With a deep growl, his mouth lowered and landed on her cotton-covered breast. It was no deterrent, as he kissed and stroked through the material. Rosalind felt she was losing her mind: the intense heat, the intense pleasure, his mouth pulling at her nipple.
A yearning pounded through her, and she cleaved herself to him, holding his head tight. Her hips moved against him; she couldn’t help it, pressing and twisting, demanding a response. He answered, pushing hard against her, his pelvis rocking forward in a rhythm that matched the pulsation in her body.
She could feel that hard part of him, pressing at her stomach, but she wanted it elsewhere and she parted her legs as best she could in her skirts and hauled herself up, until it rested against her womanhood.
“God, no, Rosalind. Don’t…” She couldn’t hear his words, only feel the hot breaths, and she rocked harder against him. A grunt was torn from his throat, and she tugged his head back from her breast to meet his mouth again. Stubble grazed her skin but she loved the slight painful rasp – abrasive and rough.
Struggling to untangle a hand from his nape, she caressed broad shoulders, then his firm chest. She went lower. She wanted to feel his flat, solid stomach and further down, to the hardness that seemed to sweep pleasure throughout her whenever it pressed. He didn’t notice until her palm was pushed against it. It felt long and rigid in the buckskins, and she stroked its length.
“Hell, Rosalind, no, I can’t…” But his body seemed to do the exact opposite and shifted hungrily against her touch. Then he slowed. “Don’t move anything, Rosalind. Not an inch,” he said, panting into her throat.
Of course, she never was very good at instructions so she softly gripped and stroked again, just to see what would happen.
A groan, so low it didn’t seem human, burst from his throat, followed by a guttural rasp, a shuddering of his body and the graze of teeth upon her neck.
And then he stilled…utterly.
Obviously, she should have heeded his instructions. She didn’t mind at all; in fact, she was deliriously content with the way breakfast had turned out. After all, he wasn’t going anywhere, but his frame had tensed and she could tell he wasn’t very happy.
Slowly, he drew his head from her neck and pulled his hand from behind her, letting her slowly drop to the floor.
Hooded eyes met hers. “I told you not to move,” he said, the words nothing more than a low growl.
“Erm, I wanted to see what would happen,” she replied breathlessly. Lucas backed away and looked down at her state of undress – she followed his gaze. The buttons were ripped away at the bottom, and her shift, wet from his tongue, was askew, revealing reddened, abraded skin. He looked away, opening his mouth as if to say something. Nothing came out and he turned, flung open the door, stumbled through, and closed it shut behind him.
Rosalind slowly buttoned her gown, delighting in the delicious sensitivity of her skin as she did so. She could still feel his lips, his tongue, the thrust of his large, muscular body. Lucas seemed to have felt ashamed over something, but she felt anything but. She felt enraptured, sensual and still so very hot.
“Soap, water and a new set of clothing as soon as possible. I’m going out again.”
“Lawks, guv. You’ve hardly been ’ere.”
“Now!”
Billy grumbled but obviously twigged something was wrong and reconsidered his cheeky reply – thank God the boy had some tact in him.
Embarrassment. Disgust. A strange mix of the two seared through him.
An animal, he was an utter animal.
His body, however, disagreed. It hummed with languidness and rediscovered pleasure.Ah yes, that’s what it feels like. Intoxicating.
As he’d kissed her breast, he’d vaguely remembered thinking he could stop – just one more touch, one more caress and then he’d stop. He’d re-button her dress, promise to never do it again and court her properly.
But damn it, she’d touched him.
Never had he expected that, but Rosalind never did what one might expect. It had been far too long and her touch had been far too good. He had been teetering when he’d told her to stop, but no, Rosalind had tightened her hold, stroked, and he’d gone off like a bloody firework.
He was also disgusted with himself because he hadn’t even reciprocated the pleasure, being too distracted by what he’d done to her skin – not even bloody shaved and it had left nasty, red grazes down her neck and chest.
But by God, she’d looked stunning when he’d stepped back. That had been his first thought, even as he’d felt the embarrassment rise. Ravishing and tempting, her bottle-green dress contrasting vividly with her creamy skin, its neck torn open and displaying the gentle slope to her breasts, the thin white shift with its threaded deep-red ribbons, transparent from his wet touch.
He’d forgotten everything – his past, his scars – and had wanted nothing more than to pick her up and finish what they had started upstairs on a bed, to watch as he brought her to a quivering peak of delight and then repeat it all over again.
Letting out a roar, he threw his clothes in the corner, cursing the revolting lavender smell. Lavender…
Rosalind seemed to forget that other women didn’t see him as she maybe did, although to be truthful, Maggiehadbeen casting eyes at him. He hadn’t been interested – not even a glimmer – and yet a graze of teeth from Rosalind and he’d felt lust sweep through his body. Anger turning to desire, anguish to intense craving.
Billy quietly knocked and set the large water jug down, eyeing him gingerly.
