Page 67 of A Story of Love

Fast felt as though Christmas had come early this year as he caressed from Lorelei’s trim ankles up her shapely calves to the soft, yielding flesh of her thighs.

“Bloody hell you have beautiful legs! They should be on display in a museum.” He stroked up and down slowly, reveling in their curvaceous magnificence.

She laughed. “I have already agreed to tonight, my lord. You needn’t shower me with compliments to persuade me.”

Fast frowned and his hands froze just above her knees, their ultimate destination forgotten for the moment. “Who was it who taught you to believe that compliments were nothing but tools to pry a woman’s thighs apart, Lorelei?”

She colored slightly but collected her wits with the celerity to which he had become accustomed. “I just meant—”

“I know what you meant,” he said, resuming his stroking. “As it happens, I enjoy telling you what I like about you—probably more than you like hearing it.”

She pulled her lips between her teeth for a moment, as if struggling to stifle a smile, and then said, “I like hearing it.”

Fast nodded his approval and allowed his hands to continue their journey. This time he did not stop at the border where cotton met flesh but explored higher and higher. He felt the heat of her cunny even before his fingers reached the damp, springy curls that guarded her sex. “My God, Lorelei.” Blood roared in his ears as he slid a finger between her slick folds. “You aren’t wet—you’re drenched.” He lightly flicked her engorged nub before she had a chance to respond to his crude words and was rewarded for his audacity when a muffled cry tore from her slack lips, her full, shapely hips lifting in silent appeal as Fast teased the source of her arousal. Her thighs, which she’d clenched so tightly only moments before, strained as she opened herself to him.

“Look at me, darling,” he ordered when her eyelids began to drift shut, amused and aroused by the quick way she responded—even though it was clear that her inclination to rebel against authority warred with the sensual pleasure she took in submitting.

Fast was truly looking forward to taking her apart.

But first, he needed to get her out of her horrid clothing.

Although it pained him, he withdrew his hand, needing both to shove the voluminous petticoat and stiff panels of her gown up to her waist. “Christ,” he muttered. “These damned skirts.” He fumbled with the fastenings before finally just tearing the faded, worn material.

Rather than chide him for his roughness, she helped him and together they ripped and tugged on the garments until all she had on were her chemise, short stays, stockings, and ankle boots.

Fast shoved aside the mountains of petticoats and skirts and then looked up at her.

He’d worried that the brief foray into practicalities would bring her back to her senses, but she merely watched him from beneath lowered lids, her lips parted with what looked to be anticipation.

Ah, here was his intrepid newspaperwoman.

He caressed up her stocking sheathed calves until his hands rested beneath each knee. “Over the armrests.”

Her eyes widened as she realized the view that would afford him.

Fast watched with interest as she struggled, modesty fighting with curiosity and desire.

Primitive hunger roared through him when she complied, jerkily lifting one knee and resting it over the armrest, and the other.

He didn’t allow himself to look down yet, keeping his gaze fixed on her face. “Now slide your bottom to the edge of the chair. More.”

She caught her lower lip with her teeth and complied.

Fast stroked her thighs, the strained and stretched muscles twitching beneath his palms. “Are you uncomfortable?”

She shook her head, her breasts straining above the plain corset as she angled herself in a way that she could see what he was about.

Only when she was settled did he allow himself to look down. He released an explosive breath at the sight that met his hungry gaze. Although the chemise covered her, a dark triangle was visible beneath the thin muslin, which was almost transparent from many washings.

Rather than lift the shift and expose her, he pulled the fabric taut, until her mound was imprisoned beneath the muslin, the erotic details of her wide-spread sex limned in a way that both exposed and teased.

Fast lightly caressed her over the damp muslin, glancing up and pausing his gentle petting when a needy sound tore from her throat.

Her jaws had clenched until the muscles and sinews stood out beneath the flushed skin of her throat. Her hips lifted until she nudged his hand.

Fast gave her what she wanted, circling the rapidly swelling bundle of nerves until the muslin was soaked and small, animal grunts slipped from her mouth with each flex of her hips. He waited until she was maddened by lust—until she’d forgotten about her wanton sprawl or the man fingering her or anything but the need to climax.

That’s when he lowered his mouth and sucked her stiff little nub between his lips.