So this was what it felt like to be seduced by a Shakespearean character.
We’d watched the Kenneth Branagh version ofMuch Ado About Nothinga couple of weeks ago, and I was reminded of how very, very not unattractive at all I’d found the actors speaking highly stylized English.
My “yes” slipped out, breathless and eager.
“All right. I’m touching you now.”
The moment his hand made contact, I didn’t just flinch—I bucked off the mattress like he’d shocked me.
Just because he’d cupped one of my too-small breasts.
“Ssh, calm, Bell, calm,” he soothed immediately, voice gentle. “You’re safe. I won’t hurt you.”
Mortification immediately set in. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize.”
“I’m not used to being touched there.”
“Tell me, are your nipples sensitive, then?” His voice took on an academic tone, even though he was palming my breast.
“No... I don’t know. I’m just not...”
“Let us put it another way. Your nipples are budded. Does that mean you like my hand here? Does it feel good, sweetheart, when I do this?”
He palmed my breast a little tighter, flicking a thumb over the budded nipple, and I felt the most delicious trill of pleasure in my core. Like he’d plucked a string on a musical instrument. Playing just the right note.
“It smells as if you like my hand here.”
I nodded. Then remembered to speak. “Yes,” I answered. “I think I like this.”
“I’m going to use my mouth here, then. First on the breast I’m touching, then on the other one.”
“Okay,” I whispered. My body thrummed with something that felt a lot like anticipation.
A pause. Giving me time to prepare, to change my mind if I needed to.
But the curiosity made me keep myself still.
Then his mouth was on my long-untouched breast, hot and wet, tongue swirling.
His chest must have been arched over my stomach because there was no pressure whatsoever other than his mouth.
Soon, I felt squirmy beneath him, core clenching air. My hand came up instinctively to my other breast, palming it and trying to tease its nipple, like Zion had.
He stopped sucking with a low laugh. “Is she jealous, then? Wanting my attention?”
“Yes,” I admitted. Feeling like a bit of a brat.
But Zion kissed his way over to that breast, and when I started squirming for real, he trailed kisses down my torso. He kept a hand on my breast while using the other to drape one of my legs over his shoulder. Then he stopped at my pooched stomach—the part I always tried to hide—to flick his tongue around my belly button.
I tensed, waiting for... I don’t know what. Disgust? Hesitation? A request to hold off on finding out what all the fuss was about until Ravik could get me a chemise from Barrington’s?
But Zion just hummed appreciation against my skin.
He was being so nice and careful, but also cruel. It felt like he was taking too long. On purpose.
I whimpered, achy and wanting more, but didn’t dare complain.
