Page 52 of Scandalous

When the last button had been freed, the breeches slid down his compact hips. He wore no smallclothes.

She stopped breathing, her eyes riveted to the long, hard length of him. She had seen naked bodies—naked penises, even—more than once. But she had never seen one so . . . aroused, so . . . angry.

“Sarah.”

She looked up at the sound of her name.

“Take me in your hand.”

She wrapped her palm around him, and they both gasped.

“Bloody hell.” He slumped back against the wardrobe door with a thump. One of his hands closed around hers, making her fingers into a tight fist, far tighter than she would have believed pleasant. He guided her, demonstrating how to pleasure him. A low growl broke from him when he released her and she continued her stroking, her eyes riveted to the sight of so much masculine arousal in her hand. His breathing became labored, and she looked up to see him watching her, his face slack. His hips pumped with controlled thrusts, and her hand became slick.

Sarah’s body began shaking, odd, sharp tremors that originated at the juncture of her legs and made it hard to stand.

His hand went around hers, holding her motionless. “Enough.” He took her arms and held her away. “Unfasten your dress.”

She looked from her damp, trembling hand to his hard face, dazed by the demanding pulse between her legs.

He raised his brows. “The dress, Sarah.”

Sarah worked the fastenings as if in a trance. Fortunately her old brown dress had buttons that ran from neck to navel. When she’d gone halfway he leaned forward and pushed the shoulders down, exposing the fine muslin of her chemise. She was not wearing stays.

He looked at her for a long moment, then took the chemise straps and pulled them over her shoulders. When her hands went to cover herself, he shook his head. “Show me how you would like me to touch you.”

Her mouth fell open. “You want—”

“I want you to touch yourself.”

She heard the words, but her brain could make no sense of them.

He shrugged and moved as if to pull up his breeches.

“No.”

The sharp word stopped him, and he straightened, crossing his arms.

Sarah tentatively lifted her hands and cupped a breast in each hand, something she’d never done before.

His chest rose and fell faster beneath his linen shirt. “Go on.”

Sarah wanted to run from the cabin at his words, but his eyes held her in place. She let her thumb drift over one nipple, and it hardened instantly. She gasped at the unexpected sensation of pleasure.

He muttered something and closed the distance between them in a blur. His hot, soft mouth covered the stiff peak, his hands replacing hers. He commenced stroking her far more skillfully than she had with her awkward fumbling, using his tongue and fingers to tease, his teeth to nip, his lips to suck, until she was floating somewhere outside her body.

Her eyes were closed when his hands undid her petticoat. The fabric slid to the floor in a soft whoosh, leaving her standing in only her stockings. He held her hand as she stepped out of the clothing and then walked her backward toward the desk.

“Rest your bottom on the desk and spread your legs,” he ordered in French, his voice so ragged she could barely understand him. She gripped the desk with a hand on either side of her hips, her face on fire as his knee nudged apart her legs, pushing her into a wicked position that left her open and exposed. Sarah swallowed hard and closed her eyes. She only realized where he’d gone when she felt his breath on her belly, inches from her sex.

“Wider, Sarah.” His words were hot puffs of air against her skin and his gentle but firm hands rested on her thighs.

The muscles in her legs jumped and twitched, but did not respond to his pressure. “Is this . . . is this . . . normal?”

“Not the way I do it. Open.”

She was suddenly weak, as if she might expire from sheer embarrassment, but she spread her feet. Her sex clenched in anticipation of his touch, but nothing happened.

“You are beautiful.” His voice sounded unlike him—almost reverent. A hand slid up her thigh to her cleft, and a finger nudged between her swollen folds. “Wet,” he whispered, planting an open-mouthed kiss over her hipbone while he stroked, grazing a place that made her cry out. Sarah’s head fell back and her feet slid farther apart.