The thought sent a bolt of desire through him, and he took a moment to breathe, loosening the urge to push her skirts up and sink inside her.
This was going to be different. He was going to take his time with her.
“And,” he said, capturing her attention once more, “because I want to see your face when I ask you to marry me.”
“Will you not do so now?”
“Not yet.” His smile was wide and an answering smile crossed her face before she clamped it down. “You see, my little witch, you would not give me an immediate answer, which leads me to believe you require some persuasion. And I,” he said, lowering his voice, “am an excellent persuader.”
Finally, she leaned her head back against the pillows and appeared to relax as he lay beside her. “In which case, I am expecting great things.”
He slid her skirts up her leg. “I will ensure you are not disappointed.”
“If I am, does that give me leave to refuse you?”
He chuckled, because although her words were defiant, her voice was breathy. “You may always do as you like, my love.”
“Oh.” She reached up to touch his face with her hands, fingers skating across the jaw that would now be faintly rough with stubble. “You expect me to be able to resist you when you call me ‘my love’?”
“I had not expected you to be so easily persuadable,” he said, sliding a hand up her inner thigh. She shuddered. “I expected to have to… convince you.”
“And you?”
“I have already had my share of convincing—I need no more to be assured you are the lady I wish to worship forever, my witch.”
“I prefer ‘my love’.”
“Oh?” He leaned forward and nuzzled against her neck even as his other hand toyed with the lace of her stockings. “When you have bewitched me so thoroughly?”
This time, her shudder was accompanied by a gasp, and her face upturned to kiss him once again. George was only human, and he gave into her silent plea with a sound that no woman had coaxed from him before.
He had not lied when he had told her he needed no persuading; he had not thought his tastes ran to innocent ladies, but Sybil consumed him in every regard. Every sound that rose from her throat, guttural and raw, every shift of her body, every inch of smooth skin—he wanted it all, and she offered it with such openness that it would have sent guilt fluttering in him if he had not intended on marrying her.
If he had his way, his would be the only hands she ever experienced on her. But first, he would have to convince her that she only everwantedhis hands on her. By the way her breath hitched when he ran his nose down her neck, he suspected that would be easier than she wanted him to believe.
First, allowing his fingers to linger on the skin at the top of her thighs, he removed her stockings, drawing them slowly down her legs and tugging them off. She lay still, allowing him to have his way with her, desire-darkened eyes resting heavily on his face.
Next, he turned his attention to her dress. As he pulled her into a sitting position so he could address himself to the buttons running down her back, she ran her hands across his chest. Although there was material separating them, he could feel her heat scorch through him.
If possible, he grew even harder, straining against his breeches. This want was a need, demanding more. He needed her to touch him, to send those wandering hands south so he could feel the way her fingers closed around him.
He cursed under his breath as she did indeed dip her hands lower, skating across his stomach, the very tips of her fingers brushing against his arousal. That touch alone, glancing as it was, was enough to almost shatter his control entirely.
Finally, he peeled her dress from her shoulders, and she helped him remove it entirely. As he applied himself to her stays, she tugged at his waistcoat, removing it, then undid the buttons of his shirt.
“You have hair on your chest,” she said, surprised, running her fingers across the muscles. The simple naivety of the gesture made him freeze, and she moved closer until he could feel her every breath. Her stays fell from her, but she hardly seemed to notice as she looked up at him.
“Today, I want to see you,” she said. “Properly.”
Sober, no doubt she meant, but he had every intention of obliging her—in this and everything.
He shucked off his shirt, tossed it in a pile on the floor, and followed it with his breeches. As she stood there in her chemise, he stood before her, entirely naked. Her gaze traveled down his body to where evidence of his arousal stood proudly.
And, for an inexplicable reason, he felt a level of nervousness. She had seen him before, but her reasoning had been impaired. Here and now, there was nothing in this room but them. Nothing else colored the moment.
Her breath caught at the sight of him, and her gaze flicked back to his face. “It’s—it’s large.”
“Something every man wants to hear.”
