Page 54 of Better Off Wed

When he joined her on the forward-facing seat, he wrapped one arm around her shoulders, while she draped her legs over his knees, her injured ankle sticking out in mid-air, the toes of that foot not quite touching the window.

“This would’ve been easier last night,” she said, thinking of the blue bedroom’s expanse of clean linens and plush featherbed.

“Too easy,” he countered. “We might have been tempted to go too far.”

Too far. The meaning of those words was clear. She should have been prepared for him to be sensible, even in this, but she could not deny her disappointment.

He read her reaction with unsettling ease. “If you were to end up with child, Laura, it would not be just your reputation but also my honor and an innocent’s future at stake. I won’t take that risk.”

“All right,” she agreed. “From what I’ve heard, there’s more than one way for us to enjoy one another’s company.”

She felt his smile against her cheek as he dragged his lips from her mouth to her ear. “Several, I daresay. But I should warn you. I don’t have much—any—practical experience in these matters.” As he spoke, he swept one broad, warm palm up her leg, over her skirts, his fingers splayed as if he could not quite believe his good fortune and feared that touching her would break the spell.

She would have been far more astonished if he had claimed to be a rake. “You don’t kiss like a man with no experience.” She stifled a gasp when his lips found the sensitive place below her ear.

His answering chuckle vibrated against her skin. “Well, I believe that when a man truly wants to know something, he must throw himself wholeheartedly into his studies.” Then he traveled down her throat on a string of kisses. “And I’ve always been a quick learner.”

Once, she would have said the same of herself. But she was nonetheless amazed to discover that kisses could be playful and passionate all at once, that the mere promise of pleasure was almost enough to tip her over into ecstasy.

His hand skated over her hip and came to rest against her ribs, below her right breast. She wanted to urge him to keep going, but her mouth was occupied just then by another kiss, gentler, a reminder that they had hours together yet before reality intruded. She could afford to be distracted now.

The fingers of his other hand slipped through her curls, following the contours of her skull, sending sparks of sensation across her scalp. Without a bonnet, there would be no disguising her tousled hair, and anyone who saw it would easily guess what—or who—had put it in that state. Never, never had she cared less for her appearance. She murmured her encouragement against his mouth.

“You like that? Tell me what pleases you.”

“You seem already to have guessed.” His fingers tangled in her hair, his lips against her skin, moving ever lower as he planted a string of nibbling kisses along her throat.

“I strive to be an excellent student,” he murmured, between kisses. He’d nudged aside the collar of her pelisse and found a spot at the joining of her neck and shoulder that made her breath come faster. “But I should like to hear you say what you want, all the same.”

She couldn’t decide which she liked more, his determination to give her exactly what she desired, or the possibility that he enjoyed hearing shocking things from her lips. Perhaps a bit of both.

With her left hand, she toyed with the dark, silky hair that brushed his collar, while she laid her right hand over his left where it curved against her side, intertwining her fingers with his. “I confess I don’t have much practical experience either.” At least, none that involved another person. “But I know I like your kisses. On my lips, my throat, my—”

She tried to urge his left hand higher, but he resisted. “Tell me,” he insisted, even as his mouth moved lower.

“Sometimes, I—” It felt wicked, somehow, wickedly good to make this confession. “Sometimes, I touch my breasts. They’re s-s-sensitive,” she hissed as his tongue traced the line of her collarbone. “I toy with my nipples, and—”

His thumb swept against the curve at the underside of her breast, part torture, part reward. “And?”

“P-pinch them.”

“And you wish me to do that?”

“Yes,” she agreed eagerly, arching to his mouth. “And kiss them.” How could she crave a sensation she’d never experienced? “P-please.”

This time, when she tried to guide his hand, he let her, settling his palm over that gentle swell. As heat seeped through her gown, her nipple peaked, chafing impatiently against the cotton of her shift. He rubbed gently across her breast with the flat of his hand, then more firmly, and finally circled her nipple with his thumb just as his mouth reached the edge of her bodice. “Tell me, Laura. Where else do you touch yourself?”

“B-between my legs.” Heat flamed into her cheeks, but she did not regret her honesty when he plucked her nipple between thumb and forefinger again and again, coaxing it to an aching peak.

“Until you gain release?”

“Yes.” She could feel his hot breath against her breast, through the thin muslin of her gown, as his lips closed around her nipple. Slight though the fabric barrier might be, she wanted to tear off her dress, be bare to his mouth, his tongue.

“Show me.”

Oh, God. His voice alone might make her shatter. She had no desire to disobey.

Like the naughty chess queen, she gathered her skirts and petticoats in one hand and hiked them up almost to her waist, hesitating only when his clever fingers managed to tug her bodice low enough to free one breast. She felt rather than heard his growl of pleasure and triumph as he brushed the edges of her rosy-brown areola with gentle kisses before drawing her nipple into his mouth.