Chapter Six
Rowan could hardly believe that Sophie had just agreed to let him touch her, pleasure her. This had not been his plan when he approached her in the garden, but here they were, alone in the steamy darkness, her body trembling as he leaned up on his knees and claimed her mouth once again.
He’d always liked kissing. He was a proficient at it, if his lovers were telling the truth. He could do it for hours, truth be told, allowing desire to build in a slow, powerful burn until there was nothing left but throbbing need.
Sophie took him to that place in moments. His cock was like stone, rubbing uncomfortably against his trouser front, his body whispering all the things he wanted to do to the lady who was moaning against his lips, her trembling hands smoothing gently across his chest. He couldn’t do, wouldn’t do, any of those things his body desired, of course. He might be on a path that he didn’t like, but there was still a gentleman in him. He wouldn’t force her hand by claiming her.
But he was certainly not above seducing her to push her toward his plans. Not when the thought of it was so damned pleasurable.
He dragged her to the edge of the bench, forcing her legs to part to give him a place. She shivered, her tongue driving into his mouth with an increased abandon that set him on fire. He’d never thought she was passionate. Her reputation of always saying no had led people to say she was cold.
She was not. Her fingers glided into his hair, her heart pounded hard enough that he could feel it—her body was like an inferno. She gasped when he slid his hand down her side, curling it around to cup her breast for a second time. Just as it had been the first time he touched her so intimately, her nipple was a hard outline beneath her thin gown. He stroked his thumb over it, measuring her every reaction, from the catch of her breath to the arch of her back to the way she trembled.
He wanted more. As much as she could give. He wanted it now.
He gripped a handful of silken skirt in his fist, tugging it up over her calves, her knees. She gasped a second time and jerked her head back to look at him in the dim light. Her eyes were wide, uncertain but also filled with undeniable need. He held that stare, unwavering as he glided the skirt higher, over her thighs. Only then did he look down at what had been revealed.
She had lovely legs, and they were clad in a finely stitched, almost sheer stocking that was silky to the touch when he let his hand settle on her knee.
She jolted. “Rowan!” she gasped, a question and a plea.
He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers until she relaxed slightly. “I’m not going to ruin you,” he promised a second time.
He didn’t wait for her response but began to nibble his way along her neck, down to the slope of her gown. He dragged his mouth over her breast, wishing he had time to strip her naked, to worship her as she deserved to be worshipped.
She made a strangled cry as he placed a hand on each thigh and gently pushed, giving himself more space and revealing her in the moonlight that filtered into the hothouse. Her drawers were easily parted, and he stopped breathing as he looked at the slick, fragrant flower of her sex, there for him to pluck so easily.
She turned her head. “You shouldn’t.Ishouldn’t.”
He glanced up. Her hands were gripped against the edge of the bench, her breath was short, she worried her lip.
“You’re right,” he whispered. “But I’m still going to do it. You still want me to.”
She nodded, and the wordless consent was all he needed. He leaned in, brushing his fingertips against her first. She jolted at the first contact, her hips lifting slightly toward him in a natural yearning for the pleasure he would give. Some part of her understood that, even though she’d never experienced it. Even if it frightened her because she’d spent her whole life being told that what he wanted to do was wicked. Wrong. A cause for ruination and despair.
He wanted to replace all those fears with powerful memories. To wake that passion he could see inside of her. To make her crave what he could give rather than fearfully brace herself.
He stroked her again, parting her outer folds with his thumbs. She was slick already, aroused by his kisses, by the way he’d touched her so far. Her responsiveness only drove him with more fevered purpose. He drew a long whiff of her sweetness and then ducked his head to stroke his tongue across her at last.
The riot of feelings that cascaded over Sophie as Rowan touched her in this utterly sinful, completely inappropriate, fantastically wonderful way was almost indescribable.
She was shocked, of course. His mouth was on her. Hismouth. And he was kissing her with abandon in her most personal and private of places.
But her reaction, both body and soul, was not what she knew it should be. She should be outraged and horrified, should push him away and tell her aunt.
Instead, her body flared with heat and pleasure unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She dipped her head back, holding tighter and tighter to the bench’s edge as he stroked his tongue across the entire entrance of her trembling sex. Electric pleasure sizzled through her, and she let out a tiny cry she could not have kept inside for all the riches in the world. That sound only seemed to drive Rowan, for he held her more firmly in place with his big hands on her thighs and darted his tongue across her with purpose.
She lifted against him on instinct, her breath vanishing with the pleasure that grinding on his tongue created. This was…magical. This was spectacular. This was everything, and she surrendered to it and to him.
He must have felt that shift, that softening of her guard, for he increased his strokes, focusing his tongue on the hidden bundle of nerves she occasionally brushed in her bath or her bed. The pleasure she felt from that innocent touch was magnified by his wicked mouth. It built, driving her toward a cliff that she couldn’t see and didn’t fully understand. She just knew that what she felt was building, rushing out of control.
He sucked at her, and suddenly all the sensation reached its natural crescendo. She bucked against him helplessly, letting out keening cry after keening cry as pleasure unlike anything she’d ever experienced rushed over her. There was no stopping it, no fighting it, no changing it. It just was, and she had to ride it to its end as he continued to pleasure her through it all. Until she was weak with it and sagged against the bench, her breath short and her body flushed in the aftermath.
Only then did he lift his head from between her thighs. He looked up at her, searching her face, seeing her in a way that made her even more uncomfortable and exposed than the wicked things he’d just done. She turned her face, shoving at her skirts as he shifted to take a place beside her on the bench.
“Thatis pleasure, Sophie. And it’s only the beginning,” he whispered, his voice rough and low and sensual. She was shocked that her body responded to the sound, still aching for more of what she’d just experienced.
She stood, pacing away from him, her hands shaking, her knees unsteady. He watched her, silent for a long moment, and then he said, “Sophie.”
