She tapped her chin. “Well, we can’t take off my gown. The hour is too late.” A pity, such a pity. Though . . . she gazed at him, the buttons on his shirt already undone, revealing thick black hair covering his torso . . . Oh, to rub that against her . . .
“But I do have some loosening skills.” He reached out and trailed his hand from her neck down the bodice of her gown and cupped her left breast through the thick fabric, but with a delicious firmness that made her gasp. “And I’m wondering . . .” He squeezed before tracing around her straining nipple with a single finger. “Are these a bit sore, Isabelle?”
Her moan was more of a whine as she closed her eyes and swore under her breath. “However did you guess?”
“I can be very, very, very, very clever in the right, limited circumstances.” He fiddled with her buttons in the back and her stays and slid her gown down her shoulder. With a reverent growl, he bowed his head as he freed her breasts. Kneading one, he bent down and took the other in his mouth, his tongue swirling as his finger did.
“My God,” she near shrieked before biting her lip.
“Shh,” he admonished, drawing back. “Do we need to stop? Because if you’re going to be that loud . . .”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, we’re at the end of a hall, and there’s music and a great crowd downstairs. No one will hear.” She reached out and ran the palm of her hand over his chest.
“I don’t know . . .” He was smiling, but his lips weren’t on her anymore. He grasped her wrist, shaking his head as if he was actually considering stopping. “I’m not sure we should—”
“Bloody, blasted bastard.” She pouted a little. He was mean when he teased.
“Now who sounds goyishe?” he asked.
“I pride myself on using accurate words, wherever their source.” She slid her hands down his chest. “And I can give you more if you’ll remove this for me.”
“Fair enough.” He shrugged his shirt off, leaving her to gape at his bare torso in the low light and wet her lips, desire mounting again.
Firm hands grasped her waist as he pulled her flush against him. “Let’s see what other good ones I can get you to say.”
She worked to keep her voice haughty as he started on her nipples again, the lazy circles building need all the way down to her toes. “I believe all my words are only carefully considered and by choice.” She shrieked as his teeth grazed her, already grinding her body against his as the passion built.
“Is that a challenge?” He raised an eyebrow before lifting his head and kissing down her neck, all the while still thumbing and worrying and circling. Her hips made similar motions against him as her nails dug into his bare back.
“Perhaps,” she gasped.
“Only perhaps?” he asked before swirling his tongue again, causing her to cry out. He was going to kill her. She was going to die on the library table and the Berabs would end her family line by default, but at the moment it didn’t matter—nothing mattered except her body and his and all they could be together.
“Most certainly.” She closed her eyes, allowing the glorious sensations to wash over her. And all too quickly, he pulled back from her. Isabelle straightened, opening her eyes wide. “What are you doing?” she asked as he stepped down, feet on the floor.
“Getting into a good spot.” He planted his feet and positioned himself between her legs so if she extended them just a little more, she could wrap them around his waist.
A half moan erupted from her lips at the image alone and she scooted forward, doing just that. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, kissing down the same area he had, before taking his lips again.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked, breaking the kissing. Reaching back, he stroked her hair.
“About what?” She worked to summon all her courage as her heart pounded in her chest. “I mean, I was hoping you’d do the work of hitching these skirts—they’re rather heavy—but allowing you to touch below them . . .” As if to demonstrate, she gathered up all the fabric and petticoats and even the hem of her chemise and threw them to the side, exposing her stockings and garters and drawers, working to keep eye contact and not flush. “I’m very certain.” She tipped her chin. “Unless you don’t think you’re up to the task.”
“Well, I’d prefer it without these.” He fingered the lace edge of her drawers, traveling up and up toward the slit. “But at least there’s some access.”
He pulled apart the edges.
“I’m sorry? I suppose nex—” She gasped as his finger spread her curls and began those slow but firm circles right on her bud. “God.” She almost choked on the word as the delicious tension spread through her body. “That’s good.” The word was a near whine.
“Just good?” he asked, pausing, a smugness in his voice.
“It would be better if you continued.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, willing herself to say it out loud, what she had only heard whispers of in the back of drawing rooms, in conversations she was not permitted to be a part of. “With your tongue.” She dug her nails into the wood, every inch of her yearning for him to not be horrified by the suggestion.
“Bossy.” The smirk was audible, but with a whoosh he was on his knees, his hands on her hips, pulling her to the very edge of the table as she rested back on her elbows. “And impolite.”
“Fine. With your tongue, please. You know, I’m a leader. I—” And her head rolled back as his tongue connected with her flesh, mimicking his finger. “Yes.” The word was more of a half scream, half moan and near completely garbled. “Please.” She swallowed as he obliged.
He pulled back and spread her a little with his finger. “Lovely,” he whispered as he pressed the slick digit against her folds. She strained as her hips started to move almost of their own accord, causing her elbows to slip a little as she grasped for purchase.
