While she had gone floppy as a rag doll, Lucian seemed to have turned to iron. His arms were like steel bands around her. His spine was rigid, holding her up. And then there was the part of him that was currently pressed against her stomach. Rosalie probably wasn’t supposed to know what that was, but she had always been curious by nature. In addition to learning how to knee a man in the groin the summer before her come-out, she had interrogated her cousin, Daphne, who was five years older, married, and best described as “too forthright by half.” So Rosalie had a fair idea what the thing pressing into her stomach was, and what Lucian would like to do with it.
A cry of disappointment burst from her lips as he broke off the kiss. “Come on,” he said, breathing hard and tugging at her hand.
Rosalie offered no resistance. “Where are we going?” she asked, even though the answer was fairly obvious; they were already jogging down the stone steps that led down into the garden.
He turned to look at her, and his eyes glinted with something dark and dangerous. “Somewhere we can finish this.”
Chapter Twelve
Somewhere we can finish this.
This was precisely the sort of statement that Rosalieshouldfind alarming. It was bad enough that she and Lucian had begun; finishing whatever this was would likely leave her completely and irrevocably ruined.
It will be worth it.
Lucian led her to the far reaches of the garden. It was deserted, with no sign of Lord Pritchard, thank God, nor any other couples looking for a place to tryst. They passed beneath arbors bearing fragrant climbing roses, eventually coming to a stone bench nestled against a brick wall.
Lucian sat and pulled her into his lap. He kissed her again, and her nervousness melted away as her body began to pleasantly thrum once again.
But too soon, he lifted his head. “Is this all right?”
He squeezed her torso gently by way of explanation. Rosalie realized that his hands had strayed mere inches from her breasts.
She swallowed. Did she want him to touch her there? She realized that she did. This seemed like a rare opportunity to be with a man capable of making her feel so much.
“Yes,” she breathed.
He studied her a beat. “And if I wanted to open up your dress so I could see you in the moonlight?”
“I can’t get pregnant!” Rosalie’s face went hot in the cool night air as she realized what words had come blurting from her mouth. How had she managed to sound overly forward and embarrassingly inexperienced at the same time?
But instead of sneering at her, Lucian’s eyes flared with understanding. “But you want me to touch you? You’ll let me make you feel good?”
Rosalie squeezed her eyes shut. “I… yes.”
She felt his lips trail across her forehead, then down her temple. His breath was hot against her ear. “You won’t regret it,” he murmured, his voice dark as midnight.
She felt his lips on her jaw, her neck, as his hands slid up her body. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but it felt like an agonizing eternity as Rosalie waited with bated breath for him to reach her peaked nipples, which were desperate for his touch. She gasped when his thumbs brushed her there, gasped and swayed, and had to grab onto his shoulders to stop herself from swooning.
He growled his approval and withdrew his hands. Rosalie cried out her frustration, only to realize that his fingers were flying over the ties of her gown. It sagged open, and she felt a rush of cool air against her tender flesh.
“Rosalie.” His voice was rich with appreciation as he reached in and lifted her breasts out of the cups of her stays. His hands were surprisingly warm, and the contrast with the chill of the air felt delicious. She glanced down, wondering how she must look to him. As a redhead, her skin was always pale, but thisplace that the sun never touched looked almost translucent in the moonlight. His hands looked startlingly powerful against her delicate skin, but he touched her so gently—reverently, even—that she forgot to feel nervous.
He stroked a thumb across a nipple, and she shivered. “You’re so beautiful. You must allow me to kiss you here.”
“Kiss?” she asked. Did he truly mean to?—
But he was already laying her back on the bench. He pressed kisses across her collarbone, then across the upper swell of her breast, and then… and then…
Rosalie’s hips jerked upward as his lips closed over her nipple. It was like lightning coursing through her body, if lightning were pleasurable. It felt wonderful, but it was almost too much.
She buried her fingers in his glossy black hair as he moved to her other breast. She couldn’t hold still, couldn’t seem to stop squirming on the bench. There was too much pent-up pleasure coursing through her body with nowhere to go.
He shifted his weight above her, inserting a knee between her legs, which she didn’t understand but… Oh.Oh! Slowly, she rocked her hips back and forth against him. There was a spot at the juncture of her thighs, and when it brushed against his leg, it felt… It felt so very…
Lucian had stopped his ministrations to her breast and was smiling down at her. “That’s it, Rosalie. Have you come before?”
Rosale peered up at him in confusion. “Have I what?”
