The hand at her neck maneuvered her face slightly to the side, offering him better access, and she let him guide her. After all, he was the expert in this field, and she was the student obeying the call of her master.
If he would just keep kissing her, in that urgent, desperate way, as though she was the only thing in the world he could ever want, she would never ask for anything more. If kissing could be like this, she would have done it earlier. She would have—
He slid a hand down her back to her backside and she stopped thinking entirely. The very act of grinding against him, her hips against his, the brush of something hard against her stomach, made that melting happen significantly faster.
Then he broke away, and his face was alive with anger. “Not want you?” he demanded again, his voice low and grating, the darkness in his eyes seeming to consume him utterly. “How could you possibly think I don’t want you?” The hand on her hip guided her to move against him again, and his nostrils flared as she rubbed against the length in his breeches. “Isthatnot evidence enough?”
It was certainly evidence ofsomething, but Sybil didn’t have enough wits—or perhaps not enough experience—to know of what. All she knew was that the way his pupils had flared, so wide she could barely see the blue of his eyes, made her want to fall into them and drown. She wanted him to kiss her again, to erase this entire day—her name—from her mind.
“I know what I want,” she told him. “I want this. I want you.” She had never been so bold in her life, but she embraced the boldness. “I want to forget. Just for today. Just for now.”
He stiffened under her. “Do you know how difficult you’re making it for me?”
She ran a hand down his chest, to his stomach, and lower, to the arousal contained in his breeches. He hissed a breath. “My recommendation is,” she said, looking back up at him and swaying even closer, “don’t try to resist.”
It was as though her words unlocked something in him, and he took hold of her face again, not gently, dragging her to him. Sybil returned his kiss with every drop of the vehemence he gave her, exchanging passion for passion, offering him her need in exchange for his.
He eased her back against the grass, never breaking his mouth from hers, hands wandering down her body. His weight pressed down on her, making it difficult for her to breathe, but this moment was so sweet, that she wasn’t sure if she would ever want to breathe again.
No—as her lungs strained, she concluded shedidwant to breathe again, but as though he had sensed that need inside her, he broke the kiss and turned his attention to her neck. For good measure, she threaded her hands through his hair, and he groaned.
“I want to taste you,” he said against her skin. The sound of those words sent heat pouring into her belly, and lower, to the juncture of her thighs.
On occasion, after her mother had displayed a more notable lack of decorum than usual, Sybil had explored that area in the privacy of her own room. It hadn’t seemed to contain anything particularly interesting, or that might tempt a man, but it hadn’t felt then as it felt now.
She felt as though she was liquid, or perhaps that all of her would become molten in his hands. Obeying the unspoken commands of her body, she opened her legs so he could better fit between them, and when that didn’t seem adequate encouragement, she wrapped them around his waist.
This time, his groan seemed drawn from his innermost being, and he scraped his teeth down her neck to the curve of her shoulder. In a single movement, he ripped the lace away, baring her skin to him. The heat of his mouth, the warmth of the sun, the gentle caress of the wind, the burning in her core—it was all a cacophony of sensation she was unable to resist.
“This dress,” he said as he reached the neckline. “I’ve disliked it since I first saw it.”
She gave a breathless laugh. This time, when the world was spinning, she didn’t think it was because of the wine. “Mama wishes to dress me in the mostscandalousclothes.”
“They would show you more to advantage.” He applied himself to her buttons with more dexterity than she could ever have done, and all too soon, although not soon enough, he had slipped it from her shoulders and off, down her hips, tossing it aside as though it offended him.
He paused, hovering above her, and took in the way she lay before him. Although she couldn’t see what he could see, she knew her nipples, pink and hard, were straining against the material of her chemise, and her legs were all but bare to that gentle breeze.
“This is better,” he told her, reaching out to cup one of her breasts. His thumb brushed across her nipple and she let out a gasp. His expression turned wicked. “Do you like that, you little minx?”
“I am not aminx,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster, but that was very little given he stroked her again, and she about fell apart under his ministrations.
“I asked you a question, My Lady.”
“Call me Sybil,” she said, doing her best not to gasp. There was a great, mounting need building between her legs, and she wondered if he might soon turn his attention there, and be more pleased with what he found there than she had been.
“Sybil.” His tongue curled over her name. “I want to taste you, Sybil.”
She shivered again, but although the words seemed laced with sensual meaning, she wasn’t entirely sure what they meant. “What do you mean, taste me?” she demanded. “Taste me how?”
“If you allow me, I’ll show you.” His fingers trailed down her stomach, over her hips, pausing by the tops of her thighs, inches away from where she wanted him—needed him. This ache was a need now. “Do you want me to show you?”
She wanted him to do whatever he chose with her, as long as it would keep feeling this good. “Yes,” she whispered.
His lips curled into a satisfied smile, and he drew her chemise up, over her thighs, up over her hips, up and up and up until he was tugging it over her head, mindless of the laces. The length in his breeches appeared to be tight against his breeches, and he gave a small sound in the back of his throat, similar to the one he had made when he was kissing her.
“You have just the body to arouse a man,” he told her, trailing his fingers along her sides, along the inside of her thigh, the underside of her breast. Then, as though he had been waiting for this moment and savored it, he slid a finger through the slickness at the juncture of her thighs.
Sybil nearly expired from the sheer pleasure of it. She hadn’t known it could feel like that. When she’d touched herself before the mirror, investigating what lay down there, she hadn’t felt any sort of pleasure. But this—this was everything she hadn’t known she’d needed, and when he moved his hand away, she gave a tiny moan of disappointment.
