“Only you can make this better.”
His hands possessively moved up her sides. “But tomorrow you may have an offer of marriage. An offer you should accept.”
“Tomorrow is still tomorrow. Tonight, I’m here with you. I’m not the property of any man solely because he’s touched me. If that were true, I’d still be in Winter’s Well.”
He cupped her head, and his mouth caught hers. Felicity sank into his embrace, his warmth and steady strength surrounding her. His other hand cupped her bottom and pulled her hips to his. She could feel him there, the hard length of him like a brand with only her thin chemise covering her skin. She wanted to be closer, to know the feel of his bare hands on her, to touch him and fill her memories with him.
She might have to marry another man, vow to be faithful and honor him, which she would, but Felicity would have this knowledge. She would selfishly take these memories with her into her next life, because she knew she’d never feel like this again. It didn’t matter now noble and kind her husband might be, she’d never want him like she wanted Tristan.
She pushed at his coat. He shrugged his shoulders and let her go long enough to help her remove it before his hands were back on her body. He did not wear a waistcoat. She tugged at his shirt until he grumbled, stepping back to strip it off. He tried to take hold of her again, but Felicity put her hands up. She wanted to look at him. The map of light golden skin stretched over thickly defined muscle from his shoulders and arms, down his chest, to his abdomen where a trail of black hair disappeared into the placket of his breeches. She reached for him, her fingers trailing over his chest and tracing the fine scars that formed a misshapen star near his left shoulder.
“What is this?” she asked.
“I was shot.”
“When?”
“Smugglers in Dover didn’t want to be caught.”
Felicity leaned in and kissed the scar. He grabbed her hips, not forcefully, and then ran his hands up her sides to the shorts stays laced at her back.
“Do you want this off? I’ve never been a lady’s maid before.”
Felicity smiled as she laced her arms around his neck. “Yes, please.”
He made swift work of it, smoothing the bunched, wrinkled fabric around her ribs, and she arched in heavenly relief as she took a full breath.
“Unnecessary torture,” he muttered.
Felicity hummed in appreciation as she ran her hands over his arms and down his front. When she reached his breeches, he stopped her.
“These will stay on.”
“Why?”
“As a leash, keeping my cock where it belongs.”
“You said I could look at you and touch you.”
“You can. The barrier is for me.”
“But what if I want you to—to be with me?”
“You’re not ready.”
Felicity sobered. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
“Perhaps, but I do for me. I won’t just push inside of you. Not without first showing you all the ways your body can feel good. Otherwise, how am I different?”
“You’re different because you’re you, and I want you.”
“Trust me. In this, please trust me.”
“Then are we going to only kiss?”
He grinned, and her stomach fluttered. “There will be lots of kissing, in lots of places.” He tilted his head and leaned in, touching his mouth to her throat. She got so lost in the feel of his hands and mouth that she didn’t feel the straps of her chemise fall down her arms until she had to lower them so Tristan could pull it off. The fabric slitheredover her hips and Felicity held her breath as she stood naked. His focus was still on her face.
He dragged his fingers lightly down her spine and she shivered, shifting her legs to appease that place between her legs that ached for sensation.
