She touched his cheek, her warm fingertips cutting through the ice settling over him. “Let me take care of you.” She leaned forward, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his collarbone before taking his hand and leading him into his bedroom.
The breath rushed from his lungs as she stopped at his bedside. “You don’t have to—”
“I know.” Her lips drifted to the hollow at the base of his throat, then a quick lick over his pulse point. “I don’t have to do anything.”
With a shy smile, she slid her hand in his, lacing their fingers. Joining them together. Her other hand paused at the fastenings of his trousers. “May I?”
Ben nodded as he exhaled a shaking breath. She brought her lips back to his, kissing him slowly, sweetly, as her fingers drifted over his chest and stomach, his muscles twitching under her touch, hypnotizing him with each tender movement.
“What will it take to unravel you?” she whispered against his lips.
When she released the buttons, Ben moaned, unwilling—unableto stop her. His mind blanked as she pushed his trousers and drawers to the floor.
Her hand wrapped around his arousal, and Ben hissed from the overwhelming sensation. So much—too much, threatening to flatten him as she drew her thumb over the head of his cock.
Rose inhaled and held her breath for a moment as she met his eyes, her delicate brow furrowed. “Will you show me how to make you come?”
And he was done for. Ben nodded his head, and Rose bit her lip before nudging him towards the edge of the bed. Instantly grateful, his trembling knees gave out as he sat and watched Rose gather her skirts and lower herself to her knees. Sitting forward, he cupped her cheek. “Rose, Christ—”
There was no time to think about the consequences of his actions, or to bolster his defenses, because her fingers dragged across his cock, feather light and utterly devastating. “Like this,” he managed, as he wrapped his hand around hers and showed her the firm stroke he preferred. He guided her, adjusting her grip until she mimicked it perfectly, and the edges of his vision blurred. “Fuck, Rose,” he hissed, then tugged at the buttons of his collar and pulled his shirt over his head, casting it aside. “Get your hand wet, Rose, make it slick.”
He was certain the image of Rose licking her palm then wrapping it around his cock would be etched into his eyelids until the end of time. He bucked into her hand but forced himself to stay still, to let her take control, to learn what he needed. “That’s it, that’s—fuck, yes, Rose. It’s so good.”
“I never understood how touching a man like this would be appealing,” she whispered as she dropped a light kiss on the center of his chest, the warmth of her breath against his flesh sending chills up his spine. “But when I shaved you, I couldn’t stop thinking about touching you here.”
Ben’s chuckle turned into a broken groan. He was thrusting into her fist now, unable to stop himself. “I’m glad I wasn’t alone in my fantasies. You nearly killed me that day. You’re killing menow.”
Shimmering heat rushed to the base of his spine as she stroked, adjusting her grip as he moaned and flinched, shifted and thrust harder. She watched him with the concentration of a scholar, as though she wanted nothing more than to discover what would bring him release. Ben slid his fingers into her braid to keep himself from flying into the stratosphere with the overwhelming pleasure.
How was this woman, this queen, kneeling at his feet and worshiping him? He didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve her, although he was powerless to stop the climax racing towards him.
“Rose, I can’t hold back, I—” Ben cupped the nape of her neck with one hand and wrapped his other hand over hers on his arousal. With three firm strokes he was coming, spilling over their joined hands as he panted, crying out with the ferocity of his climax. Before he could catch his breath, Rose was there, a damp piece of toweling in her hand. She cleaned them both without words and pressed soft kisses to his chest as she wiped away his release.
Ben pulled Rose against his chest, his heart thudding against her as they tumbled back onto his bed, his mind blurring like this had all been a dream. He curled around her, wanting to surround and protect her. Never wanting to let her go. After a moment, Rose pulled his blankets up around him and tucked herself into his side. “You need to rest,” she whispered as she pushed his hair from his brow. “Take care of yourself for a bit.”
He nodded and grumbled some form of assent, too spent to speak, too spent tothink. Rose had broken him, in the best and worst possible way. Now he could only sleep; there would be plenty of time for regret tomorrow.
TO: Miss Rose Waverly, ? Batterman & Co, Brooklyn, New York
Oxford is dull without you STOP I have some coin to burn so I have decided to have some adventure of my own STOP
FROM: Lord Timothy, Marquess of Trembly, Ashburn Hall, Oxfordshire
TO: Miss Rose Waverly, ? Batterman & Co, Brooklyn, New York
Fern wrote to Mama and told her you were not yet in Boston STOP Mama is livid and is sending a message to Uncle Edmund now STOP What should I do QUERY
FROM: Miss Violet Waverly, Boar’s Hill, Oxfordshire
Chapter 17
Steppingintothegrandmansion on Central Park West was like slipping into a comfortable pair of slippers. Rose was unaware of how soothing she would find the familiar sights and sounds until the liveried footman ushered her into the parlor of the magnificent home of the famed Astor family of New York. The shine of gilt frames around old masters paintings, the clink of silver against fine china, the gleam of marble accents climbing the staircases—all the trappings of wealth and status she had known since birth.
She smoothed her gloved palms down her silk skirt and smiled at the sleek texture of the fabric against her skin. A former resident of 138 Willow worked as a seamstress in a high-end shop and “liberated” the lavender frock when the woman who ordered it decided she did not like the color. Cass had styled Rose’s dark locks into a froth of curls at the back of her neck accented with a single white rosebud. As long as she kept her dingy ankle boots under the cover of her hem, Rose could easily pass as an Upper West Side socialite.
“Champagne, miss?” Another footman, in identical uniform to the first, handed her a crystal glass. She accepted gratefully, almost moaning aloud as the effervescent liquid slid down her throat. As she moved through the crowded room, she nodded at guests without lingering for conversation and felt the tension ebb from her spine.
Rose was at home again, in a space she understood and could control. A consistent set of expectations existed in all high-society functions, one she knew better than her sister knew mathematics. She may have been scrambling for purchase since she left England, but now she had entered her home territory. NowRosecould be the one to make a difference.
