His hand moved—slowly, deliberately—to the neckline of her gown.He hesitated only a second, seeking her eyes.She didn’t look away.She didn’t stop him.
He tugged down the edge of the fabric, revealing the swell of her breast above her chemise.
Her breath stuttered.
He lowered his head.
Her hands flew to his hair…but she didn’t push him away.She held him.Urged him.
Nicholas pushed her back down onto the seat, as his lips closed around the hard peak of her nipple through the thin linen.His mouth was warm and teasing at first, then sucked her with deeper intent as she arched into his wet heat.A trembling sigh broke from her throat—quiet, shocked, utterly undone.
He groaned at the sound.
He drew the fabric lower, just enough to bare her fully, and his mouth covered her again—hot, hungry, reverent.His tongue circled the little bud, slow and decadent, and she gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair.
“Nicholas…” she whimpered.
He dragged his mouth along her, tasting, savoring, letting every suppressed desire he’d been carrying pour into each heated stroke of his tongue.
She writhed beneath him.
He felt her legs shift, her body arch, her breath catch in his ear…
And God help him, he wanted her.All of her.Completely.
He lifted his head, chest heaving, his mouth swollen from her skin.She was a beautiful mess—flushed, lips parted, bodice askew, hair tumbling like loosened silk.
Gorgeous.
He kissed her again instantly, deeply, instinctively.She tasted like defiance and an admission she’d never speak aloud.
His mouth angled over hers, teasing, then claiming, slow enough to tempt, deep enough to undo.She arched into him, fingers sinking into his shoulders as though she’d forgotten she ever meant to resist him.
She shivered beneath him.
“Bea,” he murmured.
She opened her eyes, dazed, lips parted.
He brought her hand to his chest—right over the frantic beat of his heart—and held it there.“Feel what you do to me,” he said softly.
Her fingers curled, unthinking, drawn to the warmth of him.He watched her realization bloom—slow, startled, hungry.
Then, still holding her hand, he guided it lower…enough that she felt his gasp as she touched first along the line of his waistcoat, and then beneath it, where desire and restraint collided in the smallest, sharpest tremor of his abdomen.
Her lips parted in a soft, startled sound as he moved her hand to his throbbing cock, starkly outlined beneath his breeches.
“That,” he murmured, “is how you affect me.”
Her knee pressed lightly against his thigh, unbidden.
He felt the delicate tremble of her whole body.
She didn’t pull away.
He let his hand drift down to the hem of her skirts—slow, deliberate, warm—urging her subtly closer, showing her the rhythm of how bodies leaned, how want drew two people together without force or command.
Her breath broke on a sigh.
