Her hands sinking into his hair as if she owned the very shape of his skull, a sweet, unconscious claiming. “I did ache. But I took care of it.”
“How?” He rested his forehead on her belly, every bit of himself unraveling.
“A little imagination. My own hand.”
“Are you trying to make me jealous?”
“Can I? With only… my own touch?”
He caught both her wrists, pinned them against the wall. “Absolutely.”
“I thought ofyou, though.”
His throat felt raw. “You’re supposed to run from me, Tessa, not entice me.” She was a torment talking like a tease, insisting he resurrect her oldfriend. “Run, Tessa, or I’ll keep going.” He held his breath.
She didn’t run.
Thank God.
He slipped his hands beneath her skirts and rubbed up her legs, around the outside of her perfect thighs.
“What are you—” Her words choked off, replaced by a moan as he kissed her seam, licked it.
He inhaled deeply, surrounded by her scent. Perfect. He nuzzled the inside of her thigh. Her shiver was a goddamn delight.
He shouldn’t do this. Really, he shouldn’t. Knew better. But he’d been looking to make a scandal. He found the pearl hidden in her curls and rubbed circles around it with his thumb, listening to the rhythm of her body all around him, letting that rhythm tell him what she liked.
She liked bright colors and quiet mornings.
And though she hid it well, she liked being a little naughty. Sneaking out of church on Sundays, stealing biscuits from the kitchen, sending art to London. Now this.
He kissed her sweet cunny, tasted it with a long, lazy lick. Her breath caught, his name on her lips broken in two.
“You… you shouldn’t. What are you…”
He wasn’t working hard enough if she could still talk. He dug his hands into the generous meat of her hips and ate her up like a man starving. The stables were a living thing, the horses’ whinnies hiding their own furtive noises. His cock was hard and demanding, but he needed her pleasure first. Her breathing quickened. He ignored his body’s need. It was that or come in his trousers like a boy of sixteen touching his first breast. Might happen anyway.
His entire body was hard with the taste of her on his tongue. “So sweet,” he murmured before lapping at her clitoris, nipping at it.
She tugged at his hair. Her entire body shivered, clenched. When a moan slipped between her lips, he shot a hand up to cover her mouth, to smother those throaty little cries shecouldn’t seem to control. Or to keep them forever in the palm of his hand.
She mouthed his name against that palm as he slipped his fingers into her, rubbing his other thumb in patient circles.
It didn’t take long. He felt her shudder, felt the painful pleasure ripple down her body. She jerked, every muscle seizing, and the back of her head hit the wall—a hard blow.
He cursed, leaving the heaven of her skirts and cradling her head, kissing her face as she melted into his embrace.
She chuckled, her breath hot on his neck, her hands fists in the linen of his shirt.
“Better than your hand?” he whispered near her ear.
“Uhng.” She seemed for a moment like she might sink into him, stay forever cradled against his chest.
He released her—pulled up her bodice, fixed her sleeves, and stepped away.
“Remmy?” She wobbled, finding it difficult to keep herself upright without help.
He’d done that to her. He wanted to do it to her again, over and over and over again, and he was confident she’d let him with a very little persuasion. He was closer than he’d ever been to having her. He could still feel her against his skin, taste her on his lips.
