She shook her head. “But you wouldn’t be. I have nothing to lose, Roarke. I’ve never wanted something…someoneso much as I do right now. So if you want me, even just a little, I’m giving you my permission, my consent, to take what you want.”
She thought she heard him mutter a curse beneath his breath and he stared down at her body as he let his hands slide down her sides. He gripped her hips, sliding his thumbs along the curves, and she caught her breath. God, whenever, wherever he touched her, it was like he left a mark. She felt the imprint of him across her skin and in her blood.
“When was the last time you…you came?” he asked, glancing back up.
She blinked. She knew what he meant by the question. Orgasm, release. She’d experienced it before, a few times with Stuart, a few more at her own hand. Heat filled her cheeks. “Er, a while. Months?”
He stared. “Months?”
She nodded. “Yes.” She barely managed to get the word out.
“Do you want to come?” he pressed, the pressure of his fingers becoming more insistent against her hips, then down across to her thighs. She shivered.
“Y-Yes,” she gasped.
His expression softened, but there was still hesitation in his eyes. Like he knew he was doing the wrong thing, no matter what she told him to the contrary.
“I don’t have to take,” he murmured, she felt like more to himself. “I don’t have to steal.”
She wanted to say something, to tell him that he wasn’t stealing what she freely offered. But he didn’t allow her to speak. He pushed forward, kissing her again, cutting off her words and her breath and any cogent thoughts she could have formed.
The kiss felt different now. Like he had a purpose. A drive. His hands moved over her as he sucked her tongue lightly, as he swirled and nipped and tasted her into a pleasure fog. His hands moved as he did so, cupping her thigh, squeezing it as her eyes rolled back in her head and her hands started to shake.
She felt him bunching her skirt with one hand, his fingers catching and raising the fabric around her hips. She forced herself to look down, to watch him reveal her calves, her knees, her thighs and then the garters that held her stockings.
It had been a very long time since someone saw her like this. And Roarke’s expression was far more hungry, feral, than Stuart’s had ever been.
“You’re so pretty,” Roarke murmured as he eased himself off the settee, on his knees before her. He widened her legs a fraction—she didn’t resist when he did. “I would do such things to you.”
Her husband had never talked to her while he touched her. He was gentle, he tended to her needs, he never hurt her, but he had always seemed almost apologetic about his attentions. Like he was trying to work in haste so she wouldn’t be troubled too long.
But Roarke was very different. He looked quite wicked there on his knees, his pupils dilated with lust, his hands still gripping around the edge of her drawers, stroking the bare skin between her stocking top and the silky fabric.
He leaned in and his mouth traced the same patch of exposed skin. She bucked at the unexpected electric response of pleasure that his tongue created. Her skin felt alive when he touched it, it tingled in response to the sensation of his mouth on her.
She wanted more.
He fingered the soft fluttering edge of her drawers. “May I take these off?”
He would see her then, half-naked, splayed out like a wanton. She should have been embarrassed by that idea. Instead she was excited.
She nodded and he glided his hands beneath her bunched skirt to find the waistband of her drawers. He untied the little loop of fabric that held them in place and then tugged. She lifted her hips, almost hypnotized by him and his intense focus. He pulled the fabric down her hips, her thighs, and leaned back to pull it entirely away and set them on the floor in a pile.
He wedged himself back between her legs and shivered as he stared at her. Heat filled her cheeks, both the heat of desire and of embarrassment. He was seeing her in the most intimate way, his hands gripped against her thighs, her sex splayed open for his perusal.
“So, so pretty,” he whispered, his voice catching. He glanced up at her, examining her face as closely as he examined her most private areas. “I know it’s been a while since someone saw you like this. I hope I’m going to make it worth the wait. I want to lick you, Flora. I want to put my mouth here…” He trailed off and gently brushed the tip of his index finger across her entrance.
She lifted against him with a whimper. That little light touch was not enough and it set her on fire for more.
“I’m going to suck you and tease you and make you come.” He leaned up a little on his arms, making his face even with hers again. “But you can tell me no. Now or any time. You can always tell me no.”
Her breath caught as she stared into his green eyes. At first she had been afraid of her desire for this man. She’d been afraid of asking for what she wanted. But right now there was something else she feared as she stared into the depths of him and felt something in her…hitch.
What if she ended up more than liking him? What if she wanted more than his hands and mouth on her, then his body inside of hers? What if she lost herself entirely to this man?
Was she prepared for that? Was she guarded against it? Would she know when it was safe to welcome it? And would he ever feel the same if she were so foolish as to fall?
She shook those thoughts off. They were questions for another day. Instead, she cupped his cheek, letting her fingers play along the harsh line of his jaw, and then she tugged him a little closer and kissed him.
