He lowered his head.
He’d dreamt of this since that night at Mrs Flavell’s.
His mouth brushed the silky skin just above her stocking, the scent of her stirring something dark in his blood.
Daphne.
He kissed his way to the centre of her heat, his breath fanning over the tight little nub begging for his attention.
The moment stretched. Then his lips touched her there, drawn out as though he meant to savour her slowly.
That resolve lasted a heartbeat.
“Dominic.”
His grip tightened on her thighs, the need to possess her surging through him. He sucked and circled her with his tongue, her hips lifting to meet the rhythm.
He felt the tremor building in her, heard it in every broken gasp. He did not relent.
She called out, reaching for him. “Dominic.”
The sound of her crying his name should have been warning enough. He had spent years building walls no woman had ever crossed—yet here he was, on his knees like a man who had forgotten every rule he lived by.
He lifted his head and rose over her again. For a moment, he simply looked at her. He had faced men who wanted him dead and never once hesitated. Yet this woman could undo him with nothing more than his name on her lips.
“I want you. If you’ve changed your mind, tell me to leave. I’m losing what little discipline I have left.”
She cupped his jaw, the haze of desire alight in her eyes. “Stay. This is the only thing I want. No one’s ever made me feel the way you do.”
He didn’t argue. Couldn’t.
He drew her closer and gave himself over to the moment he had tried and failed to resist.
“I’m a different man with you.”
“Not different. A warmer version, perhaps.”
He should strip her bare. Take it slow. But he couldn’t allow himself time to think. The layers between them were a mercy. Feeling her bare beneath him would break him.
“I need you, Daphne.”
“I’m here, though you might need to undress me first.”
“We won’t waste time with gowns and ribbons.”
“At least help me out of this dress.” She pushed herself up off the mattress, fingers fumbling with the fastenings at her spine.
Saints have mercy.
The bare curve of her shoulders as the fabric parted stopped him cold. Without a word, he turned her gently and worked the buttons himself. The bodice loosened and he eased it from her, helped her step free of the skirt. Her stays and petticoats remained—enough layers between them to keep his head clear.
“Leave the rest,” he said quietly. “If we’re disturbed, I’d rather not explain myself to Ramsey.”
She laughed softly. “You don’t want to see me?”
There was nothing he wanted more. But he was already in deeper than he’d intended. “Yes. When time isn’t against us.” When he had more control over himself.
He drew her back to the bed, his hands settling at her waist as she sank against the pillows. The chemise was soft against her skin, her blue eyes watching him with a trust that undid him completely.
