Nodding, she reached out cautiously. “Right, yes. Of course.” Alexander grabbed her hand before it could land on his impressive chest. A sigh of relief escaped her lips; she had no idea what he meantfor her to be doing. He stood again and then held out a hand to her. She rose, still mystified.
“I thought I might lie down and let you have your way with me.”
Upon reflection, Harriet would always be proud that she didn’t choke or sputter or cough at the suggestion. Other than her insides rupturing and her mind dissolving, she remained unchanged—a portrait of stoicism and maturity as he crossed, almost entirely nude, to where he’d left the blanket. Then spread it down over the Axminster. He tossed a few cushions on the pile for good measure, then glanced back, noticing she had yet to move.
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Alexander said, no doubt in response to the trepidation written on her face. Despite the nonchalance of his words, he himself looked apprehensive.
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Harriet rushed to assure him. “It’s only—I have no idea what I’m meant to do.”
“Come here,” he instructed. So she did. He reached out a hand and gathered her close.
“Now what?” They were still standing; was she meant to sit? Was this to be like a picnic in the park?
“That’s the beauty of the enterprise. You’re meant to do precisely as you’d like.”
“But I—I don’t know what will feel good for you.”
“Virtually anything you do will be enjoyable, I swear it.”
“Yes, but …”
“As long as you don’t knee me in the bollocks, we’ll be remarkably far ahead of our last experience in a library.” As he teased her,he took a step back and removed his shirt; he was now fully nude in front of her. More molten heat flooded Harriet’s core. A fire wasn’t necessary at all, as it were.
“Where would you like to touch?” he asked, simply. His lack of clothing didn’t seem to bother him at all. It hadn’t changed his composure or his comportment. Harriet couldn’t fathom ever being so at ease, even with her clothing on.
She kept her eyes trained tightly on his face and the upper half of his body. Scandalous as those areas felt to ogle, she had at least seen his chest before. A chest was survivable.
She reached a tentative hand out to his forearm. It seemed like a relatively safe starting point. One could touch a gentleman’s arm without impropriety. Although one was usually being escorted into dinner or around the perimeter of a ballroom. And the gentleman was ordinarily clothed.
Focus, Harriet, she chastised herself, willing her mind to stay present for this monumental event. This could be the last time she ever touched a man, after all. That thought spurred her on.
She picked her hand up and then moved over to his chest. Gaining confidence, she let her fingers trail down the hard muscles, enjoying the unfamiliar feeling of his hair there. He let out a groan of pleasure. She smiled and bit her lip, though she didn’t lift her gaze. How different they were underneath their clothing, and yet, so much the same. She trailed one daring finger lower, following the path of hair.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, although his voice was strained. He let out a hiss as she continued down.
She snatched her hand back. “Sorry. Is that painful?”
He chuckled. “The opposite, in fact.”
“Oh. Well then,” she said, feeling bold. She returned her hand to where she’d left off only to discover that she was in the vicinity of his … She almost laughed at her reluctance to even think the word.
“Something amusing?”
“I find myself rather reticent, which is unusual.”
“Quite,” he answered. “I think this is the least you’ve spoken since we met.”
“I’m not used to these words, is all.”
“Which words?” he asked.
“Er, you call it your”—Harriet swallowed—“cock? Yes?” Alexander groaned at both her use of the word and likely how close she was getting to touching the appendage in question.
“I do.”
“Cock,” Harriet repeated, surer of herself this time. “Cock,” she said again. “It’s only a word.”
“Come now, it’s a bit more than that,” he teased.
