The Heir

“Actually, I can,” he murmured, his hands easing over her back, “but Fairly says it’s quite rare. Relax, Anna, I just want to feel you in my arms, hmm?”

She couldn’t remain tense, not with his big hands stroking so knowingly over her muscles and bones. He touched her the way he might touch a horse, listening with his hands for what her body would tell him without her mind’s consent.

“You need to eat more,” he said. “You’ve put weight on me but neglected yourself.”

“You lost weight, being ill,” Anna corrected him, her voice sleepier than she’d intended it. “And you have to stop this.”

“Why is that?” She felt his lips against her temple, and leaned into him a little more heavily.

“Because, I like it too well, and then you’ll be kissing me and your hands will be wandering and I will want to let them wander.”

“Good,” the earl said, humor in his voice and something else. Something not quite as relaxed as his hands might have suggested. “I do want to kiss you. Have for days, but you’ve been dodgy as a feral cat.” His lips brushed her cheek, and Anna felt her meager defenses crumbling.

“You must not,” she said, cuddling into his chest as if he could protect her from his own wayward intentions.

“I rather think I must,” he argued softly. “I have never met a lady so in want of kissing.” Those lips were moving along her jaw now, then teasing at her neck. Oh, the wretched, wretched man… Anna let her head fall to the side, vowing she would do better next time. She wouldn’t let him get past the first embrace. But for now…

She was wicked. Her brother had told her she was headstrong, unnatural, and ungrateful, and all that added up to wickedness. She should not be misleading the earl like this, should not be giving him ideas, should not be enjoying giving him ideas. But he touched her, and all the loneliness and worry and fear went away, taking her honor and common sense with them, leaving her melting and trusting and entirely too willing.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his teeth scraping gently at her skin. “Don’t think, just let me bring you pleasure, bring us both pleasure.”

“Westhaven…” she whispered, trying still to end this, to put him firmly in his place. He’d told her he would never force her; that he would stop if she asked it of him.

She could not ask it of herself, Anna thought despairingly as the earl’s lips settled softly over hers.

She tried to hold back, to keep herself aloof from his caresses and his kisses, but she had no experience with sexual self-restraint. Her hands crept up to caress his neck and jaw, her body pressed into his with shameless disregard for anything save the need to be closer, and her mouth parted on a sigh.

“Oh, not this…” She broke the kiss when he began to rock his hips against her but stayed in his arms, her forehead resting on his sternum. “You are interested, and soon you will be indecent with me again.”

“I would love to be indecent with you, Anna.”

“I cannot allow it,” she wailed. “You do not understand all of my circumstances, Westhaven. This is nothing but folly. We must stop.”

“Soon,” he assured her. “Your virtue is not at risk, Anna. Not tonight. Just let me pleasure you.”

“You want to be indecent,” she accused again, gripping his waist tightly.

“Unless you ask it of me, I will not remove my clothing,” he replied, his voice steadier than hers.

“Do you promise? You won’t even unfasten your trousers?” She lifted her face to regard him by the light of the fire.

“I will not unfasten my trousers,” he replied, his gaze rock steady with maybe a touch of humor in his green eyes. “Let me hold you and kiss you and bring you pleasure.”

If he kept his pants up, Anna reasoned, she wouldn’t be so tempted to wantonness, wouldn’t be tempted to touch him, to explore his intriguingly hard and yet delicately smooth male member with her fingers… and lips and tongue. If he kept his pants up, she could manage to keep her own wits about her.

She leaned up and kissed him, only to find herself lifted in his arms, turned, and deposited on the corner of his huge desk.

“Here.” He dragged over a chair and a hassock, the better to support her dangling feet. “If you need to hold on to something, hold on to me.”

Hold on, she did, as his lips settled over hers with unmistakable purpose. His tongue was in her mouth, thrusting in the same lazy rhythm as his hips were pushing against her sex. He wedged himself more tightly between her legs, and Anna felt something hot and needy wake up below the pit of her stomach. One of his arms stayed anchored around her back, but his free hand was wandering, stealing around her waist, leaving heat and wanting in its wake.

“Touch me, Anna.” Westhaven’s voice was a rough whisper, insistent and seductive. “Touch me however it pleases you.”

It pleased her to slide her hands over his chest, but the fine linen of his shirt wasn’t the goal she sought. Without taking her mouth from his, Anna tugged his shirttails free and slid a hand along his ribs, the feel of his warm skin bringing her some unnameable sense of relief.

“Don’t stop,” he urged, as she lifted his shirt free, all the way around his waist, and further gratified herself with the smooth, muscular planes of his back beneath her other hand. To touch him like this, skin to skin, at once soothed and aroused. She needed to touch him and couldn’t get enough of his skin beneath her hands.

“Jesus,” Westhaven hissed when Anna found his nipple. She paused, and he nipped at her neck, “Jesus, that feels good.” He shifted the angle of his hips, and Anna gasped, the sensation resulting from his rigid flesh against her sex sending a bolt of pure, hot desire skittering through her vitals.

“I like it, too,” he murmured, repeating the move but making no effort to open his falls. “Spread your legs, love. I’ll make it feel even better.”

When she grasped the meaning of his words, she complied, her own hands greedily learning the contour and sensitivities of his chest and neck and abdomen. She wanted to put her mouth on him, but his damned shirt…

“Shirt off,” she got out before drawing his tongue strongly into her mouth. She was growing frantic, but for what, she could not have said. For more, she thought. Please, almighty God, for more. They broke apart for a mere instant while Westhaven whipped the shirt over his head then plunged himself tongue-deep back into their kiss.

His hands shifted from her back to bunch the soft billows of her night rail and wrapper up in her lap.

Good, Anna thought, wanting only to be closer to him. And when Westhaven wedged himself between her legs again, she could only pull him closer, hoping he would again find that spot, that one place where the weight and thrust of his rigid length brought her such startling pleasure.

“Use me,” he growled. “Let yourself come.” Anna could not puzzle out the sense of his words but rocked her hips against him, seeking the same fit they’d found earlier.

“I can’t find…” she panted, trying to form words as Westhaven’s hand slipped lower and lower.

“I can,” he whispered, his fingers slipping over her intimate folds. His touch was infernally knowing, light, and teasing, maddening. Then he shifted the angle of his hand, so his thumb was pressing, right there, and he gave her a hint of relief with the tip of his finger inside her body.

“Westhaven,” she panted, “…dear God, what are you…?”

But his free hand had parted her night clothes enough to find a nipple and apply a gentle, pulsing pressure to it. That was all it took, just the start of attention to a breast, a bit of his finger, some pressure from his thumb, and her body seized in great, clutching spasms of pleasure.

She came silently, her body bucking against him for long fraught moments in complete abandon. When it was over, she hung limp and winded against him, shuddering as aftershocks wracked her, her cheek pressed over his heart.

Westhaven wanted nothing more than to plunge his raging erection into her wet heat and thrust like a mad bull, but his instincts suggested the moment wasn’t right. There had been too much ignorance in Anna’s responses, too little ability to anticipate and manage her own reactions.

Too much innocence.

So he held her to his chest and stroked her hair, and tried to pay attention to her and not to the indignant