“Steele…”
He cut me off with another kiss, shorter, harder, as though the sound of my voice had struck something in him. When he drew back again, his gaze dipped.
Not to my mouth.
Lower.
The shift sent a hot tremor through me. My fingers tightened on his lapels.
And then his hands slid down.
To my skirts.
He paused there, still as stone, giving me every chance to stop him.
I did not.
I gave the smallest nod.
So he moved again.
Slowly.
He gathered my skirts with deliberate care, lifting only an inch at first, then another, as though he had decided he would not allow impatience to steal the moment.
The air brushed my ankles, then my calves, bare sensation where fabric had always been. The intimacy of it was almost unbearable, wicked in a way no polite conversation ever prepared a woman for.
“Too many layers,” he murmured, the faintest edge of dark amusement in his voice.
“Mind the petticoats,” I managed, though the words came out thin.
He kissed the corner of my mouth, as if to quiet my defiance.
His fingers found the first tie and undid it with maddening ease. Then the next.
Each release felt like a small undoing of the world.
He did it calmly, as though he meant to show me not only his desire, but his control of it. As though he wished me to understand that this was not something taken in frenzy, but something offered with intention.
And it was unbearable.
Something in me tightened until I thought I might shatter.
“Faster,” I breathed.
His gaze lifted, dark amusement lingering there for a heartbeat. Then it vanished, replaced by hunger that made my throat tighten.
Still, his hands continued their slow, methodical work, as though the sound of my pleading had only sharpened his determination to make me feel every second.
Another tie came loose. Another barrier yielded.
My breath turned thin. My thoughts scattered.
Suddenly, he lifted me and his body pressed in, more primal this time. I felt him, hard and unmistakable through his trousers, the proof I had once wondered about with such reckless curiosity.
A broken sound escaped me.
“There,” he murmured, voice thick, as though the word hurt him. “That is what you wanted to know.”
