“Tabetha.” He rolled his tongue over her clit. When she pulsed into his mouth, beautiful and uninhibited, he vowed to memorize her every response. He wanted to learn exactly what she liked, what she needed, and what gave her the greatest pleasure.
He exhaled a long breath, and then grazed his teeth over the tender nub.
And then she was trembling and crying out and if he hadn’t supported her with his other hand, she would have tumbled from the gig onto the ground. When she relaxed, she slumped forward, boneless, satiated.
Stone kissed her and then drew back to see her face. He kept one arm around her hips, and his hand remained touching her intimately.
“I didn’t know,” she gasped, flushed, her eyes shining. “I didn’t know.”
“Shh.” He squeezed her waist. What was he going to do with her?
What the hell was he going to do?
Chapter 19
Fleeting Recollections
When Tabetha finally caught her breath, Stone gently withdrew his hand, caressing her, and then arranged her skirts, smoothing them down her knees and calves.
And when he met her gaze, he raised his fingers to his mouth, slid them inside, and relished the taste as though they were covered with raspberry preserves rather than…
Tabetha’s entire body flushed hot.
He was not going to hide from their intimacy this time.
“Feeling better now?” The smile that stretched his mouth was wicked and unchecked and… wonderful.
“Much.” And this was positively true.
Archie meowed beside her, an unlikely audience to her debauchery.
Tabetha was supposed to feel awkward and embarrassed, and ashamed. She knew that. Any lady would know that. Even if the man who had just had his hand up her skirtswasher husband.
But she had not. She did not. She refused to be a hypocrite.
Ten minutes later, having stretched her legs, relieved herself, and cleaned up with her handkerchief and water from a nearby stream, she returned to the gig, and Rock steered them onto the road again.
“That a girl, Poppy,” Stone encouraged the single gray mare pulling them.
A memory flashed, a sensation, and then a more definite memory. “We rode Poppy before.” She had been sitting in front of Rock. And she remembered the feel of him behind her, how excited it had made her feel. “I sat in front of you.”
He jerked a startled glance at her. “You remember?”
“Yes.” She laughed. “Perhaps love making isn’t such a terrible idea after all.” She was only half-joking.
“Tell me more of what you remember about riding with me.”
She closed her eyes. “We were not in any hurry. I was holding Archie, and you were holding me. And then later, we were in a hurry. But I remember feeling safe with you. I remember how I felt having your arms around me.”
He looked almost startled. “You don’t remember being irritated with me?”
“Why would I be irritated with you? You were fighting!” The memory jumped in and out but not so much that she couldn’t remember him tussling with more than one man while… “I wouldn’t give him the cat. That was Culpepper, wasn’t it?”
Rock stared at her. “What else?”
Tabetha closed her eyes and concentrated. Trouble was, as she tried to summon more memories, the teasing sensation of recollection scattered.
“That’s all,” she choked out, wanting more, excited but also afraid. Along with the memory came a wave of unanswered questions.
