“Aye?” She shifted atop the coverlet. Had she done it wrong? Did he want her back at the edge of the mattress so he could keep standing?
Drat everything to Dartmoor. How she wanted to feel his weight on her again, to touch the silky covering of hair adorning his chest.
His chest. If one discounted the discoloration, his torso was a work of art.
Merciful God in heaven. How blessed she felt, for never in her imaginings had she known such an amazing sight could exist: her benefactor, strong and manly; at once both powerful and yet protective. Saliva began to accumulate in her mouth the longer he stood there, and she wanted nothing more than to run her hands over his impressive physique. The sight of him waiting calmly next to the bed—ready to be intimate with her—sparked sensations in her breasts, belly and loins as all three places tingled and yearned for his touch.
But that was all he did—waited.
So she had mucked things up?
“My apologies.” She pushed to sitting and swung her feet toward the floor. Unfulfilled urges made her a tad cranky else she never would have huffed, “Would you have said something, I wouldn’t have changed positions—”
Cutting off her efforts, he swept her into his arms and lay down—with her solidly against him. With his body beneath hers. “You’re p-perfect.”
His words were muffled as he flipped her over and arranged her directly atop his limbs—face up. Shocking notion, that.
Bombarded with stimulation from all sides, it was all she could do not to swoon. His strong, muscular frame supported her posterior, the backs of her thighs, her spine and shoulders—her suddenly flexing and twitchy bum.
But her sensitized bottom wasn’t where her attention stayed, not when she looked up. Where before her eyes, in the giant mirror’s reflection, she saw herself—stark naked—for the first time.
Thea started to sweat.
Ladies, even gently bred females without an official “Lady” preceding their name, were taught never to look at themselves unclad. One learned early and well that skin was akin to sin.
One might bathe, might change clothing two or three times a day, might do all manner of intimate or necessary tasks to their person, and all without ever forgoing modesty. Only loose and fast women reveled in lewdness, in the lush sight of exposed limbs and blatantly revealed areas in between.
“Oh my.” She had just made a staggering, and somehow satisfying discovery—fast and loose must also equate with fun and lusty because gazing at herself in all her slender splendor brought only positive feelings to the fore.
A sound of supreme something—excitement or pleasure, maybe—came from his throat when Lord Tremayne slid both his hands up her ribs to the under swell of her breasts. A similar sound came from hers when he dragged first one thumb and then the other over each nipple.
As though the desire battering her insides were happening to a stranger—the one in the mirror, perhaps—she saw her legs shift restlessly, felt the answering nudge of his erection.
Peering over her shoulder, he caught her reflected gaze overhead.
“Thea.” It was sighed, giving her but a moment’s warning before he extended one muscled forearm down her stomach to settle his hand just over her abdomen, fingers spread wide at the border where pale skin met dark curls.
Could one expire from desire? The sight of his hand, deliberately paused in such a place, was so forbidden, so arousing.
“Shall I—” She swallowed hard, her hips rocking ever so slightly, answering the thrilling call of his trespassing fingertips. “Turn around?”
How she wanted to.
Wanted to bury her lips against his neck, hide from the brazen female staring down at her, the pointy-tipped breasts being massaged and plumped by one strong, brown-fingered hand, the feminine length of leg pressed securely to hair-dusted thigh muscles.
Who was the lush wanton staring back at her? That woman in the mirror—she was a stranger. One Thea wanted to know better. And after only days in his company…
The man at her back made her feel things, see things, differently than ever before. His broad hand kneaded her left breast, then he widened his fingers, placing his thumb on one nipple while stretching his pinky over to the other. He pressed down, just enough to make her gasp.
“Please.” It was a plea this time. “Let me face you.”
His hot breath brushing a “Nay” across her ear was all the answer he gave. Well, that and his other hand moving lower, fingertips probing, parting—
“Bless me to Middlesex.” Her eyelids squeezed shut; she didn’t need to see, only to feel. The drift of one lone fingertip delving, venturing deeper, finding and then gathering moisture… The deliberate glide of that same finger, back up and over…over…around…
“That’s where your tongue—last night—” She garbled to a stop when her pelvis jerked away from the soft invasion. Then jerked right back for more.
“It is.” His tone was as tantalizing as his touch.
“Feels, um…” Her abdomen convulsed. “Ah—”
“Intense?” She swore he almost laughed and couldn’t help but peek, that naughty, indulgent mirror drawing her gaze like a patch of sunlight did a lazing cat, staring at the place where her thighs spread wide, thanks to her feet propped on either side of his powerful legs. Focusing on where his fingertip circled and petted and coaxed…
Her internal muscles wanted him to return. She wanted his body surrounding hers, her loins surrounding him, needed him plunging inside again where she could feel him deeper than she had anyone before.
She tried to roll over and tell him, but he stopped her with one arm across her waist.
He kissed her shoulder until she relaxed, sank back on him. “Hmm-mmm,” he complimented wordlessly and kept trailing his mouth toward her neck, unhurried, sensual applications of his lips that beckoned her to leave everything up to him.
True relaxation was impossible. Given how his fingers continued their advance and retreat over that part of her
