Her throat bobbed once before her rose-colored lips parted, her tantalizing bosom rising with every breath. “Yes,” she whispered.
Slowly, impossibly so, Benedict bent, lowering his lips to hers. If he was to steal her first kiss from her—and he was certain this was her first—he would ensure it was perfect. He would give her the kind of kiss a lady might dream about—soft, tender; a gentleman’s kiss. Benedict caught her lower lip between his before pulling away—perfectly respectable.
Between one breath and the next, however, Eliza formed her own plans, entirely in opposition to his. It was a tiny movement, a quick shifting of her weight, but her lips pressed against his again, and he was lost.
There had been an undefinablesomethingmissing from every kiss he’d ever known, evident only now that he’d found it. If asked, he would’ve said he quite enjoyed kissing. But this… Waskissingeven the right word? Nothing had ever been as perfect, as tender as Eliza’s lips moving against his—tentative but so, so brave and eager.
His heart clenched along with his prick as his thumb slid down her jaw, guiding her, encouraging her to take everything. Eliza was a quick study. There was nothing surprising about that. When her tongue brushed his lip, he opened for her on a gasp.
And he was hers.
He’d had such beautiful intentions, so sweet and loving, but he was bound for hell, regardless. With that recognition, he forsook his former intentions. They could burn with him. He countered her enthusiasm with his own and a groan, pulling her closer.
The previous night had been incredible, but tinged, dulled with the swirl of drink. This moment was sharp, vivid with lust burning, unfulfilled, through him. In an instant, it morphed into a ravenous hunger.
His cock pushed insistently against the fabric of his old, worn breeches.
Eliza’s quiet moan when his tongue traced hers stopped his heart.That sound… How would it change when brushed along his throat as he entered her?
She tasted of whiskey and hope, and a touch of honey—nothing had ever been as wonderful. Benedict couldn’t get enough. He wasn’t sure it was possible to be sated of her, in her.
How had he left this incredible creature beside the wall the prior evening? Her tongue was as quick as her wit, and her teeth sharp as they nipped his lip, provoking a reaction—a snap of his hips against hers.
“Your hack is ready.” The cool, entirely too masculine interjection rattled around Benedict’s empty head for a moment until comprehension settled into his spine and his lips stilled.
“Out!” he ordered, not bothering to turn to the man waiting just outside the door. Turning meant abandoning Eliza to another’s gaze, and he wasn’t willing to do that.
Pointed, too loud, footsteps trod back down the stairs.
Reluctantly, Benedict pulled back from Eliza’s grasp, then tugged a fresh shirt over his head. She wore the flush of his attentions well, her lips swollen with his kisses. And she’d neverbeen more beautiful. Her brilliant, wide eyes looked at him with such adoration, such trust.
“I’m so embarrassed,” she said, even as she met his gaze, unwary—as though he were a good man.
“About what?”
“Your butler?—”
“I’ll take care of it,” Benedict assured her and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “We need to leave now before we lose the hack.”
Eliza nodded, disappointment crossing her features and settling into her brow.
Benedict allowed himself the final indulgence of tracing his fingers along her neck and collarbone before finding the sleeve that had slipped from her shoulder. He set it to rights, this flesh even silkier than the supple skin of her cheek.
Not for the first time, he wished he hadn’t been quite so drunk the night before. So he might recall the more subtle details of the velvet sensation of her inner thigh. He longed to remember exactly how she’d felt—anything more thanso fucking good.
Eliza’s delicate fingers reached up to tuck a lock of hair back from his forehead. She traced the line of his hair, down to his jaw, his throat, before dancing along his sternum. When she reached the neckline of his shirt, hanging off his own shoulder, she gently tugged it into place before smoothing her palm down the front of his chest.
His heart skipped in understanding before his head caught up. She was setting him to rights too. And her touch, so impossibly tender, as though he was deserving of the same reverence she received.
He wasn’t, of course.
Quite possibly no one had ever deserved reverence more than Eliza Wayland and less than himself. ButGod,his bodycraved it. The whisper-soft brush of her fingers sent tingles down his spine and his heart skittering. When was the last time someone had touched him with such gentleness?
Benedict had known only fury in gaze, words, and lash from his father. Women had grabbed him with lust in their eyes and hands. His friends, the few he could count, had clapped him round the shoulder with laughter. But this… No. He’d never known anything like Eliza.
Benedict shook the thought away and caught her about the waist with a soft hand, then guided her into the hall. The butler lingered by the foot of the stairs.
“I believe I hear Lady Arabella calling,” Benedict said pointedly. He didn’t hear Bella, of course, but the man needed to be elsewhere.
