Page 29 of A Spinster's Guide to Landing a Lyon

Her spencer.

His cravat.

Her stocking.

Each of those pieces flew off and landed in a heap together. One right after the other.

It slowed a fraction when he pulled his shirt over his head, standing bare chested in front of her. Surely she wouldn’t continue at this point—

Her dress slid from her shoulders, pooling at her feet. His breath hitched. And his chest thumped loudly enough to give them a beat to dance to.

It was his turn, but his hand was frozen on the top button of his falls.

It was his turn. He should have gone first.

But her eyes pierced through his soul as she dropped her last layer to the floor. Standing naked before him.

And somehow, ironically, throughout their standoff, they had been taking steps closer to each other.

She was within his reach. Her full form. Fully within his reach. So close he could taste the lavender on her skin. Could see the goosebumps on her skin from the cold.

The cold.

He reached out both of his hands, drawing them up her arms. Erasing the goosebumps. Or at least, that’s what he had intended to do. Instead he found a trail of them multiplying behind his touch.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and her jaw slackened. With a soft voice, she whispered, “Benedict.”

That whisper. That plea. That promise.

It broke him.

He dropped to his knees before her, dragging his hands down her backside, pulling her closer to him.

His lips were at the perfect level to rest on her soft, smooth stomach.

So that’s what he did. Looking up at her as he pressed an anything but chaste kiss on her abdomen.

The shudder that shook her, reverberated through his fingers, and he pulled her closer.

And that’s when he caught a new scent. Her arousal.

“Amelia,” he growled. Not even sure what to say next.

But he didn’t need to say anything to invite her to make a move because her hand was threading through his hair. Gripping him for dear life. To be in control? To hold him in place? He wasn’t sure. But the tension on his scalp only increased his desire for her.

And then as she was taking a step even closer to him, he let his forehead anchor to her stomach while his breath whispered down over her mons.

The whimper told him all he needed to know.

“You like that, Amelia?” He nudged his forehead further down, letting his lips graze the top of her pelvic bone as he spoke.

She cried out his name, arching herself into him.

“You can have more, my darling. You can have it all.” He let the words, like a warm mist, hover over her.

“I-I can’t.”

“Let me give you pleasure. You deserve to feel this kind of joy. Let yourself go, Amelia.”