She pulled away with an obscenepop. “Talk to me, Kit.”
“I’m trying to keep from proposing again.”
A wicked smile flashed across her face before she returned her lips to their task, working up and down my shaft in a way that might actually kill me.
“Christ, Davina!” I cried when she did something with her tongue I couldn’t describe. “How are you real?”
A lock of hair fell across her face, distracting from the most erotic sight of my life. Carefully, I unclenched a hand from the bed coverings and brushed it behind her ear. Then she hummed her appreciation and shook my soul from my body—swallowing my cock in one quick motion.
“Fuck! Davina, darling… Please, don’t stop.”
I could see the smile in her eyes. She was pleased with herself as she stripped every moral from my body through my cock. Christ, I loved her.
“Davina…”I love you. “Please…”I love you.“Davina,” I said again. Until her name was the only word I could confidently utter that wasn’tI love you.
My climax built slowly. A match stoking a fire, she added fuel to it, swirling her tongue and humming in a way that had a wordless cry breaking from my chest. She built me up to an inferno, one that threatened to explode at any moment.
“Dav—” I choked out and tugged on her shoulder to warn her. She met my gaze with determination in her eyes. And the detonation was unstoppable.
When I came back to earth, limbs still numb and brain still hazy, she allowed me to pull her off her knees. I dragged her into the slot between my legs, my forehead finding her bosom as I drew in ragged breaths, hoping at least one of them could bring coherent thought back.
Gentle, magnificent hands carded through my hair, waiting for me to catch up.
But all I could think wasI love you. I love you. I love you. Please let me be yours.
Please.
Thirty-Three
CRIMSON LILY, NEWCASTLE UPON TYNE—APRIL 13, 1817
DAVINA
I’d never felt quitelike this before. Powerful, beautiful, sensual… loved. When Celine had described that particular act, it had seemed degrading, but somehow, with Kit, I knew it wouldn’t be. And it hadn’t been.
No, it was loving. Kit loved me. He didn’t want to marry me because it was proper—though I was sure that wasn’t an insignificant part of his proposal—he wanted to marry me because he loved me. It was in his eyes and his face. It had slipped from his lips the moment he lost his senses.
At present, I was taking great pleasure in mussing his already mussed hair. His hand spanned my waist as his head rested against my breasts. It seemed that, like my experience earlier, he needed a moment to come to grips with his new reality. I was content to allow it. I hadn’t expected to enjoy the same sense of safety and serenity after giving him pleasure.
“Davina…” he grumbled and finally pulled his head up to catch my gaze. “Where did you learn that?”
“I pestered Celine into drawing a few diagrams a few years ago. And Gabriel had some books that I liberated shortly after his death before father or Xander could get them.”
He processed that information slowly. “I don’t even want to know what was in those.”
“Celine indicated that some of the acts weren’t quite…de rigueur. Which made sense, some of the images required specialized equipment.”
He gave me a disbelieving chuckle. “I had something in mind, no specialized equipment, of course. But with your vast, hard-earned knowledge, do you have something else you want to try?”
The hand already on my waist began to ruck up the folds of my chemise, slowly, gently.
I did actually have a thought. But I didn’t quite know how to ask for it. And I was more than curious about what was in Kit’s head. “Show me.”
Something about that response had Kit groaning and dragging my lips down to his. He wasn’t shy or tentative in the way he had been earlier. No, this was a kiss with intent. Kit had an agenda and I was the only item on it.
He kissed with everything he had, moving against me, pulling me toward him. Until there wasn’t even space for breath to pass between us. Not that I was interested in breathing, not when the alternative was Kit.
His kiss was tinged with the bite of whiskey, and the taste—so familiar to me, brought the edge of a smile to my lips. He didn’t taste like just any whiskey, he tasted likemywhiskey.
