He was excited, fascinated even. When she thrust her hips up to encourage the stroking, she saw something else.
Resolve? Wonder?
He stilled. “I’ll stop now. Do you want me to stop?”
“No.” She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Don’t stop.”
He shifted his gaze from one of her eyes to the other. “You are sure?”
“I’m an explorer too, Zeke. I want to… explore… this.” These feelings. These sensations.
He slowly nodded, and his attention moved back to where he stroked her intimate flesh.
“Do you know what you look like?”
She shook her head. Of course she did not.
“Pink.” He swiped along her sensitive fold. “Velvety.” He drew a circle. “Soft.” His fingers grew bolder. “I’m going to kiss you here, Diana.” His voice sounded husky.
He leaned forward, and Diana inhaled a sharp breath when his mouth landed on her center. She clutched the sides of his head, gripping through thick strands of his hair. She needed something—anything to keep her grounded
He claimed her center much the way he’d claimed her mouth. It was a different sort of French kiss.
He sucked and licked and claimed. Diana writhed against his face, wanting more, something she couldn’t quite reach.
The pressure inside her expanded, stretched, pulsed, and when it was almost too much, he was there, stroking it.
“Zeke!”
She squeezed her eyes tighter, and stars brighter than anything she’d seen through his telescope exploded behind them. She gave herself up to the fiery heat, followed by waves, and then ripples of the best feeling…
The best feeling in the world.
In the universe.
Not until those undulations ceased, did she glance down at where Zeke had gone perfectly still, his face resting between her thighs.
* * *
Greys relishedher taste and scent even as he realized that he’d genuinely gone mad this time.
Not mad. He had, in fact, gone over the edge. And yet, he didn’t care.
She might be illegitimate, impulsive, and all wrong for him on paper. But in every way that truly mattered, she was perfect.
Her hands remained in his hair—if there was any of it left after her tugging—he could almost laugh at that. But he instead sighed at the feel of her fingertips combing through the short strands.
God in heaven. He’d promised himself he couldn’t love her. Love was the worst possible scenario.
He was, however, going to marry her.
Was that why she’d come?
He pushed himself up to sit and, after reluctantly drawing her gown down and past her knees, pulled her upright as well.
Should he propose now? “I should apologize—"
“Don’t.” She frowned down at him. “Do not—”
