“I didn’t know that was possible. Drawing out a man’s release with one’s hand, I mean. I’ve written about it, sure, but I’ve never done that before. I didn’t know I could make it feel good.”
“It doesn’t normally happen that way,” he says. “As in I normally last longer. Much longer.”
My eyes go wide as I analyze the new information. Already, a potential scene for my next book plays out in my mind. “To confirm what you’re saying, I made you come quickly? That was fast for you?”
“Yes, would you like a medal?”
I smirk. “If there was one, I’d take it on a plaque.” I shift to the side and angle my hands like I’m framing something over a mantle. “Edwina Danforth made William Haywood come with her hand in three seconds flat. I’d hang it in my parlor for all my guests to see.”
He snorts a laugh. “I’ve lost you now, haven’t I?”
I lower my hands from my imaginary award and arch a brow in question.
He sobers from his mirth and shakes his head. “I thought we were only getting started, but that damn pride of yours has overridden your desire.”
I blush, realizing this probably isn’t the reaction he expected from me. Or perhaps he did. I’ve always handled sex differently than I assume other people do, and William saw a hint of that in the north wing. Yet it doesn’t mean I’m devoid of desire. I felt it, hot and heavy with him, and it’s still there. Alongside it, though, is a well of exhilaration. Wonder. Power. I now have firsthand experience—in the most literal sense—that I can use in my writing. My fingers itch to draft out some ideas.
William brushes a strand of hair off my brow, and I recall how that same hand struggled not to rip open my clasps. “There were things I wanted to do to you tonight,” he whispers.
My pulse quickens. Maybe my need to write hasn’t overridden my desire after all.
Then again, I like the way he’s looking at me. The yearning in his eyes as he studies my lips. The quavering restraint in his touch as he brushes his hand over the length of my tangled hair.
I still hold power over him, and I’d like to keep it a while longer.
I tilt my chin and part my lips. He starts to lean in when I press my forefinger to his mouth. “If you want to do such wicked things to me so badly, you’ll have to redeem your free pass.”
He groans against my finger and heaven above, I almost give in. Almost beg him to let me coax more moans from him. Beg him to take me to his bed and show me everything he wants to do to me.
With a heavy sigh, he steps back. “Let me change my shirt. I’ll walk you to your door.”
“You don’t have to be such a gentleman,” I say as I sink down to gather my coat from the floor. I drape it over my arm and rise to my feet. “I only touched you?—”
My words lodge in my throat as my eyes find him, back turned to me as he tugs his half-unbuttoned shirt over his head. The dim lamplight illuminates the peaks and valleys of his muscled back, the flex of his shoulder blades as he tosses his shirt to the side and gathers a fresh one. He turns to face me as he throws his arms through the sleeves, and I get a full view of the front of him. My gaze slides down his pectorals to the deep V above his still-open trousers.
I’ve seen him shirtless before, the morning after I got drunk on Cloud Dive and allegedly threw up on him.
But I didn’t desire him then. Not as deeply as I do now.
He catches my open-mouthed stare, and his lips curl in a teasing smile. Making no move to button the front of his shirt or his trousers, he says, “Changed your mind?”
I blink and tear my eyes from his physique. “Nope.”
He chuckles to himself and finishes getting dressed. I’m still amused by his insistence on walking me to my room, but I make no argument as we leave his bedroom and cross the short distance to my door.
I seek my key from my coat pocket, my hand brushing his poetry book in the process. I grin, recalling all the ridiculous writings we exchanged today. After I unlock my door, I shift to face him. “Well…that was?—”
He bends down and silences me with his mouth. His hand cradles my jaw, and I part my lips, inviting his tongue at once. The kiss is deep and demanding. Heat sparks inside me, from my chest to the pulsing want that reignites between my legs. Even after everything we already did, after I thought I’d cooled my ardor, I still want him so badly.
Too soon, he breaks the kiss, panting as he rests his forehead against mine.
“You didn’t redeem your pass,” I whisper, my hands clenched around his collar, ready to tear off his buttons should he say those two words. “This doesn’t count.”
He brushes his thumb along my jawline, then over the bottom curve of my lip. “It’s just practice,” he says, pressing his lips to mine once more before pulling away completely and returning to his room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
EDWINA
