Kincaid obliged, leisurely suckling one swollen peak and then the other. Soon, her entire body was as taut as a bowstring and she feared she might explode. There was a…atensionrising within her. Unlike anything she’d ever encountered before. The tension only increased when his hand slipped beneath her skirts and found the inside of her leg.
Her drawers were loosely fitted, allowing more than enough room for his fingers to glide up to the juncture of her thighs. He paused just shy of touching the curls that nestled there and met her gaze. His amber eyes gleamed with a wolfish intensity, and she understood the question he was asking before he could form the sentence.
“Yes,” she whimpered, shamelessly rubbing herself against the hand beneath her dress when he rolled her nipple between his thumb and finger. “Oh,yes.”
He kissed her.
Stroking her above the waist and below, he kissed her.
Slowly at first, so slowly she nearly stomped her foot in frustration, and then the tempo increased as his tongue stole boldly between her lips and his finger stroked the small nub buried between her slick folds from which all of that delicious tension was radiating.
Faster, and faster, and faster he pleasured her. She writhed on the desk, her hips instinctively rising to meet his hand as she returned his kiss with a desperate enthusiasm.
Almost, she wanted to beg.Almost.
She didn’t understand what she was reaching towards, only that Kincaid was bringing her closer and closer to it with every wicked flick of his wrist. Her nails streaked up and over his shoulders, unconsciously urging him on as she rode his hand with all the wild abandon of some dockside hussy.
Then, a final stroke.
The peak.
A guttural noise rose from the depths of Kincaid’s throat as she clamped her thighs around his hand and cried out. Her head fell back, her arms went limp. If it was possible, she could have sworn her heart stopped as well. At the very least, it stuttered.
And why wouldn’t it? She’d just touched lightning. Had been touchedbylightning. Surely that was the only comparable explanation of what had occurred. Of what Kincaid had done to her. Of what he’d doneforher. He had taken passion, wrapped it in a pretty box, added a bow, and given it to her. A gift she hadn’t expected, but one which she was exceedingly pleased to have received.
Much more practical than flowers and sweet candies.
Her eyes were still squeezed shut. She opened them to see Kincaid was still hovering above her. His gaze was unreadable, his nostrils flared. A thin sheen of perspiration gleamed high on his brow and his hair was in disarray. Reaching out, she tucked a piece behind his ear. For an instant, he leaned into her embrace. For an instant, she held the weight of his heart in the palm of her hand. Then he stiffened, and pulled back.
“Miss Thorncroft—”
“I am sitting on your desk half-naked with my skirts above my knees,” she interrupted. “Surely we can dispel with the formalities.”
Other women in her position may have felt self-conscious. Embarrassed. Perhaps even a little ashamed. But Joanna did not find any shame in what she’d done with Kincaid. Quite the opposite, in fact.
She felt liberated.
She felt empowered.
She also felt a slight chill.
“Would you mind?” she asked, turning her back towards Kincaid so that he could assist in helping her redress. There was no saving the corset, but after a few tugs and adjusting a button here and there, she managed without it. Her hair was another matter. Tangled beyond repair, the best she could manage was shoving it behind her shoulders.
“I’ll make certain to wear my hat when I leave.” Her lips, swollen from his kisses, twitched at the corners. “Wouldn’t want the neighbors gossiping if they saw the state of my coiffure.”
His mouth flattened. “Miss Thorncroft—”
“Joanna,” she said. “Call me Joanna.”
Something flickered in the depths of his amber gaze. “That would be unprofessional.”
She snorted. She couldn’t help it. “If using my Christian name is unprofessional, what would you call…well…”—she pointed at the desk—“that?”
“A mistake,” he said flatly.
Now it was Joanna who stiffened. “A mistake?” she repeated. “Kissing me was amistake?”
He grimaced. “That’s not what I…that’s not what I meant.”
