“It’s beautiful.” Simon threaded his fingers through the wavy strands that tumbled to Violet’s waist. He hadn’t planned this, but there was only so far they could go while standing in the middle of Greystone’s garden. “You are beautiful.”
He’d intended to stop, to allow her more time, but then she’d gone and apologized.
She apologized for kissing me.
The pain he’d heard in her voice had revealed vulnerability—a lack of awareness she had about herself. She didn’t comprehend her appeal, and he’d been suddenly desperate that she did—desperate for her to know that someone in this world saw her for who she was—a loving, giving, compassionate—passionate—woman.
She’d offered to befriend his sisters. It wasn’t the offer itself that had affected him but the fact that she’d done so believing him to be a butler.
Many women had offered to assist him with his sisters before, but they’d all known he was a duke.
And in addition to all the reasons he liked this woman, staring at her now, her face flushed and her lips shining from his kiss, she was also sexy as hell.
He would show her exactly how appealing she was. He wouldn’t make love to her here, but he would give her a taste of what she hungered for.
“Simon?” His name was a question.
In answer, locking his gaze with hers, Simon slid his hand under her skirts and trailed it up one long, luscious leg until he felt the top of her stocking. “Incredible,” he whispered, finding her skin silky and inviting.
At his gentle urging, she spread her legs for him. His cock stiffened almost painfully. “Touch me, Violet.” He worked his injured hand free and moved her hand to his trousers. A twinge of pain barely registered through his lust.
“Never be sorry for putting me in a… what did you call it? An awkward position?” Everything about this woman was so damned unique. “Or pressuring me.” Simon pushed against her hand.
She was tentative, at first, as she smoothed her palm over the bulge in his trousers. “I didn’t know…” Her breaths came in tiny gasps.
Simon edged his hand closer to her center. “What do you like? What do you need?”
She shifted on the table. “I don’t know. I…” She rubbed her hand up and down his length now, over the fabric, building an impossible friction. “I’m not sure…”
“What aren’t you sure of, sweet?” She spoke like an innocent.
“I don’t remember it being like this.” She inhaled. “You are… You feel… big.”
“Ah…” He slid his hand to her center, brushing his fingers over her intimate folds, flirting with her opening. “No worries. Just feel.” He located her clitoris, teasing it. How was it possible that the sensation of touch could be so damned beautiful?
She hummed, tilting her head back.
“You deserve a little pleasure.” She hadn’t remembered it being like this… She’d been with a man before. Her dead fiancé?
He pushed the thought aside. Because in this moment, there was no one but the two of them.
“You like this?” His hand was slick, moving along her opening. “Yes?”
Simon buried his face against her bodice even as he visualized her intimate folds. She was shifting with him now, into him. But she was also holding back.
“Yes,” she said. “Please, but I’m not sure… I don’t think I...”
“Move with me, love. Just like that.”
“I’ve heard of it,” she whispered. “The little death.”
Simon paused and lifted his head to meet her gaze. Her hair was soft around her face, her eyes heavy, her lips parted. “But you’ve never...?”
“It must be a myth.” She smiled. “For me, anyway.”
Simon moved his hand and slid a finger inside her. It was high time she was disabused of such a notion. “Oh.” She closed her eyes, her head falling back.
“Not a myth, Violet.”
