She swallowed audibly. “Yes.”
“Good.”
First, he kissed her full lower lip. Her mouth opened, and she exhaled. He took advantage of the movement to kiss up, adjusting the angle, so he captured the entirety of her mouth with his.
Yes, this. The rush of satisfaction pounding through him felt almost dizzying. Heat followed, and if he had not sworn to himself that he would make things good for her, he might have been tempted to deepen the kiss. But he was not enough of a cad to rush her, even if her mouth felt like heaven. She tasted of scotch and strawberries—an impossibility for this time of year, but it seemed she paid as little attention to impossibilities as she did social niceties.
He wanted to devour her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he drew her closer still, desire tugging at his self-control. It had been a long time since a woman had made him tempted to lose his mind; longer still since he had reacted so strongly to a mere kiss. Yet here he was, arousal driving him half mad with the thought of all the things he could do to her.
All the things he had not allowed himself to think of foryears.
All now, with the heat of her mouth against his, lips moving in tandem with his, occurring to him with potent urgency. He could have her here—he could push her back on this nicely appointed sofa and push her skirts up around her hips, obeying his command to himself that she would not be removing her clothes. As for him—unbuttoning the fall of his breeches did not strictly count as divesting himself of his clothes.
And yet he knew as soon as the thought occurred to him that he could not. He had given her his word, and she . . . well, she deserved so much more than a quick rut because the urge had taken him.
She deserved to be loved. Worshipped. Treated with respect and kindness.
He leant back, breaking the kiss and addressing himself to her neck instead. “There,” he said, fighting to keep his voice cool and unaffected. “I think you have grasped the basics.”
More than the basics, if his cock had anything to say on the matter, but he rather thought introducing her to his cock at this stage of the proceedings would be a mistake.
“Now what?” she asked, her fingers sinking through his hair.
He gave her a cocky smile. “Now, Evie, it’s your turn.”
Chapter Eight
Evelyn stared at Charles’s face, willing herself to gather the thoughts he had effectively scattered. Yes, she had definitely been right to come to him: he certainly knew what he was doing. And kissing him had been an odd kind of torture, a pleasure so exquisite she thought she might expire from it, and a torment to know that he would soon be bestowing those kisses elsewhere.
But she shouldn’t dwell on that, not when he had been so obliging as to teach her what to do.
She did not know if the prospect of taking control made her more fearful or excited. Following his lead had been delightful. All her fears about perhaps not even liking kissing—withtongue—had been assuaged. At least with Charles, she could be certain she liked it. He knew precisely how much pressure with which to touch her. His mouth was warm and his tongue, when it brushed against her lower lip in silent invitation, made heat sink through her body. Shewantedhim to kiss her with his tongue.
A previously unfathomable thought.
“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured, settling his hands firmly on her waist. “I will remain in this position. You need have no fear that I will overstep.”
That was not her fear at all.
“And if I would rather you did?”
His eyes darkened. Stormy now, so dark she felt as though she could sink into them and never emerge. “Don’t tempt me,” he said, voice so low she felt rather than heard it. “I’m trying to be a gentleman.”
Well, she had convinced him to seduce her; perhaps that was all she could hope for at present. Perhaps itwasa good thing if they took matters slowly.
She exhaled, fighting the urge to shift and ease the ache between her legs. She was a woman, not a statue, and she had felt desire before, or at least so she’d thought, but it had never felt like this—not like temptation, but a hot, messy, liquid ache deep inside her.
Summoning her courage, she leaned in closer and pressed her mouth against his. His lips were a point of softness in an otherwise hard face, and they softened further still against her inexpert movement. Yet as promised, he did not move, allowing her to tilt her head and explore the best angle. After a second, she found it, slotting their mouths together so they fit like two puzzle pieces. Unfamiliar heat filled her, and she slid her hands into his hair—silky, another point of softness about him. There were so many that she had never previously known.
What a privilege to discover them now. She felt as though he had given her access to a hidden part of his life and his person. And she also understood, too, that he had been right: they could never go back to their unassuming friendship after this. Not now she knew how his hands felt against her waist; not when she knew, finally, what it felt like to kiss him. All these new sensations moving through her body—it felt as though she had been sleeping for years, decades, and now finally was coming awake.
Charles’s hands tightened fractionally on her waist, and she eased closer, her knees digging into the soft cushions of the sofa. Her chest brushed against his, and new pleasure moved through her. Her breasts felt heavy and sensitive, even through the many layers she wore, and she distantly wished she could remove her blouse.
She wanted his hands on her bare skin. To know, without a doubt, what being intimate with him would entail.
He exhaled a ragged breath, and his lips parted, allowing her to deepen the kiss. Tentatively, just as he had done, she experimented with touchingher tongue against his. The first time he had done this, just minutes ago, she had felt momentarily unsettled by the wet heat, the sense of having something ofhisinside her, the overwhelming intimacy of it. But now, even the first touch sent excitement through her. Pleasure.
