He let out another low groan, and his hands slid to the small of her back, drawing her to the edge of the chair until she was nearly in his lap, every ragged breath she took echoing in his lungs. “Please, what? What do you want, Tilly?”
She didn’t answer—not with words. Instead, she sank her fingers into his hair, and pulled his head down to hers.
ChapterTwelve
She was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.
He slanted his mouth over hers, the hot rush of blood through his veins roaring in his ears, drowning out the faint voice reminding him she was an innocent.
Aninnocent, and so trusting, with big blue eyes a man could drown in.
And he was drowning, descending deeper with every gasp, every sigh and quiet moan, every shared breath between them. He wanted her so badly, was another brush of her lips away from gathering her into his arms, laying her down on his desk, and savoring her breathless cries as he took her, and made her his.
Do you think you deserve to be cursed?
How had she known to ask that question? No one had ever bothered to before. The truth…well, it shocked him, because he’d lived with the threat of the curse for so long, at some point, he’d begun to believe hediddeserve it.
But did he? He wasn’t as good a man as he ought to be— as hecouldbe —but he wasn’t like Freddy, or the other Earls of Prestwick who’d come before him. He’d never ruined an innocent. He’d never taken a young lady’s virtue.
He’d never even been tempted.
Until now.
Tilly was aninnocent.
But a need unlike any he’d never known had him in its grip, and it was hurtling him from one dizzying kiss to the next, the wild tide of desire sweeping everything else before it, and he was helpless to free himself from it.
He didn’twantto be free of it. Not ever.
He was starved for her—for her mouth, her every breath, for the slender curves hidden underneath the night rail fisted in his hand. Every urge, every instinct screamed at him to lose himself in her, to let himself drown in an ocean of thick chestnut hair and soft, creamy skin.
“Kit.” She twined her arms around his neck, and slid her fingers into his hair, dragging his head closer to hers, the soft stroke of her tongue inside his mouth stealing his breath, his reason. “Please.”
Dear God, that soft plea went straight to his cock. He gasped when she met his frantic strokes, losing himself in the damp silk of her mouth, the shy caresses of her tongue against his, sweet, slick and devastating.
He had to slow down, to take a breath, and regain his wits.
“Tilly.” He tore his mouth from hers, sucking a breath of air into his lungs, a rush of heady triumph roaring through him when she melted against him with a soft sigh, tucking her face against his neck.
His breath caught. It was so unexpected, that gesture, sotrusting. What had he ever said or done to deserve her trust? The sweetness of it stunned him, swelling inside his chest, and twining around his heart.
He slid his palm from her neck to her chin, tilting her face up to his. Her mouth had gone a dark, wet pink from his kisses, and he leaned closer to nip at her swollen lower lip. Her fingers tightened in his hair, a needy sound falling from her lips.
“Shhh.” He soothed the bite with gentle kisses to her lips, her cheek, his hand sliding lower to stroke the silky skin at the base of her neck, smiling at the frantic flutter of her pulse against his fingertips. Her breathing quickened at the light caress, and he urged her closer, desperate to feel the press of her body against his.
He wanted to touch her forever, learn every inch of her, make her sigh and gasp and beg with every stroke of his fingers, his tongue. He wanted to hold her against him, feel her shiver with pleasure. “You’re so lovely, Tilly.”
His lips followed the path his fingers had taken, dropping a dozen kisses along her neck and throat before moving back up to nibble on the sensitive skin behind her ear—she was so soft there, so warm—and taste the flutter of her pulse.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, his other hand inching up her rib cage, dragging against the loose linen of her night rail. He reached out to trace his fingertip over the outline of her breast, lingering at the place where the neckline gave way to her skin. The firelight played over her, revealing teasing glimpses of the shadows of her nipples, and the perfect creamy swells of her breasts.
“Touch me, Kit.” She caught his wrist, and placed his hand on her breast, gasping when he cupped her tenderly in his palm, his thumb brushing the straining peak of her nipple.
“Does it feel good when I touch you here?” he whispered, taking her mouth in another heated kiss as he teased the hardened nub, stroking her there until she was trembling in his arms, soft, desperate whimpers falling from her lips.
“I want your hands on me.” He pressed one of her hands inside the open neck of his shirt, a low groan tearing from his throat when her fingers brushed his bare skin.
Dear God, what was she doing to him? He’d kissed many women, had touched them, but not one of them had ever maddened him the way she did. He wanted more, wanted her closer…
