Crouched there, she gave him an assessing look before she tossed his stockings over her shoulder and stood. Lifting her skirts slightly, she slid one knee onto the bed and swayed forward, climbing over him.
With her hands on his chest, she pushed him all the way down into the bedding, draped herself over him, one hand trailing almost absently down his chest, over the bulge so clearly evident beneath the fall of his breeches.
Ivo hissed as her hand cupped him, then moved up to grip his hip, thumb pressing down into the sensitive groove just below his hip bone.
Even as her hands explored, George continued kissing him, teasing him with her tongue, her lips, her breath, until he impatiently started tugging at her bodice. She smothered a laugh with one hand as he yanked, prodded, and poked, reminding him almost sternly that she was wearing all the clothes she had in the world, and if he ripped them she’d have to go about naked like Lady Godiva.
‘That was rather the point,’ he growled, finally getting the last button undone. The room suddenly seemed too still, too quiet. She rolled off him and sat up before removing her coat. Ivo smiled suddenly, rising from the bed. He began pulling off his own clothes in a mad dash, only to realize that George hadn’t continued to undress. She was just lounging there, almost fully clothed, watching him. The skirt of her habit had ridden up, revealing stocking-clad calves and one bare thigh that glowed in the dim light, pale as a marble statue. Her coat was splayed open, her sheer habit shirt revealing a pair of short stays—and her breasts. Her areolas just visible through the fabric in the dim light.
Ivo caught his breath, watching her watching him. Her languid pose was alluring. Erotic, even. And it wasn’t an act; this was simply George. Bold as a queen, sure of herself, and she wanted him. Wanted him so badly she’d agreed to his earlier demands. Agreed to break her rule.
He slipped the buttons at the neck of his shirt, yanked it over his head, and threw it onto the floor before making a dive for her, wrestling and pulling until they were both breathless. He tossed her heavy skirt onto the floor. Struggled with her boots, sent them flying, deaf to the loud thump as they hit the floor.
He tugged at the tie to her short stays. ‘Damn.’ George muffled laughter with a pillow.
‘You defy the rules in every other way,’ he protested with annoyance, trying to figure out how to unwrap the convoluted undergarment. ‘Why wear this?’
He got the tie undone, the long strings unwinding from around her rib cage. George slapped at his hands, reaching up and pulling the shoulders off, allowing the two pieces of the stays to fall away from her. She slid them down her arms and tossed them aside.
Ivo kept telling himself to go slow. To savour every moment. Regardless of what might transpire in the future, they’d never have another first night together and he wanted to remember every moment, wanted her to remember every moment.
He’d waited far too long to rush like a green boy.
But it just wasn’t turning out to be that kind of night. He couldn’t even remember exactly how he’d gotten out of his coat, or what had become of her habit shirt.
Once her stays were off, she pulled her thin chemise over her head and smiled invitingly up at him as she settled back into the pillows, naked and not at all shy about it.
He tried to steady his breathing, to inhale and exhale slowly though his nose, but that only made him acutely aware of the scent of George’s perfume, musk and jasmine. Intoxicating.
She was even more beautiful than he’d ever imagined. Ever dreamt. Round and strong, with high full breasts and a coppery shadow between her thighs. She lay back and let him look as long as he liked, one hand idly playing with a curl at the nape of her neck. She had clearly defined muscles in her legs and arms and just the smallest swell of belly begging to be nuzzled.
She displayed all the classical softness, the womanly curves that he’d always found so alluring on a woman, but in a more refined form. His mistresses had always had always been Junoesque: lushly curved, soft. The lady before him appeared more like a Greek statue of Diana: young, athletic, endlessly challenging.
She reached out with one leg and hooked her foot behind him, pulling him down to her. Imperious. Demanding. A goddess in truth.
Ivo groaned and kissed her, one hand cupping her breast, palm filled with warm flesh. Making love to George had been his plan all along. Having George make love to him was something else entirely. It was the single most amazing thing he’d ever encountered. How had any man ever settled for a single night? How could anyone give this up?
‘I think it’s time for these to go.’ She deftly unbuttoned his breeches and slid them down, first with her hands, and then with her foot, hooking her big toe into the waistband and shoving them down. Ivo struggled to pull his feet out without breaking their kiss.
Her hand slipped down his belly and he gasped, letting his breath out with a hiss as her fingers lightly brushed his shaft, ran up and down its length, circled its head. Reverent, careful, but sure.
George let her hands roam, revelling in Dauntry’s reactions to her softest caress. A nail traced lazily along his hip bone and he was shaking. He would go still, not even daring to breathe, each time she
