She inhaled and then met his stare again, this time, her lids heavy.
He withdrew, only to press in again, adding a second finger, his breath catching. “So damned soft.”
He pushed deeper.
“Like velvet.”
Her lips parted, and her panting encouraged him.
“Not a myth?” Her question was little more than a whisper, and he could see that she was close. “Simon.”
He circled his thumb around her clitoris, not breaking the gentle rhythm, moving intimately, in and out.
His injured hand ached to tug at her breasts, to tease her nipples into rigid points. “Your bodice,” he ordered. “Pull it down for me.”
She blinked but then reached up and did precisely what he’d asked, revealing creamy swells above her stays.
Damned, blasted, blistering stays.
Simon dragged his mouth over the flesh she revealed and then, using his teeth, tugged downward at the restrictive garment.
Limited to one hand in addition to the restrictions of her undergarments, the hindrances nearly had him exploding in frustration.
But then, with her help, her breasts were free, and he took her into his mouth. “Please, Simon.” She clutched the back of his head, jerking and pushing her hips. “What—?” she cried, panting, “Yes.” She shook beneath him, and Simon pressed his cock into the side of the table, moving against it as he bent his fingers deep inside her.
“Let go, Violet.” He bit down softly.
Everything tightened around him. Her arms, her legs, and she’d arched her back, offering herself to him completely. Almost more than he could bear.
Damn. He hadn’t expected…
Simon followed her signs, slowing as her completion subsided—stopping when she went limp. When he finally withdrew his hand so he could hold her, he was breathing as raggedly as she was.
She murmured something unintelligible, and when he glanced up, he inhaled a sharp breath. She possessed all the sensuality of womanhood God could ever have intended.
“Violet?” he asked, reeling from emotions he didn’t quite understand. “Are you all right?”
“Not a myth,” she enunciated clearly this time.
Simon chuckled. “No, not a myth.” Although, he pondered, it was possible she channeled a little Aphrodite.
A Beautiful Mess
Violet expected the mood to turn awkward between the two of them. Because that night long ago, after…
Before it could even form, she dismissed the old memory.
Because what had just happened between her and Simon Cockfield was incomparable.
When he finally drew himself upright, lifting his weight off her, he moved slowly, reluctantly. He wasn’t looking around for the quickest means of escape, nor was he stumbling over uncomfortable explanations and damning praise.
He was just…
Looking.
At me.
“I’m a mess.” Violet self-consciously dabbed at where her coiffure ought to be, only to realize her hair was in disarray all around her.
