She made a strangled sound in her throat.
“Haul your skirts up for me, Miss Sheffield.” There was a heated look in his eyes. A certain knowing. “Show me how wet you are.”
It made her feel shockingly vulnerable.
This wasn’t her at all. Oh, perhaps the flaming cheeks yes, but the woman who looked him in the eyes and slowly dragged her skirts up her thighs?
“Wicked,” he whispered, with a satisfied smile. “But nowhere near high enough, Miss Sheffield. Show me that hungry little quim of yours. I want to taste it.”
So wicked. She gasped and closed her eyes as he kissed his way down her stomach, his lips trailing over the serge of her gown.
“I think I have a new appreciation for this material.”
Edwina couldn’t help herself as she felt his breath on her bare thighs. She tried to close them and only succeeded in clamping his shoulders between her knees.
Sterling looked up with a wicked grin.
“Aha,” he whispered, tracing his fingertips over her knee. “I knew it. Miss Sheffield, you are wearing silk garters. Pink silk garters.”
It was the only hint of decadence she could afford.
She scowled as he bent to press a kiss to her knee, and then his thumb slid beneath her garter, stroking back and forth.
“These are not practical at all,” he whispered, resting one fist beside her hip as he loomed over her. “Why, they’re practically decadent. Sinful, even.”
“Oh, stop it,” she whispered. “Or I’ll throttle you with them, and then I can claim they’re eminently practical.”
Sterling froze, his head cocked on a considering angle. And then he smiled.
The devil had a smile like that.
“Practical,” he purred, tugging at the ribbons that bound her garter to her stockings. “Mmm, why don’t we see if we can find a practical application for them.” Sliding them free, he captured her left wrist. “Lay your hands flat above your head.”
“What are you doing?”
“I wasn’t asking, Miss Sheffield.”
Edwina swallowed and drew her arms over her head. He bound them together with her garter, and then tied her wrists to the bedhead with the strings.
“Sterling!”
“Do you trust me?” He was a golden, tousled god, kneeling between her thighs.
“Of course, I do.”
“Good.” Bending low, he gripped a fistful of her skirts. “Because it might be best if you didn’t move.”
And then he tore her gown clean up the center, using both his fists and a burst of his telekinesis.
Edwina gasped as the gown came apart at the seams. “What are you?—?”
“I told you what I was going to do with this thing.” Sterling’s hands slid beneath her skirts as he drew the remnants of her gown out from underneath her and balled it into his fists, before throwing it in the direction of the fireplace.
“Don’t you dare!” she cried, but the gown fell harmlessly short.
“Missed,” he said, with a challenging light in his eyes as he knelt between her thighs.
“That was my best gown!” she growled.
