“Yes,” she whispered, and he finally moved to where she wanted him—where she needed him. She felt his attention go immediately to that point of contact, to the way his fingers slid through her slick flesh.
“Theo.” He caught his breath. “You’re ready for me.”
Theo wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but she knew she wanted him, and she desperately wanted whatever came next. Impatient again, she turned her attention to his waistcoat, unbuttoning it with fingers that were not strictly steady. Nathanial’s chuckle ended in a groan as she tugged his shirt up and placed her hand flat against his stomach.
Ridges. Lines. Hard and soft in juxtaposition. With a growl, Nathanial removed this final layer, baring him to the world and to her. For one long moment, she allowed herself to drink him in. When they had last been together, he had remained fully clothed throughout; and the moonlight, regardless, would have been insufficient lighting.
But here, she was at liberty to observe his male beauty. Here, the candlelight burnished his body, gilded his edges, paid homage to the dips and shadows that characterised his chest. He was broad, she noted, with bronzed skin and muscles that tensed as she slid her hands along them. She had not thought male skin would feel so smooth.
“You’re beautiful,” she murmured, before fancying it wasn’t something she ought to say to a gentleman. But when she glanced up, it was to find him smiling down at her, a tender expression in his eyes.
“As are you.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “So very beautiful.”
Though she didn’t believe for a minute that hemeantthose words with the same whispered adoration as he had said them, they still made her blush, and an entirely different sort of pleasure unfurled.
He had called her pretty before, but neverbeautiful. When this was over, she would treasure those words.
Her hands dipped in their exploration, across the ridged muscles of his stomach and lower, to the tops of his breeches. He hissed a low breath and caught her hand, bringing it upbetween them. When he shifted, pressing more firmly against her bared leg, she felt his arousal, hot and thick. She spread her legs wider, allowing him to settle between them. He groaned.
“Nathanial—”
“I’m trying to go slowly,” he said, kissing her again.
She wiggled under him, encouraging him to touch her more thoroughly. “Why?”
“Because this is new for you. I want it to be pleasant.”
This was more than pleasant. Or at least, it would be, if he were not overly concerned about her delicate sensibilities.
Sensibilities that had either fallen by the wayside or were not as delicate as he imagined.
“Perhaps . . .” Theo was no expert in these matters, but it appeared as though there were several impediments to their goal. “Perhaps we ought to remove our clothes?”
He chuckled. “You are so impatient, my love.” With quick, practised motions, he lifted her from the bed and removed her nightgown. Her hair fell across her shoulders and the air felt cool against her breasts, which he gazed at hungrily. “I have been dreaming about these.” He tweaked a nipple and she moaned. “For a long time.”
She had not considered he might have expectations. A little self-consciousness pierced her fierce want. “Are they to your liking? I am not sure—”
“They are perfect. You are perfect.” He flicked his tongue across her breast and she gripped the bedsheets. But the touch was light then gone. He traced slow circles across her body, skimming every inch of her sensitised flesh, or so it felt, except for the part she needed the most.
Theo thought she might explode with frustration. “I’m not sure I like your idea ofslow, Na—”
He slid two fingers back through her core, and everything inside her went still. He rasped a laugh, planting kisses down her neck as he traced those same circles between her legs,coaxing pleasure and wanton sounds from her she could not even attempt to withhold.
From the way he watched her, dark eyes fixed on hers, drinking in her every reaction, she did not think he minded.
Still—this was altogether too much like the last time, when he had focused all his attention on her, and she had not been given the opportunity to touch him in exchange. Daringly, she stroked a hand along the hard length in his breeches. His fingers stilled on her.
“Careful.” His voice was low, more a rumble in his chest than sound. She felt it everywhere. “I do not have the self-control you think I possess.” He resumed his caresses, and the heat that pooled inside her grew at his words, at the ceaseless work of his fingers.
“What is the need for self-control?” she asked, stroking him again.
He removed his hand, much to her disappointment. But before she could do much more than make a noise of discontent, he had placed his hips there instead, his arousal pressed against her core. “There is a necessity,” he said, and rocked against her.
This was just like it had been in the gardens, yet somehow this felt far more intimate than it had then.Thenshe had been pressed against a statue, aware they were doing something illicit outdoors and that their identities were concealed.
Now, she was in a bed, and he was kissing her with far more tenderness, and somehow far more need, than he had then. And with every slow, gentle thrust against her, the friction of his breeches, the pressure of that length, rubbed against her with such insistence, she lost herself in the overwhelming sensations.
The low noise he made in his throat as he raised his head to look at her face, almost undid her entirely. “Theo,” he said, her name a blessing and a curse on his tongue. “You will be the death of me.” He kissed her again, warm arms cagingher, holding her in a way he had not done the last time. He was everything, everywhere, and she dug her nails into his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing to feel the weight of him, to feel every laboured breath, the tiny sounds of pleasure he made every time she shifted.
