How empowering.
How heady that she, a small woman, should make this man quiver.
“Do you know what else helps release tension, August?”
He made a strangled sound in his throat. “What, love?”
“Riding. But we do not have horses here.”
August breathed loudly. “We do not need a horse.”
Meghan eased away to gauge his seriousness. “Truly?”
His eyes grew hooded. “Aye.”
“Hmm.” She marveled at that. “I believe I would like that.”
His body shook against hers.
Shaking?
“August, did I make you tremble?” she asked softly.
“Aye, love. You did.”
His body did it again.
Meghan marveled that her small confession altered his breathing—made it harsher and faster and come in little noisy spurts.
As though with her throwaway acknowledgment she had given his body a chore.
Dangerously wanton heat spiraled through her.
She thought of his touch last night.
She had thought of little else since.
Well, that wasn’t altogether true.
So much had happened.
Everything had happened.
“A-again?” she whispered.
He loosened his cravat.
“Again, love.”
“I believe you enjoy bathing me, August,” she said softly. “Would you like me to bathe you?”
“The only thing I would enjoy more is taking care of you, Meghan.” He took in another billowing breath.
Now imagining him bathing her—this powerful man, hateful enough to wage war against a dynasty of dukes—caused a tightening in her core. She pressed her legs together and moved.
The hot glint in his eyes said he knew her naughty shifting too.
And just as she thrilled in her power over him, he felt the same. His dimpled cheeks. The three pulsations of his fists.
