It was the part of her body that she was both curious about and nervous to think about.
Even when Heath found it with his fingers above the fabric, it felt right. His touch was like no other, caressing her intimately as if he knew exactly where to touch her to drive her wild.
Resisting the urge to encourage him by repeatedly uttering his name, Blanche sighed slowly and warmly. Sensing what his wife desired, Heath gently paced the rhythm of his fingers between her legs.
As he caressed her, his tongue explored her body, lingering deliciously on her breasts.
She knew that she could never touch or even look at herself again without thinking of Heath and his tongue caressing her in ways she had never imagined possible.
Blanche’s hands tangled in Heath’s thick, dark hair as he quickened his pace, his body beating like a second heart between her thighs. Her climax became more intense and, as Heath sent her soaring higher than she ever could on her own, she reached new heights of pleasure.
She hinted at his name just once, like a plea.
“Say it again,” Heath demanded. “Say you want me, Wildcat…”
“I want you, Heath. Please…” Blanche sighed just before Heath kissed her.
His tongue was fiery and possessive against hers, and the throbbing between her thighs quickened.
Finally, with her hands curled in Heath’s hair, she felt something incredible. It was like a pressure that tightened in her body and then released abruptly.
The tension released, and a moan burst from her lips. She whispered his name between kisses as she experienced pleasure unlike anything she had ever felt before.
“Looks like you had a climax, Blanche…” Heath joked, kissing Blanche chastely on the lips before pulling away.
Only then did he compose himself, combing his fingers through his hair, and helped Blanche, who was still dizzy and overwhelmed by her body’s explosion, to arrange her dress.
Meanwhile, Heath watched her with barely concealed pleasure as he took a seat opposite his wife, studying and analyzing her with delight.
She needed to calm down. She knew they would soon be going home, so she needed to regain her composure.
Because Heath was still there, watching her, filling the space between them with a presence far too potent to ignore.
Blanche inhaled sharply, casting her gaze toward the carriage window as though the darkness might provide some reprieve.
It did not.This is going to be a long night…
Eighteen
“You must stop thinking about him.”
Blanche exhaled sharply, pressing her fingers against the cool surface of the vanity as she stared into the mirror. Yet the words did nothing to silence the rush of thoughts flooding her mind.
Heath.
The memory of the moment they had shared the night before lingered, stirring something within her—something unrecognizable, something undeniably altered.
It had unsettled her senses in a way she had not expected, shifting something deep inside her, as though a part of her had changed before she had even realized it.
From that moment until now, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. His voice, deep and teasing, the way his gaze lingered,knowing, watching her in that way that made it impossible to ignore.
The way his touch had unsettled her—igniting something warm, something undeniable, something wholly impossible.
The moment they had shared—bold, nearly illicit in its intensity—had left Blanche with the distinct certainty that the night could have stretched on, long and indulgent. And yet, Heath, sensing perhaps the weight of her lingering desire, had taken his leave soon after their return.
Since then, days passed, and he had not spoken of it.
Blanche suspected, in some quiet corner of her mind, that he was merely waiting—waiting for her to seek him out, to surrender to the pull of his touch, his closeness, his kiss.
