Page 36 of A Wallflower to Win the Viscount

The kiss should have been a light, affectionate gesture, a continuation of their playfulness, but the moment his lips touched hers, it became so much more.

Chapter Twelve

It was her first kiss, and it was glorious. A bit scary as well, but in a good way. A very good way. In a way that excited her body right down to the tip of her curling toes and fingers.

Primrose wasn’t entirely sure what she was supposed to do, so she let her body do whatever it wanted. And what her body wanted was more of his kisses, more of his touch, more of him.

Her hands slid around the back of his head, her fingers curling into his thick hair. She knew her kisses lacked expertise, but she didn’t care. She just had to taste him. She had to fill herself with his heady masculine scent and the wonderful feel of his rough cheek rubbing against hers.

He pulled her in closer, her breasts skimming his muscular chest, and the raw need pulsating through her intensified.

Every inch of her body burst into tingling life. Oh, yes, this was very nice. Very nice indeed. But it would be even more wonderful if she could feel his hands on more of her body, particularly the parts aching for his touch. She sighed, wishing she could feel his kisses on every inch of her skin, not just her lips.

His tongue ran along her bottom lip, gently pushing them apart, opening her up. Primrose gave a small mew of pleasure, as his tongue entered her mouth.

Oh, yes. That, too, felt so right.

Not thinking, just following the needs of her body, she melted into him, her soft breasts pressed against the firm muscles of his chest, her sensitive nipples becoming ever more desperate for his touch. The tension inside her coiled tighter. She kissed him harder. Her body moved closer. Her chest, hips and legs moulded themselves to his.

That’s interesting.

She could feel the hard bulge in his trousers. A delicious sense of power gripped her. She might not be experienced when it came to men, but she knew from her animals exactly what that meant. He was as caught up in the same demanding desire as she was. He wanted her. This sinfully handsome man, this devastatingly magnetic viscount wanted her. He was just as lost in the power of desire as she was. Desire for her. Primrose’s confidence surged, as did her hunger for Lucian, a hunger that had to be sated.

She arched her back, instinctively rubbing herself against his bulging need in time to the pounding rhythm that had taken over her body. With each caress she let him know she wanted more than just his kisses—that she was ready for him.

He groaned, the sound almost primal. A thrill shot through her. He liked what she was doing as much as she liked doing it. She continued to move harder, faster as she deepened her kisses. His groan turned into a guttural growl that unleashed a wild, primitive instinct within her. There was no going back now. They were caught up in a dance as old as time itself, and soon he would take her to its ultimate completion.

His hands cupped her buttocks, pulling her in even tighter, and his kisses moved from her lips down to her neck.

‘Oh, yes, I like that,’ she said on a sigh, loving the feel of his rough skin against her sensitive skin, intoxicated by the thought that this irresistible, formidable man wanted her this desperately.

‘You are so beautiful,’ he murmured.

Another delicious tingle shot through her. He thought she was beautiful, and with his lips tracing a line down her neck, she did feel beautiful. Beautiful, desired, even loved.

‘I want you, Primrose,’ he said.

‘Then, take me,’ she whispered back.

He looked down at her. She could see passion sparking in his eyes. Passion for her. She held his gaze. Her lips parted. Her heart pounded ever faster as she waited for him to act. Waited for him to take control, to show her what it was like for a man to make love to a woman. She gazed up at him, a willing student, eager to learn anything he could teach her.

Like a cloud lifting she watched his face change, desire moving to shock. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again that smouldering look had gone. The rigid, shuttered man was back. His hands dropped from her waist as if they were being burnt. He took a step backwards, their bodies no longer touching.

‘I am so sorry. I should not have done that,’ he said, his voice full of self-loathing, as if caught committing a mortal sin.

‘Yes, you should, and you should do it again,’ Primrose said, taking a step towards him.

‘You are so sweet, so precious,’ he murmured, his tone anguished. ‘Someone should be protecting you from men like me.’

‘No, I don’t need protecting.’ How could he think that? Hadn’t she just kissed him back with a passion equal to his own?

He smiled, an aching, regretful smile. ‘That just proves how innocent you are.’

‘Well, that’s hardly my fault,’ she said, panic building up inside her.

‘Innocence is not a fault. It is something that should be cherished. It is a gift you should give only to the man you love, your husband.’

Primrose stared at him in disbelief. He was now starting to sound like the countess. Why couldn’t he just do what they both so obviously wanted?