There was power in yielding. Power in allowing his hand across her mouth to smother the sounds she made helplessly as she rubbed herself against him.
When she brought her hand to his crotch, he caught her wrist, his hand perfectly gentle and firm. Though she could see his arousal, and though she wanted to provide relief, he refused to let her.
“Maxwell,” she moaned against his hand, hearing the whining tone in her voice. “I want to touch you.”
“Later.” The word was a command and a promise, and more liquid heat erupted in her lower belly. “When I have you in our bed, I will show you how to give me pleasure, Thalia. With your hands and your mouth.”
Her head fell back, and her eyes rolled back in her head as he brought her ever closer to the brink.
“Quiet, sweetheart,” he murmured. “It would be such a shame if everyone were to see you now.”
The way he watched her was with such masculine satisfaction that she spasmed around nothing. Hollow, left wanting. The pressure of his thigh, the friction, made her knees tremble.
“No one else should see you the way I get to see you,” he went on. “You’re mine, Thalia. No one else’s. So, bite back those moans, and prove to me what a good girl you can be.”
For anyone else, she would have laughed. Sneered at the thought of going out of her way to be someone else’s idea of what she ought to be.
But the very prospect of pleasing him made her feel hot and almost dizzy, and the next thing she knew, pleasure burst over her like sparks turning into a roaring fire, overwhelming in its intensity.
Maxwell leaned forward and replaced his hand with his mouth, tasting her with his tongue, drinking in her moans as she shuddered and quivered against him. He held her firmly, gently, so securely that she knew she was safe, even when her knees gave way entirely, and she fell forward on him.
His arms closed around her, holding her against his chest and his pounding heart.
No part of her could believe that had happened. In the other room, she could still hear the tinkle of the pianoforte and the gentle hum of laughter and conversation.
Elliot was in there. Anna. All her friends.
She tipped her head back to look at Maxwell, who was watching her with hawk-like intensity.
How could she ever say she regretted something that felt so good?
She let her lips fall into a slow, contented smile, and some of the concern left his face.
“I doubt we should do that too often,” she said, her voice light and teasing, though still sultry from the aftermath of her climax. “People will start to suspect something.”
He kissed her again, taking his time. From the tension of his body against hers, she could sense his unfulfilled need, though he made sure to keep himself angled away from her now.
“Let them suspect,” he said, drawing back. “So long as they can confirm nothing, what else matters?”
Plenty did, but she laughed, giddily. “I suspect the rather stuffier dowagers would disagree with you.”
“Why?” His lips ghosted across her cheek to her ear. “Do you intend to tell them?”
“No. No one gets to know the things we do together.” She drew back to look him full in the face, and he nodded, smoothing her curls back from her face with a surprisingly tender hand.
“No one. Now get back into the drawing room before I forget all my resolutions and take you against the wall.” His voice lowered to a growl, and she shivered.
“Are you not coming with me?”
“I’ll follow shortly.” He glanced down to where a considerable bulge dented the front of his breeches. “I don’t want to scandalize anyone.”
“Oh.” Despite everything they had just done, she flushed. “In that case… I’ll see you later.”
“Later,” he promised.
Thalia suddenly thought she couldn’t wait for the rest of their lives to begin.
CHAPTER 16
