Her face burned; she buried it deeper against his neck. “I shan’t dignify it with an answer.”
“No need. Your very breath confesses what you will not.”
His fingers moved against her, and at once, she lifted her hips to meet his touch, though Heavens knew she had never laid a hand upon herself so. She had not dreamt such a feeling existed. She buried her face in his throat, as though she might conceal the sounds rising from her lips. “Oh – oh, this cannot be right.”
Theo’s breath stirred her hair. “On the contrary, it is precisely right. You have simply never been shown it before.”
Never shown it before… Indeed, how could she have been? She had read novels that waxed lyrical on stolen kisses and overheard matrons speak of the marital act as though it were a tiresome but necessary household chore. How could she have guessed that such a dizzying assault of sensation might be part and parcel of it? Had she known, she might not have been so violently opposed to marriage at all.
Her breasts were laid bare, her gown bunched in a most compromising fashion about her waist, and she– good heavens – astride a gentleman like some brazen wanton. The thought made her blush hotter still. She dared to lift her head from his neck and meet his eyes, only to be struck by a look so unabashedly wicked that she very nearly lost her balance atop him. It was the sort of look that would have the scandal sheets running out of ink. That she, Henrietta Tolliver, unmarried and (until three minutes ago) mostly respectable, should be the recipient of it was nothing short of madness. She had just enough presence of mind to think that no sermon in Christendom could possibly forbid such a look – indeed, if vicars preached half so persuasively, churches would be standing room only – before his mouth captured hers and every last shred of thought fled in utter disgrace.
A soft cry escaped her – desperate and wholly unlike herself –as he quickened the motion of his fingers. Her thighs yielded wider for him, straddling his lap, and he slipped one daring finger inside her while the other teased. Merciful heavens – what was he doing to her?
“Oh,” she said on a gasp as her head tipped back. “Oh –”
“Yes,” he murmured, now grazing her jaw with his lips. “There it is. Do not shy from it, my darling. Let the sensation hold – do not be ashamed.”
She clung to his shoulders, digging her nails into his skin. Ashamed? She could hardly recall the meaning of the word. She was barely aware of anything beyond his mouth on her throat and his fingers sliding slowly into her most private place. “There,” she gasped, lifting her hips to help him.
A low sound escaped him, half-breath, half-groan. “Ah, my darling. You liked that.”
His words were laughably insufficient, for the feeling was lightning, coiling tighter with every stroke – a rising madness that made her press shamelessly against his hand and bite her lip to keep from crying out. What in heaven’s name was happening to her?
He altered his touch just so, watching her shudder in response. “You shall like this next part as well.”
His rhythm never wavered, as though he had all the time in the world to learn the secrets of her body. Her thighs trembled on either side of him, her breath breaking in shallow gasps and still he did not relent.
“I shall have you come undone for me, Hetty,” he whispered into her ear. “Right here, in my arms. On my lap.”
Undone.She could feel herself being pulled higher and higher, until she no longer knew herself. Her body was reckless and greedy, straining towards some peak she could not name, and she had never been so scandalously beyond command. And then – oh sweet merciful heaven – he slid another finger within her, filling her while his thumb circled deftly above, making her cry out a sound that could not possibly have belonged to her. Her hips bucked forwards as though possessed, and she thought wildly that this, surely, must becriminal. No woman could possibly be expected to survive such sensation intact.
“Oh… oh, I cannot…”
“Yes, you can,” Theo groaned, his lips hot against her ear. “You are so close, my darling. Let yourself go.”
She gasped as her thighs shook around him, and her body coiled tighter, moments from coming undone for him –
The doorknob rattled violently, followed by a decisive knock.
Hetty froze at once, her every nerve screaming in thwarted release. Theo stilled beneath her, his hand still scandalously between her legs. He muttered a curse against her skin.
“Henrietta?” came Georgie’s voice from the other side. “Are you in there?”
Theo exhaled slowly through his nose as though summoning the patience of a saint, before withdrawing his hand. The sudden absence made Hetty gasp – though whether in relief or torment, she was uncertain. He brushed her trembling hip as though in apology and then sat back with a sigh.
“Henrietta!” Georgie called again. “I know you are in there.”
Hetty all but toppled off Theo’s lap in a tangle of skirts. She staggered upright, clutching at her bodice with frantic hands. Theo remained seated his shirt crumpled and waistcoat open, and his breathing was not nearly so calm as he pretended. Only when Hetty spun away, distracted by fixing her gown, did he reach for a cushion and settle it across his lap.
“Hetty, let me in at once! You missed supper, and Mama is in a dreadful state over the absent sherry decanter. The entire drawing room is at sixes and sevens.”
“One moment!” Hetty called, her voice pitched high as she wrestled her bodice into place.
“This is retribution,” Theo murmured, fixing his waistcoat as though nothing at all were amiss. “Punishment on a biblical scale.”
Hetty whirled upon him with her cheeks blazing. “Why are you still sitting there? Fix yourself.”
“I am doing so,” he replied calmly.
