On his own bed, by God. He’d make love to her, but he didn’t want to be rushed their first time. Because as much as he’d prefer lolling around with her for what remained of the day, he was going to have to return to Knight Hall before the dinner gong.
Blasted, stupid bet.
“The pain of my wrist." Simon felt compelled to share more of himself with her. “It reminds me of my foolishness. It reminds me that I make mistakes. And that my mistakes have consequences.” He’d agreed to this damnable wager without contemplating the repercussions—the deceit that would be involved. And then he’d been counting silver when he ought to have delved deeper into the threats to his friend.
He hadn’t considered that he’d have to neglect some of his responsibilities, because even with the most successful delegating, he had to leave his sisters to navigate their season with only Lucas and Lady Ravensdale. He ought to have been the one taking them about, and it was due to his own stupidity that he wasn’t.
“And you hate that.” She stared back at him.
“I do.”
“But no one is expected to be perfect all of the time. You’re only human, after all.”
Simon nodded and leaned forward to kiss her. “You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?”
She simply shook her head.
He moved his hand down to her skirts. “Open your knees for me.”
She didn’t even hesitate.
Simon dragged his jaw along her chin, her slender neck, and then clasped his mouth onto one nipple, drawing her in, sucking, scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin. There was a very fine line between pleasure and pain and the closer one got to it, the greater the pleasure.
He rubbed his palm over her center.
“Touch me,” she ordered, thrusting her hips up. He rubbed harder, giving her the friction she demanded, and both her hands clasped onto his head.
“I’m going to taste you,” he warned her.
“All of me.”
Impatient, he lifted his head and shifted her legs around. Her eyes widened when he slid a pillow beneath her hips. “Slide over here.”
He would inhale her, taste her, touch her, and he’d see her.
And with her knees draped over his shoulders, Simon gazed on the banquet of her sex.
“What are you doing?” She lifted onto her elbows with a frown.
“I’m looking at you.”
“Must you?” she groaned, and he chuckled.
“All great artists study their subjects before painting them.” Ridiculous comment, and yet… appropriate.
“You are an artist?” she teased, her voice weak.
“Consider me inspired.” He met her eyes.
Simon stroked glistening flesh with the tip of his thumb. He was going to make love to her, and soon. “The next time you doubt your beauty, remember this very moment, and remember that I am so in awe of you, that I can hardly breathe.”
She wasn’t embarrassed now. She held his gaze solemnly. “I will remember everything.”
And intent on ensuring those memories were unforgettable, Simon buried his head between her legs.
This had to be a dream.
An incredible, earth-shattering dream that had all the potential to turn into a horrific nightmare.
