Merely having her naked clearly wasn’t his aim.
His next order came. “Take off your shift, and hand it to me.”
Her shift reached below her knees. She bent to grasp the hem and her bottom met his groin. He didn’t shift away. Losing the contact as she straightened and drew the shift off over her head, a strange frisson of awareness streaked through her.
Her arms free of the garment, with one hand she offered it back, over her shoulder. He took it, his fingers brushing over hers as he did.
Another odd shiver threatened.
She expected to be told to remove her chemise in the same way, but instead, he drawled, “Now, let’s see…”
Her breasts were already swollen, achy, even though he hadn’t touched them, not even brushed them. Her nipples were furled so tight they hurt.
“Open the buttons.”
The chemise had a front placket that reached to her navel, closed by tiny flat buttons she never bothered undoing. One by one, she slipped them free. The placket gaped as her hands descended, revealing the creamy whiteness of her skin, the valley between her breasts.
By the time she reached the end of the line, her nerves had tightened, expectation gripping.
“Draw the sides apart and show me your breasts. I’m your audience-display them for me.”
Curling her fingers in the fine material, she boldly, brazenly, drew the sides wide, baring her breasts to his hot gaze. She could feel it moving over her exposed flesh.
“Keep your eyes on your body, not on me.”
She obeyed, shifting her gaze from the darkness behind her to the white glow of her breasts-and found the peculiarity of seeing and feeling simultaneously strangely arousing. She saw the light flush spread beneath her white skin, felt the telltale warmth spread, saw her nipples tighten even more as sensation heightened and her breasts grew heavy.
“Very good.” The raspy murmur washed over her ear. “Keep watching.”
His hands came around her and lightly cupped her breasts. Too lightly at first, but within a minute his touch had changed-to one of flagrant possession. His tanned hands and fingers stood out in stark contrast against her white skin as they surrounded her breasts, as he captured her nipples, rolled, then squeezed-and her knees went weak.
“Stand straight-don’t lean back.”
She swallowed and tried to comply. His body was close behind her-mere inches away, given the heat bathing her back. His strong arms reached around her, a steely cage, yet only his hands-those wicked, hungry hands-were touching her.
She wanted more, her body burned for more, yet for long minutes his hands remained on her breasts, kneading, increasingly explicitly claiming, spreading fire beneath her skin, turning the taut, swollen mounds rosy-until, head tipping back, she moaned, careful nevertheless to keep her eyes on the mirror. In truth, it would have been hard to wrench her gaze away; a fascination she’d never imagined might exist kept her eyes locked on her body.
On his hands making free with it.
A shiver slithered down her spine.
“It’s time to show me what else you’re hiding beneath your chemise.” The gravelly whisper tickled her ear. Briefly, his lips cruised the delicate whorl, a trickle of fire, a promise of more. “Use both hands and lift the hem. Show me.”
Her heart thudding heavily, she did. Drew the fine fabric up, exposing her upper thighs, then higher, revealing the red-gold fire of the curls at the apex of her thighs.
Dragging in a breath, she raised the hem still higher, to the curve of her belly.
“Excellent.” His purr was almost guttural.
She still had on her garters, stockings, and slippers, but he didn’t seem concerned with those, and in truth, neither was she. She couldn’t tear her gaze from his hands. While one continued to play, firmly and possessively, with her breasts, the other skated down, over the rucked edge of the chemise, to stroke her curls.
He touched them, ruffled them, played until she hauled in a tight breath and shifted. Then he chuckled and said, “Let’s see.”
He angled his hand so she could watch as he pressed one long finger into the shadowed hollow beneath her curls.
She dragged in a quick, too-shallow breath, held it as the sensation of his touch, of each successive deliberate caress, married with the vision in the mirror.
The impact only escalated as she instinctively eased her feet wider apart, and he reached further, deeper, and the combined stimulation rolled in wave after wave through her.
She bit her lip against another moan, saw the flush of arousal deepen and spread until her skin glowed rosy in the candlelight. Felt the dew of desire break like a fever across her exposed skin.
And still his hands worked her flesh-her breasts, the swollen slickness between her thighs. And still she watched, unable to look away as the fires inside grew, as he stoked them relentlessly.
“Put your hands on mine.” The gravelly command was barely comprehensible. “One on each-close your palms over the backs of my hands and
She obeyed-because she had to. Because she couldn’t stand not to, not to know what might come.
She wasn’t prepared for the instantaneous heightening of her senses-through his hands, their tensing movements, she knew what would come an instant before it happened. Now she knew, saw, felt; anticipation was added to the sensual tumult burgeoning inside her.
Gasping, panting, barely able to remain upright, she couldn’t take much more…
His hands slowed. “Tsk, tsk-you still have your stockings and slippers on.”
Because he hadn’t told her to remove them yet. She bit her lip against the tart rejoinder she suspected he was waiting for.
His chuckle said she’d guessed aright, but then he said, “Release my hands.”
She did. To her dismay, he drew his hands from her. She felt bereft to have lost the contact.
“Pull your chemise off over your head.”
She rushed to do so, realizing as she did that he’d moved. Even as she refocused on the shadows behind her, he set the straight-backed chair that had stood beside her dressing table down on her left, its seat toward her.
She stared at it. Before she could figure out what he would have her do, he rapped out, “Face forward. Keep your eyes on your body.”
Yes, he’d been a cavalry officer. She snapped her gaze back-and felt something inside quiver. She rarely used her mirror, had never used it to view herself naked.
“Drop the chemise.”
Realizing she was still holding the garment in her right hand, she released it, forgot it as it floated to the floor.
Forgot everything as she looked at herself-naked and on display-as the knowledge he was doing the same washed over her. A shiver she couldn’t hide racked her.
“Are you cold?”
Despite the fire burning in the nearby hearth, she should have felt the air’s chill, but the heat in his gaze, the warmth suffusing her skin, left her immune. She opened her mouth, then remembered and shook her head.
“I didn’t think you would be.” Experience, knowledge, rang in the words.
His hands appeared on her shoulders, lightly touching. Then they moved.
Over her. He touched, caressed, stroked, explored-every inch of her skin, all he could reach.
She was reeling, senses drowning in the tactile pleasure of his too-knowing touch when, largely out of sight behind her, he caressed her derriere, explored, stroked, weighed, then kneaded-knowingly, firmly, openly possessively.
In keeping with his orders, she’d kept her eyes on herself-startled, then mesmerized by what she’d seen in her face. Had she always been this wanton, this sexually abandoned?
Had she just been waiting for him to be herself? For him to show her herself?
