Perching on one of his heavily muscled thighs, she marveled at the look of him. Everything about Ethan was solid and wide. In comparison, she felt delicate—a novel experience. With one hand on the back of his neck, Lottie pulled him close for another taste, nipping the corner of his lip. “I’m afraid I’ll have to insist on very hands-on lessons, my lord. You’ll find I’m an eager student.” A soft noise escaped her when he sucked her lower lip, letting his teeth graze the sensitive flesh. Giving herself over to the heat between them, she explored the angles of his face, enjoying the stubble of his cheek as it roughed the pads of her fingers.
On a moan, he took command of the moment, tasting her as if she were a treat and he a starving man. Fumbling for her hem, Ethan skimmed one large hand up her leg until he gripped the curve of her hip.
Desire coiled low in a tingling heat that settled between her thighs, demanding contact. With her leg free of her skirts, she shifted, straddling his lap to press their bodies together, soothing that ache. The movement brought his hand to cradle her bottom. An appreciative hum sounded from his throat. She nipped his lip in reply, skimming her hands over every inch of sun-kissed skin within reach. Touching him was a pleasure in itself, but knowing he received pleasure from her touch fanned curiosity into passion.
At the juncture of her thighs, she pressed against the ridge of him. Breathless, she pulled back from the kiss enough to ask, “Is this a yes to my proposition?”
He pulled her against his hardness, and she lost her breath all over again. Ethan’s gravelly voice rumbled. “We only do what you’re comfortable with. Agreed? There’s much we can do without French letters.”
The urgent friction between her legs made her moan. Her fingers clutched his shoulders, using his body as an anchor. “Agreed. But I think we’ll need them. God, that feels amazing. Don’t stop.”
Pulling her hot core against him in a rhythm, Ethan used his teeth to pull aside the neckline of her bodice. His hot groan at her collarbone vibrated through her chest as he gasped expletives with openmouthed kisses on her skin. Goose bumps skittered over her flesh, and that coiled tension built until it threatened to burst from her skin. “Lesson one. Come for me, lass.”
Chapter Sixteen
Breakfast the next morning was a study in avoiding eye contact and not blushing. There’d been the worry at the back of Lottie’s mind that she would feel awkward the next time she saw Ethan. After all, the evening before he’d brought her to orgasm, and she’d reciprocated by opening the placket of his breeches and taking him in hand. The size of him had made her pause, wondering how they’d fit together should things progress enough to need a French letter. The thought hadn’t stopped her for long, as each encouraging noise he’d made had inflamed her own arousal.
All in all, it had been a successful experiment in pleasure—even though she’d gone to bed feeling as if she’d been primed but not entirely satisfied. One would think after an orgasm one’s body would be content and return to a sense of normality. Not so. She added that to the list of things she’d learned last night.
So what happened when you faced that person over sausages and eggs the next morning? If you were her, you grasped the bottom of your chair with one hand to keep yourself seated and resisted the urge to repeat the experience of the night before in the breakfast room. It turned out Lottie had a streak of lusty physicality within her, and she didn’t know what to do with it when indulging wasn’t an option. They were alone at the moment, but that wouldn’t last long with servants entering and exiting the room.
Dropping sugar into her tea, Lottie stirred the dark brew and blew over the top. She studied the subtle pattern of the tablecloth. The piece was of good quality. A local weaver, perhaps?
Wondering if Ethan was terribly attached to the blue wallcoverings or if he’d consider a bright spring green instead occupied another few minutes. The morning light would be lovely against walls colored like sprigs of rosemary. The blue really was too dark for this small room.
“Are you all right, lass?”
“Hmm? Yes. Why do you ask?”
Ethan cocked his head. “Because you’re on your third cup of tea and haven’ started talking yet and won’ look at me.”
She sighed, setting the cup down. “I’m sorry. Truly, I’m fine.”
“If you’re regretting last night, I would understand. It doesn’t need tae happen again.”
“No,” she nearly yelled. Lottie closed her eyes and counted to three, then repeated, softly, “No. I don’t regret it. Quite the opposite, actually. I’m acutely aware that we could be interrupted at any moment. Agatha might join us, or a footman will enter the room to refresh the teapot, or a maid will come in to stoke the fire. I’m trying to be circumspect instead of mooning over the lord of the manor like some ninny.”
The dimple in his cheek made an appearance, wreaking havoc on her nerves, which were already humming from her confession. “So we’ll talk about something else,” he said. “I’m visiting the tenants today. The Thatchers are expecting a babe any day, and I wanted tae check in. Would you like tae join me?”
Estate matters she could focus on. Hearing the schedule—all things well within her comfort zone—steadied her. “I’d like that, thank you. How do you feel about green for the walls in this room, instead of blue?”
“Planning tae redecorate already, milady? Don’ ye need
