Page 63 of One Thing Leads to a Lover

A breath shuddered from him. “As you wish, my lady.”

She took his hand, stepped lightly from the puddle of her skirts, and turned him to face the sun. Then her clever fingers made quick work of the remaining buttons. His cock jutted forward, impossibly hard and dark with need, as his breeches slid down his legs.

Amanda dropped to her knees. “Oh.” That breath of sound whispered coolly over his heated flesh, followed in another moment by her curious, too gentle touch. “It really looks nothing like those marble statues would have one believe.”

“It does look like that sometimes,” he managed to grind out, willing himself not to lose control as her exploration grew more sure. “Though generally not when a lady is so, uh, close.”

“And what would happen if I”—one fingertip circled the head—“kissed you, just here?”

“Christ, Amanda.” It was his turn to grip the bedpost. “I’d spend—and far quicker than a man ought.”

Their conversation alone had brought him perilously near it.

“Oh.” Now disappointment edged her voice. “And I suppose that would be the end of our fun.”

He curled the fingers of his free hand around the back of her head, fighting with every fiber of his being the instinct to urge her closer. “It most assuredly would not. Because I’d like nothing better than the chance to return the favor, and there’s nothing like a woman’s cry of ecstasy to rouse a man to life again.”

“Return the favor?” Her gaze darted upward, surprise and delight mingled in her dark eyes. “Surely you don’t mean…?”

“Oh, I do.”

The tip of her tongue darted out, to wet her lips, he thought. Then he felt its comparative coolness against his hot skin. He tightened his fingers against her scalp, drawing her back the merest fraction of an inch. “Only if you’re certain, my dear. And only as long as it pleases you, too.”

At her eager nod, he relaxed his hand just enough that she could have her way with him—soft kisses at first, then experimental flicks of her tongue, and at last drawing half his length right into the heat of her mouth. She hadn’t the faintest notion of what she was doing…and he wished it would go on forever.

But too soon—though not, thank God, quite as quickly as he’d feared—his climax was upon him. He tried to coax her to stop. Gentleman or rogue, he couldn’t bring himself to believe that a lady, particularly one of no experience, would thank him for finishing in such a fashion. She refused to heed his warning, however. Her hands, which had been splayed on his thighs, slid around his legs, her fingertips gripping the tightly clenched muscles of his buttocks as he came with a shout.

Afterward, she rocked back onto her heels, a satisfied grin on her faces as she dabbed at one corner of her mouth with her discarded shift. “That was exhilarating.”

“God, love.” He gave a breathless laugh, the air sawing in and out of his burning lungs. “I’m delighted to hear it. But you’ve quite wrung me out.”

In a single, fluid motion, she rose, tipped her head to the side, and fixed him with a look. “Are you going back on your promise, Major Stanhope?”

“Not on your life, Lady Kingston.”

Turning to the bed, he flipped back the coarse dust cover to reveal a dark blue coverlet, and beneath that, bed linens that bore no sign of mustiness. As if, despite his admonitions, Mrs. Morris kept the house ever ready for his return.

A lump of something—guilt, affection—rose in his throat. He didn’t deserve that mark of confidence in him, any more than he deserved this house. And he certainly did not deserve the adventurous, beautiful woman who at that moment was running her hands over his shoulders.

But perhaps love was not simply a reward parceled out only to the deserving?

Battling down a surge of emotion, he twisted and caught Amanda in his arms. She giggled as he scooped her up and deposited her on the bed. Then, suddenly shy, she reached for the sheet to cover herself as he pressed his knee into the mattress, preparing to join her.

He laid two fingers on her hand. “Only if you’re certain,” he reminded her. “And only as long as it pleases you, too.”

She nodded, a trifle uncertainly. “Is there—is there such a thing as too much pleasure, I wonder?”

Smiling, he brushed his fingertips over the delicate skin on the back of her hand. “Shall we risk it?”

Her lips quirked and she nodded again, this time with eagerness.

As he climbed onto the bed and prowled toward her, she shifted her hips lower, reaching up and pulling him down to her. He claimed her mouth first, then kissed his way down her throat, over her collarbone to her pert, perfect breasts, laving and sucking each nipple in turn until she began to whimper and squirm beneath him. Moving lower, he darted his tongue into her navel, pressed his lips to the curve of her belly.

“Open your legs.”

The words sounded gruffer than he’d intended, his voice rough with desire. But she did not hesitate, her knees parting to make a space for him as he dipped his head to nip her inner thigh.

And then, return the favor he did, teasing her just as she had done, with warm breath and soft kisses, the brush of fingertips over her crisp, dark curls, until her hips were lifting from the mattress in a silent plea. He slid his fingers deeper, parted those curls, and set his mouth to her at last, lapping at her spicy wetness and flicking his tongue over her nub. Gently, so gently—at first, because he did not want to startle her with the intensity of the sensation, and then to prolong the sweet agony of it. Her fingers curled in the bedsheets and a keening cry rose in her throat, making his cock leap.