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The Viscount’s Vice

Page 146

by Wendy LaCapra

“Simon,” she said breathlessly, “I feel positively primal.”

“I want you primal, darling minx.”

Both her favorite words. Together.

“Now to remove the evidence.”

She reached for the tie in the ribbon covering the fastenings of Millie’s bib-front gown.

He stilled her hand. “Today mine’s the work.” He smiled wickedly. “But I promise we both will have the pleasure. Stand up.”

Though weak-kneed, she complied.

First, he removed the ribbon around her waist. Unlike his outer layers and her pins, the ribbon never reached the floor. Instead, with strangely specific attention, he placed the cord on the bed before he resumed.

As he worked, she ran an affectionate gaze over his tousled hair and his flushed cheeks. He’d unconsciously bit his lip in an adorable fashion as he worked to untangle the knots in the ties that held her bodice together.

Simon. Her Simon. With not a secret between them. At times, she hadn’t been sure they’d ever arrive in this place.

In his characteristically careful way, and with tenderness specific to her, he’d guided them toward the afternoon’s real prize—the bonds of trust. This was merely the celebratory conclusion.

He peeled away one side of the surplice bodice that crisscrossed over her breasts. Then he went to work on the other knots until both sides loosened. The dress dropped down and pooled around her feet. Cool air lifted gooseflesh across her throat.

The short stays Millie had made for the dress were loose, even for Lenora’s growing breasts. They bound at the center—he made quick work of removing them, too. Although still wearing her chemise, already she felt unclothed.

“There, my darling,” he said with an impudent grin, “I have rendered you safe from prosecution.”

“Heroic,” she whispered. “And fiendish.”

“Only fiendish if your needs go unmet. And I’ve given my word they would not.” He rested heavy hands on her shoulders. “Soft.” He ran his hands from her shoulders down over her breasts; he rested them on her hips. He gathered her up against him. “And hard.”

“I can feel the cudgel.”

He let out a quiet, playfully sweet laugh. “Don’t be scared.”

“Not scared. Just waiting. Desperate for the part when I unravel.”

“Interesting choice of words.” The gleam in his eyes darkened as he gathered up her shift. “Now be good and raise your arms.”

She did, feeling a small clench. “You’re a surprisingly demanding lover.”

“Do you mind?” He tossed aside her chemise.

She should mind.

She was standing in front of him in only her stockings. But her breasts were heavy and her hair was tickling her nipples.

Whatever he wanted to give, she wanted to receive.

“In this context, no.” Although her fingers wriggled on their own when she thought of undoing his falls. “What now?”

“Now I take my fill.”

The air was frosty, but his heated perusal kept her warm. Soon, she knew, she would be pinned beneath him, covered, safe, scorching. For now, she was brazenly unclothed.

And she didn’t care.

In fact, when she covered one breast, she did so not from shame but for stimulation.