Page 61 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

“I will stop if you want. Just say the word.” He began to stroke her legs. Hard muscles, long flanks, trim calves as he gently stroked her skirt up. “Do you know how your body can feel? Or have you been so busy fighting yourself that you never even allowed yourself to ask?”

She bit her lip, telling him her answer. She had spent six years—probably many more—fighting her nature. He nuzzled his head down to her neck, grazing her flesh with his teeth before biting softly. Just a pinch before soothing it with his tongue.

“Jo told me things,” she murmured. “But I didn’t understand it.”

“And you want to know.”

“Yes.”

He wondered if this was part of her drive to get married. Did she long to express her passions in her marriage bed? Oh, he prayed so.

And while his balls tightened high and hard, he slipped his fingers beneath her skirt. How many times had he imagined this? The sweet length of her legs, her parted lips, the tight buds of her nipples barely noticeable beneath her gown.

“Close your eyes,” he urged. Her lids flickered closed, and he leaned forward to kiss her as a reward, though whether it was for her or him, he didn’t know. And as he moved, his hands naturally slid up her legs.

She was wearing stockings. Practical cotton, and at the top, a ribbon tied tight enough it cut into her leg. He tugged the ribbon tie undone.

“This is very wicked,” she murmured. Her eyes were open again. And below her waist, her legs were tightening.

He stopped his progress, gently caressing. “I mean to show you that wayward can be very good. Did you want me to stop?” She had to agree or he would undo all the trust between them. “Mari, tell me what you feel.”

She licked her lips, the pink dart of her tongue making his cock surge. “I feel hot,” she said. “I cannot catch my breath.”

He waited, knowing there was more but needing her to find the words.

“My…chest is full and…” She swallowed. “And tight.”

“Your breasts, you mean.” His gaze went to the full, lush mounds.

“Y-yes.”

“And here,” he said, squeezing her thigh slightly. “What do you feel here?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but then shook her head.

“Are you wet?” he coaxed.

She nodded.

“That is very good. Do you know how the act is done?”

Again she nodded. “But you said—”

“I won’t take your virginity, Mari. I swore that to you.”

“Yes,” she said, as if reassuring herself.

“But there is a pleasure that can be had without that.” He squeezed again, a little higher this time. Then he held still. “Say you want this, Mari. You have to tell me that you—”

“Yes.” The word was rushed. “Please show me.”

He wanted to crow aloud in pure masculine pride, but he held it in check. And while he waited, her thighs relaxed so he could slide up the last inch. He felt her curls against the tip of his fingers. She jolted when he connected, but then quickly stilled. Her buttocks were tight, lifting her high, but not away from him. Not if he kept still and waited for her.

A moment.

A bit.

She eased back down, and this time her legs spread a little farther. Enough for him to crook a finger and slide between her petals. She gasped, and her eyelids fluttered.