He caught her wrist, stilling her. “I admit to experiencing pleasure at your hands, yes. But we should stop that for now.”
“Why?”
“Because today’s lesson is on kissing.”
She looked back at his face. “Then kiss me.”
Her own boldness shocked her, but Charles’s eyes flared, and his hand flattened on the small of her back. He kissed her with sudden, fiery urgency, nipping at her lower lip and chuckling at the way she gasped.
The heat in her body turned liquid.
She wanted, she wanted, shewanted.
She wiggled forward until her breasts pressed against his chest and the apex of her thighs rested right on the bulge she had been fondling until so recently. Her core felt sensitive, the friction just enough to send waves of pleasure through her. The wantonness of it alarmed and thrilled her in equal measure. He groaned, arms wrapping more firmly around her, and she felt like a woman possessed. Needy, urgent. Desperate for—well, something.
“Evie.” His hips lifted to meet her, his voice rough. “Have you ever touched yourself?”
“I—” She blinked down at him, trying to understand the question. “How do you mean?”
He swore, low and fluid, under his breath. “We should stop.”
“What?”
“This. Now. I will not bring about your first . . . this is not how I had envisaged things progressing.”
Evelyn pressed the back of her hand against one flushed cheek, wishing his words did not stab into her quite so deeply. “You do not wish to continue?”
“I wish very much to continue, and that is precisely the problem.” He eased her off him and rose, striding to the other end of the room. She watched from the sofa, crumpled and feeling a little like a gutted fish. She had always known that words had the capacity to slice one open; she had been gossiped about one too many times for her not to know that. But she had not known that Charles could say something that would hurt so deeply. Particularly when she knew his intention was not to hurt—with her, his intention was never to hurt. She knew that.
And yet.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked.
He whirled. “No, Evie. No. You are the antithesis of something wrong.” In a few quick steps, he stood before her again, and she was at the perfect height to note that he must, at least in some ways, be telling the truth. “I am the one—” He hesitated. “This is entirely new for you, I know, but it is also new for me. I am not in the habit . . .” He frowned, looking discomforted, and on a whim, she rested her palm against his thigh. His eyes met hers, and he sighed, crouching so their heads were at the same height. “I am not made for tenderness, Pidge. You have only ever seen the best of me, but I am not a good man.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“And yet it is the truth. It’s why I have resigned myself to marrying a lady I know I cannot care for, and who does not care for me. And it is why I feel not the slightest compunction about my role in her future happiness, or probable lack thereof. I will not fulfil any desire she has for love, and she will certainly not do so for me.” He gave her a slight smile. “I have seduced many a wife away from her husband’s arms, and I have taken ladies as lovers until they bore me. I am a man accustomed to chasing nothing but my own pleasures.” He kissed her palm, and although she felt a slight pang in her chest, she did not pull away. “I would not like you to see those ugly parts of my character for yourself. And that’s why I must leave.”
“What do you think you would do if you stayed?”
His eyes found hers again. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t want to be as gentle as you deserve. This is my first time bedding a virgin, my darling, and I would not have my desires ruin any of your own.”
This was what he had mentioned before, a gentleman being rough with her. She trusted Charles, but she also craved his softness, even as curiosity mingled with her frustrated desire.
“When will I see you again?” she asked. “My father will be back in town by the end of the week; I would like to have this completed by then.”
Charles looked into her face, a wry smile creasing his expression. “Completed?” he repeated, running his fingers through her loosened hair. “You make me feel like a cad, Evie.”
“By your own admission, you are.”
“You are right, of course.” He laughed and straightened. “I am a scoundrel, there is no doubting that. I will come back around tomorrow. Until then, let me pin your hair back up.” Without waiting for a reply, he gently turned her head and retrieved some of the pins he had discarded.
“What will tomorrow’s lesson be?”
“Eager already?” His knuckles brushed her skin. “I want you to understand your own pleasure a little better.”
“My . . . own?”
