Chapter Twenty-three
Grace had never experienced such a delirious sensation in all her life as when she melted into Lord Sterling’s arms. Dear Lord, it was everything. Her greatest fear was that it would end with her waking up, realizing it was nothing but a dream, and she should be dreaming because she was certain that Lord Sterling, proper and strict Lord Sterling, did not kiss women in his office. Rather, he did not kiss debutantes in his office, his office at the gambling hell, that is.
Good Lord, what was she doing?
Yet, as soon as the thought entered her mind, it flew away like a frightened bird, and all that was left was the melting sensation of being in Lord Sterling’s very warm, amazingly strong arms. Her hands trailed upward, and some corner of her mind realized how firm his limbs were, and the strength within. As she gently wound her hands around his shoulders, she arched her fingers into his back, feeling the solid strength of it, of him. Her heart pounded, her lips tingled, and her mind was utterly spinning with pleasure. His kiss was hot and demanding, yet gentle enough that she was left wanting something more, as if she instinctively knew he was holding back some part of himself, of his kiss. She was greedy for it, for every part of him, for every part of the pleasure he was giving her. The room faded away, and all that remained was the acutely blissful feeling of being held and kissed very well.
His lips tutored hers, and she mimicked the way he nibbled on her lower lip, her body surging with delight when he let out a small groan. That she could offer him any sort of pleasure in her innocent experience was a heady realization, and she gloried in it. She ached to be closer, as if some part of her mind knew instinctively what it needed, even if she didn’t understand it. His arms tightened around her, and she became aware of the hard length of him pressing against her hip bone. Intrigued, she pressed into him more, breathing in his moan of pleasure.
“Miss Grac—”
She cut off his words with a kiss, her lips bending into a smile. Ever proper, her Lord Sterling. Only, at the moment he was behaving anything but properly.
And she was guilty of the same sin. The same delicious sin.
“Don’t you think,” she kissed him again firmly, this time allowing her tongue to slip along the seam of his lips, much like he had done earlier. Then she withdrew just enough to finish her sentence, “that you should call me Grace?”
He chuckled against her lips, then nipped them playfully, his arms like a band of strength holding her close, yet tenderly at the same time as he ravaged her senses. “Perhaps.”
Passion had not diminished her sense of humor, and she leaned back to give him an arch look. But rather than receive the teasing scolding, his gaze roamed her features, cataloguing them like a scientist would study a new species. He was memorizing her, and she had never before been seen so fully. It was humbling, it was terrifying, it spoke of passion and need with a slight sprinkling of adoration to make it complete. “Yes?” Grace mouthed the word, unable to quite make it voiced.
He gave his head a shake, as if breaking his own spell, and rather than speak, he leaned down to kiss her once more.
This kiss was different, more deliberate. Though how it was possible for her to know, she wasn’t sure. There was purpose to the kiss, and she was happy to discover it, breath by breath.
The room grew warm as his hands began slowly to roam. Everywhere he touched sent a shot of heat through her body, feeding an addiction to his kiss. After trailing down the spine of her back with a featherlike touch, he spanned her hips with his hands, cupping her bottom in the most delicious and scandalous way. He pressed her tightly against him, reminding her of his own state of arousal before breaking the seal of her kiss only to trail playful nips and teasing kisses along her jawline down to her neck.
It was difficult to breathe, or at least breathe enough. Heart pounding, she lost herself in the pleasure of it all. “Good Lord,” she murmured, nonsensical.
Lord Sterling let out a low chuckle of approval as he nipped the bone along her shoulder, his other hand scandalously close to her breast. All she could think was,closer.She wanted to arch her body: she didn’t know exactly what she needed, but she wanted it. Oh, how desperately did she want it!
As if reading her mind, or at the very least, her body language, his hand brushed against the swell of her breast, his fingers tracing over the tip and even through her dress, it was acutely pleasurable. Her breath caught, her body tensed, and even as his hand swept away, she felt his touch like a brand, still searing through her skin. His lips were hot against her neck as he kissed her, his hands slowly circling around the collar of her dress, and then his hand touched her sensitive skin. If she had thought the sensations of his touch through her dress were almost too much to bear, it was nothing like the feeling of flesh on flesh. Heart hammering, her blood rushed through her body, sounding in her ears as she fought for breath. How in the world could one small part of her body be so fantastically sensitive? It was glorious, it was wicked, it was not enough, she decided.
Oh, she was wanton! Never before would she have imagined such pleasure at a simple, yet scandalous, touch!
“Do you like that?” he murmured against the skin of her neck as he caressed his fingertips around her sensitive flesh, teasing, tickling, and pinching playfully.
She could hardly catch her breath to answer, but some semblance of a squeak came out in a “yes.”
“Good Lord, you’re perfect.”
Before she could process the overly appreciative compliment, his mouth replaced his fingertips, and she lost her footing, only to be swept up into his arms. His mouth left her breast only long enough to carry her to the small chaise longue in the study’s small sitting area. If she had any sense of propriety, she would have spoken up, but before she could have found her breath, his mouth was on her breast again, his hand slipping up the hem of her skirt, tickling in the most delicious way as he moved up her calf.
She should stop.
She should want to stop.
She should do something before she wasn’t just ruined, she was ruined completely.
But . . . she found she didn’t have the strength to do anything but arch into him, gasp for breath, and simply glory in the new delicious sensations her body continued to explore at his touch.
“Tell me you want me,” he whispered against the flesh of her breast, then nipped her playfully, almost punishingly, as if warning against a refusal.
Not that she had any inclination of refusing him. No, she was past that point, she was past any point except quenching the fire-hot need surging through her body, needing some sort of completion.
And instinctively she knew he could give it.
“Tell me you burn for me,” he whispered, his hand tiptoeing up her thigh.
