhythm together—her hand moving over him while his fingers worked her toward release. It was clumsy and urgent and absolutely perfect. Aubrey watched her face, memorising every expression, every flush of pleasure that crossed her features.
When she suddenly tensed, her eyes going wide, he kissed her through it, swallowing her cry as she shattered. The feel of her wet heat against his hand, the way she clung to him, nearly pushed him over the edge.
"Eleanor," he groaned. "Faster—"
"Yes, like this?" she whispered fiercely.
Her hand quickened, and the combination of her touch and her words and the aftershocks still trembling through her body proved too much. Release crashed through him with stunning intensity, and he buried his face in her neck, gasping her name like a prayer.
