He caught her knees, cupping the backs of them with firm enough pressure that she felt the weight of every finger. He stroked her, making her body shake with sensation. And when she gasped out pleasure, he slid her forward on the settee. Her backside came to the edge and her legs fell open. He looked down at last, smiling as he saw her drawers. They were flimsy, silky things, and in this position they were parted so they did very little to cover her. Still, he tugged and they came off. He tossed them aside and she was bared to him.
She should have felt shame in that, she supposed. Her husband had seen her this way, of course. She’d always felt ashamed then. Humiliation came with the ache, she knew that.
But she felt none of that now. Roseford stared down at her, licking his lips, his eyes wide and his hand trembling ever so slightly as he reached out to trace her sex with just the tips of his fingers.
“So lovely,” he muttered, she thought more to himself than to her. It didn’t matter anyway, because when his fingertips stroked her naked flesh, her mind emptied of any questions, all concerns, all doubts.
She lifted against him, pressing his hand harder, forcing his fingers past her lips just a fraction and increasing the heat of his touch. He smiled, not mocking, but accepting. Pleased.
“You’ve waited a long time, I think,” he whispered, almost soothing. “I won’t make you wait anymore.”
He bent his head. His fingers pressed her open, holding her in place. And then his mouth closed over her. She cried out at the heat of him steaming over that sensitive flesh. His tongue was firm as he pressed it to her, stroking her entire slit in one long lick.
She spasmed at the outrageous pleasure that ricocheted through her body. Her fingers dug into his hair, holding him steady, pushing him away, urging him on all at once. He smiled against her—she felt the expression. His hands held her still and he devoured her. Every lick woke that wicked part of her she’d always tried to hide, control, destroy. As if he knew that, he moved harder, faster, sucking her clitoris and sending her body to ever rushing heights.
But it was when he added his fingers that she lost all control. He glided two inside her long-empty sheath, stretching the channel, reawakening any pleasure she’d ever found from sex. She bucked against him, dropped her head back as the orgasm began from deep inside of her. He licked her through it, tormenting her with pleasure as she cried out again and again and again.
It was only when she went utterly limp against the settee, her shudders subsiding slowly, that he ceased his tongue’s exploration, withdrew his fingers and stared up at her with a satisfied smile.
“I hope that was worth the wait,” he said as he leaned over her body, kissing her. She tasted her release on his tongue, and her body quaked with renewed desire at that salty-and-sweet flavor.
He drew back and looked down at her, exploring her face like he was trying to see something, find something. And in that instant, her relaxed, lazy pleasure faded and was replaced by something else. She remembered what he was. Remembered what he wanted. He hadn’t pleasured her as some selfless act. He wanted more. To win his little wager, to claim that he could have the woman who had killed with pleasure.
She pressed her hands to his chest and pushed. His brow wrinkled, but he drew back from her and watched as she got to her feet, shoving her skirts down and spinning away from him so she’d no longer have to look at that thick hair she’d mussed or those wet lips that had touched her so intimately.
“What is it?” he asked.
She refused to look at him as she moved to the mirror above the sideboard and looked at herself. She was still mostly in place, save for a few wrinkles in her gown and some strands of hair that had fallen from her chignon. But she was flushed with pleasure, her expression wanton. If anyone saw her…they would know. They would know what she did.
And even if they didn’t, she would.
“Katherine,” he said, sharper.
She faced him, forcing calm onto her expression. Forcing coldness and collected boredom, like what had happened meant nothing.
“Thatwas a mistake,” she said, hardly able to form the words.
His lips parted. “I’m sorry?”
“I was overwrought after what I witnessed,” she explained, hating that her cheeks filled with color. “And swept away by…by everything. But I should not have allowed you such liberties, Your Grace.”
He folded his arms, his irritation clear on his face. “I think it’s a bit late for formality. Robert will suffice.”
She tensed. She’d never thought of this man as anything but Roseford. Until now she hadn’t realized how much that title was a safety net for her. A barrier. Robert was a man. A man who had pleasured her in a parlor with a hundred people just down the hall.
She didn’t want to think of him as Robert.
“Roseford, don’t make this harder,” she said. “We did what we did. But it is not something we shall ever repeat.”
She moved toward the door, tensing for the moment when he would follow. Would catch her arm. Would demand or yell or even force. After all, she had left him in a state. She’d seen the outline of his hard cock against his trousers. She knew what he wanted. What he likely thought he’d earned.
And yet he didn’t do any of those things. He stood exactly where she’d left him, staring at her as she unlocked the door and fled the chamber. She was too cowardly to look back. Not just because she feared the rage she might find on his face.
But because if she did, there was a good possibility she would go back, fall into his arms, and give him the prize he’d wagered on. And that would be a colossal mistake. So she escaped, like a thief in the night, and had no idea what the consequences of her foolish surrender would be later.
Robert stared as Katherine left the room, her shoulders straight and her stride certain. He was…stunned. He’d spent a life as a libertine. Some used that word as a slur, but he’d always embraced it. Pleasure was not a negative, no matter what Society tried to argue. He gave, he received, no one got hurt. In fact, some were even advanced by their affiliation with him, found longer term lovers who provided well for them.
He didn’t pursue women who were innocent. Partly because he had no interest in the noose of marriage. Mostly because he didn’t think they could adequately make a decision about whether or not they wanted something they’d never experienced. Something that could ruin them.
