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His gaze was so intent, his face a picture of sensuality, his eyes firing lust and approval. “And you do not wish to wait?”
“I daresay you are catching on, my darling. Debauch me. Let me be wicked with you.”
Gabriel gave her a long, unfathomable glance. Holding her gaze, he dipped his hands under her nightdress. Her mouth dried. With painstaking sensuality, she dragged her dress up until he bunched it at her waist. Then he slid his hands over the smoothness of her thighs.
His expression became one of aroused contemplation. “I’ve long doubted a respectable wife would be willing to indulge my brand of lovemaking.”
“I received your book…and I read it and observed all those erotic drawings without fainting.” Never would she admit how close she had come to collapsing when she'd seen the indecent images of a woman on her knees with a man’s private part in her mouth, or when she’d seen the reverse, the man licking along the woman’s slit. “Can I not be respectable and all that you need?”
His lips quirked ever so slightly. “I think you are the best of women, Primrose. I have a visceral need," he murmured. "And you are so sweet and ladylike in your manners, I've hesitated touching, speaking to you as for how I would wish. How torturous it had been not to take you, and it was my weakness to be myself with you that had me buying that book from a shop in France and sending it to you.”
Primrose trembled. “And how do you wish to speak to me?”
His eyes were dark, intent, watching her closely. “In ways that would ruin your sensibilities, my sweet.”
Remembering all those pictures, something hot and wanton stirred inside her. “And what way is that?”
There was a breathless pause, then he said, “Filthy.”
That single whispered word sounded like a curse, a benediction, something depraved but also freeing. There it was again, that dark flash of need in his eyes, something untapped and maybe a part of him she would never be able to sate now that she became aware of it. Her curiosity stirred, and something unknown tumbled over inside her. But she did not bury it. Instead, she leaned in, and licked across the seam of his lips, leaving them wet and glistening. “Then talk filthy to me.”
Heat engulfed her, and he chuckled.
“Ah my sweet, I haven’t even begun to shock your sensibilities.”
Still holding her gaze, he tapped her lips with one of his fingers. She parted them, and he slipped the digit in her mouth. And she instinctively sucked. He pulled it from her mouth, and his hands lowered to her splayed legs and the open slit of her drawers. She was afraid to move her eyes from his. Instead, she gripped the edge of the bed, bunching the sheets between her fingers.
His fingertips brushed—lightly, gently—along her exposed sex. Her awareness narrowed to that sweet, pulsing pleasure between her thighs. “I like the forbidden nature of speaking…filthy things to you.”
Oh, sweet heaven above.
He traced the folds of her cleft, and she trembled as he used a single finger to part swollen flesh. Heat flooded her cheeks as her gaze flew back to his face.
His lips curved in a cruel, sensual slant. "Look down."
Primrose trembled and lowered her eyes. He split her legs even wider and pushed her night rail up even more. And then with slow provocativeness, he pushed his middle finger deep inside her. A gasping moan escaped her, yet she could not look away. He pulled out his finger, and her flesh sucked at the digit, not wanting to let go of that instrument of wicked pleasure. His finger glistened, and he shoved it back in, slow and deep. Her breasts were lifting and falling with every breath.
“What am I touching, Primrose?”
Her eyes flew to his, and the hunger and approval she saw in their depths stole her breath. She knew what he wanted…the words she’d read from his book, the words she sometimes overheard from men in the village as they reflected on randy escapades. The words she hadn’t realized could send her heart pounding and assailing her senses of propriety with the duality of shame and excitement.
“My…” Licking her lips and acting on wanton instincts, she opened her legs impossibly wider, feeling a unique sense of vulnerability and empowerment. She thought of all the naughty words she’d seen in the book and called for the one that had made her feel guilty, aroused, and even mortified though she’d not understood the why of it. Seeing the tender need in his eyes now called to something wild in her, and a sweet ache flamed through her. “My cunt.”
A hiss escaped him, and he trailed his finger up to her nub, rubbing and petting as if in approval. She clenched her fist tighter on the sheets, as tension knotted and quaked in her belly. Sharp whimpers fell from her lips as sensations she’d never dreamed of wreaked havoc through her body. He worked her clitoris, rubbing, pinching, over and over until she was a trembling mess. Firelight lit the planes of his beautiful face, the glow of lust in his eyes, the curve of carnality about his lips she was desperate to taste.
A weak cry tore from her as the riotous sensations peaked. She hadn’t expected anything like this when they came together. The arousal was so intense her parted legs trembled, her heart hammered, and the heat burning through her entire body had sweat trickling down her breasts.
He drew a deep, shuddering breath. It was a moment before he spoke again. “What if I told you when I have you on my cock moaning and screaming, I would call you my sweet wanton hussy?”
Shock ceased her breath, and then arousal—painful and destructive—surged, devastating her. “Gabriel…”
“Would you run from me or revel in the sheer sensuality of the moment? What would you do, my love?”
Primrose moaned weakly, staring at him in helpless thrall as he wove that picture of lust and depravity.
“I want to lay you on this bed, spread your thighs wide, baring your lush wet, pink cunt to my eyes, then I'll split open this pretty tight cunt with my cock.”
She gasped, a rush of wetness leaving her at his explicit words to coat his fingers. Then she understood. Filthy. The notion
