He was disrobing her. And she liked it.
“This.”
He peeled her sleeves down her arms, then tugged at her skirts so that her gown fell to the floor, pooling around her slipper-shod feet. She was clad in nothing more than a chemise, her stays, and her stockings.
“What of this?” He took her mouth again.
She could not answer, because his lips were on hers, moving with delicious precision. This man knew how to kiss. At least, she imagined he did, having no comparison.
When he pulled his mouth from hers, she gave him his answer.
“Yes. Oh, yes.”
“Good.” The smile he gave her warmed her to her toes. “Let us get you out of the rest of your garments and see what else you like.”
She had a suspicion it was going to be everything.
Mirabel offered no protest as he stripped her bare. He was a distraction of kisses, caresses, and murmured admiration. Somehow, she was naked and on his bed, and he was still fully clothed as he joined her. She ought to have been embarrassed, but it was as if a delirium of pleasure had settled over her, one of this man’s making.
And he was right there with her, his mouth moving over her hungry skin in worshipful kisses, his hands traveling over her in delicious caresses. He kissed a path down her collarbone, to the center of her chest, before dragging his lips lower, between her breasts.
“Do you like this?” he whispered as he kissed her nipple, then blew a stream of hot air over it.
She swallowed. “Yes.”
His lips closed over the taut bud, and he sucked.
Glorious sensation blossomed.
He flicked his tongue over her, lapping gently, and the pleasure heightened. She clutched at him, not knowing where to place her hands. Wanting to touch him everywhere. She settled for his coat, frustrated by the layers keeping her from his skin. She attempted to pull it down his shoulders and arms, but he was intent upon lavishing his torture upon first one breast, then the other.
And when he sucked hard, then alternated between raking his teeth over the sensitive flesh and licking, she forgot to care about the fabric keeping her from what she wanted. Because she wanted something else more.
“I like this, too,” he told her, sending a smoldering glance in her direction.
He kissed lower then, down her belly, his tongue dipping into the hollow and making her hips buck. His hands were on her thighs, coasting over her and inciting fire everywhere they went. He drew nearer to the center of her, and instead of thinking about duty as she had in the past, all she could think about was how desperately she wanted him there. His lips, his tongue.
Was it possible?
He kissed her mound, then guided her legs wider, opening her to him. His thumb parted her folds and his head dipped. His tongue glided over the bundle of flesh only Mirabel had ever touched.
“Sweet God,” she moaned, about to explode into a thousand glittering shards of herself.
“Not God.” He sucked, all the while holding her gaze before releasing her with a slow grin. “Just me.”
The arrogance of the man.
But on him, it was somehow charming. And he was wonderfully handsome. And his tongue was performing the most incredible feats upon her intimate flesh. She should look away. What he was doing was sinful. Shameful, surely.
He licked down her seam.
His tongue wasinsideher. There. Dear God,there.
A sound fled her lips, half moan, half gasp. Her hips jerked up to meet him, bringing him deeper. The wet thrust inside her channel set off ripples of answering desire. She had never experienced anything like it, and as with everything Damian Winter had done to her thus far, she wanted more of it.
More ofhim.
Her fingers sank into his hair, finding purchase in the thick, glossy waves. Without thought, she thrust herself against him, seeking. Searching. He made a low sound of approval and worked his way back to the bud of her sex, where he tortured her with more gentle nips of his teeth and suction.
