At the first hot lick against the sensitive curve, her spine bowed.
“I adore how responsive you are,” he grinned wolfishly. “Now that you know you are capable of feminine passion, do not stifle it. Never with me.”
Drawing away a little, he plucked the buttons of her bodice out and, holding her eyes, peeled the shoulders and lapels down to bare her short stays. She was trembling. The sensation of being surrounded by all the male virility that was Dorian made her feel light-headed.
He captured her swollen lips once more, his kiss darker now—deeper—while his fingers made quick, deft work of the laces of her stays. When he dragged them down, baring more ofher to the cool air, his tongue swept into hers with a greedy, breathtaking hunger. She writhed in his lap, panting, helpless under the delicious assault.
His lips wandered from her mouth to her cheek, then lower still, mapping a reverent path along her throat. He found the tender places—the ones that made her tremble—and teased them with wicked flicks of his tongue, the occasional nip of teeth that made her cry out softly. When he reached her collarbone, she thought she might melt.
Then his hands—those large, capable hands—closed over her breasts, and her breath caught. He kneaded gently at first, then more firmly, filling his palms while she arched into him with a gasp. Through the sheer fabric, his thumbs brushed over her stiffened nipples, slow and maddening, until she couldn’t keep still.
She clawed at his shoulder, desperate for more—and he obliged. He circled and teased, over and over, each motion stoking a fire low in her belly. She rocked against him without thought, chasing a pleasure she couldn’t name, only feel. But he knew.Oh, he knew. The heat in his eyes told her he’d give her exactly what she was seeking—and more.
“Evelina,” he nosed at her ear. “I am going to do something. I want to touch you.”
Her sable lashes swept up, and when the haze of arousal faded a little, she caught on to what he’d implied.
“You want to touch me….” She swallowed, “….there?”
“Yes,” he murmured, already gathering her skirts. He hitched the fabric high around her waist, baring her inch by scandalous inch. One strong arm curled beneath her bottom, lifting her from his lap with practiced ease.
Dorian’s hand roamed with reverence, tracing the delicate skin of her inner thighs. Evelina held his gaze, barely breathing, even as his thumb dipped low—brushing the slick heat between her legs with maddening softness.
She canted her head back to bite back a moan. Seeing the bliss cross over her face, he stroked her again, up and down, his nostrils flaring.
“Your body is dripping nectar,” he whispered in her ear. “One day, I’ll drink it from the source.”
“You—you mean to put your mouth o-on…”
“Yes,” he kissed under her ear while he tapped her center. “Right here.”
Her words vanished into a whimper as he found her swollen bud, rubbed and circled that throbbing peak while his lips never left her skin.
Ellie’s hands flew back and planted both upon the edge of the table, as she arched herself into his touch. Her mouth parted to release soft pants, her eyes grew dazed and heavy-lidded as he teased her.
His breathing grew harsh as her wetness coated his fingers. “That’s my girl. Take your pleasure. Show me how badly you want this,” he commanded.
A strangled noise left her. Her hips moved, and her wanton obedience sent another blast of heat to his groin. By pure force of will— a gift honed by years in the stews— Dorian forced his desire down.
His arousal pushed against the fine wool of his trousers, but he preferred to drink in the bliss dancing over her face.
Her bosom lifted and fell, while her body trembled. He tested the water and couldn’t help but slide a finger inside. Her tight, pulsing heat almost stripped him of his senses.
“And here I thought—” she gasped and shuddered, “—you would have seduced me with double entendres, or—” his finger thrusted slowly inside, “—or poetry in my ear... ah…”
He smirked. “I always believed the direct approach yields more fruit. Besides, I am no fop. I do not have a poet’s tongue or the fancy words you women crave to hear, nor do I care for one.”
Her pelvis tilted in answer, nudging his finger toward her straining peak. “You do not need it…” she gasped, “not for me...”
“Good,” he circled her swollen bud.
He bent his head and captured one ruby nipple in his lips through the sheer fabric and suckled hard. She moaned, her body clenching over him. Holding back a smirk, Dorian used his fingers, lips, and teeth to torment her— but drew away the instant she was about to shatter.
A low, guttural moan tore from her lips. Her gaze fluttered, unfocused, dazed with desire—and when it settled on him, confusion mingled with need. “Why—why did you stop?”
“I’ll let you come whenIdecide you’re ready,” he muttered, his fingers beginning their slow, torturous path once more. “And when you do, I want you completely undone.Incoherent.”
Her eyes were glassy, her cheeks flushed. “You are such a—”
