“No, don’t hide. I love how wet you’re getting for me,” he rasped.
Flushing, she whispered, “You… do?”
“Bloody hell, yes. It tells me you like what I’m doing, so I’m going to do more. Let me, sweeting. Let me kiss it better…”
Kiss?Surely he didn’t mean to—
Shocked, she felt his hot, strong licking at her center. Her hands went to push his head away… but instead her fingers curled in his dark hair. His kiss was relentless, undeniable, searching out all her secrets. When his lips closed over the sensitive peak of her sex, a sob caught in her throat. He suckled with tender insistence at the same time that his finger circled the entrance to her body. She felt a foreign stretch, then a stunning fullness that eased the aching inside her. Her hips lifted for his decadent kiss, for the plunging necessity of his touch…
“That’s it, sweeting,” he growled. “Come again for me. Coat my tongue with your honey.”
At his command, a deep wave of ecstasy rolled over her. Smaller tides followed in its wake, and he buoyed her through the aftermath with murmured praise, languid strokes of his tongue. As she floated, he came up, kissing her softly. The wicked, forbidden taste of herself on his lips made her stiffen.
He pulled his head back; to her relief, there was no sign of disgust this time. Arousal dilated his eyes, colored the high crests of his cheekbones. Against her bare thigh, she could feel the hot, heavy bar of his arousal straining against his trousers. His aura roiled with need, and yet it was contained by steely restraint.
The intensity of his gaze made her heart pound, reality returning in a rush.
Dear God, what have I done… again?
Chapter Sixteen
Sinjin knew the instant that Polly recovered from the climax he’d given her. She pushed at him, and he let her go, grimacing as, in her efforts to scramble away, she joggled his throbbing erection.
Shoving her skirts into place, she blurted, “I have to get back to the Hunt Academy. Before anyone realizes that I’m gone—”
“We’ll send a message, let them know you’re fine.”
Which was more than he could say about his own damned state. In the past, he’d never made love to a woman without finding release himself; what would be the point of that? With Polly, however, he’d done so not once but twice, and, as frustrated as his physical state was, he also felt a bone-deep sense of satisfaction.
She was his. Her sweet honey on his fingers and lips proved it.
“But how will we explain—” she began.
“We’ll go speak to you brother straightaway.”
She blinked at him. “Speak to Ambrose? About… what?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to offer for you,” he heard himself say.
Of the two of them, he didn’t know who was more shocked by his words. As she continued to stare at him, slack-jawed and definitely not overjoyed, his satisfaction fizzled. Reality reared its ugly head, bringing agitation in its tow. How the hell was he going to handlemarriage?
You have no choice. You compromised her. You have to marry her now.
Even in the face of panic, he couldn’t wholly regret what had happened.I believe you.Sweeter words he’d never heard, and her passion had exceeded his wildest imaginings. God, thefirein her. In this, at least, they were well matched. As for the rest… his heart thudded. He’d have to figure out some way to hide his devils from her. To make sure that his future wife never saw him as he truly was… for the rest of their married lives.
Cold sweat broke out beneath his cravat. “Wife” and “marriage” were two words he’d believed would never enter his personal vocabulary, and Polly’s continued, wordless scrutiny wasn’t helping his jangled nerves. Why was she staring at him as if he’d proposed that they take a short stroll off Westminster Bridge together? Why wasn’t she gratefully accepting his offer as any other miss in her shoes would have done?
“It isn’t necessary,” she said firmly.
If her silence had irked him, then her words furthered the trend. “Like hell it isn’t. I’ve compromised you.”
“Nothing unalterable happened. Technically speaking, I’m still, um… untouched.”
The slight hitch in her sentence betrayed her uncertainty about the status of her virginity—and well it should, he thought on a surge of indignation.
“My fingers are still wet with your dew. I can bloodytasteyou,” he pointed out ruthlessly. “Are you saying you don’t feel my touch inside you?”
Her cheeks rosy, she said, “What happened was a mistake. We got carried away, but we can just put it behind us. No one has to know.”
