Page 72 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

She nodded, all at once aware of every part of her—every limb, every stray freckle. Oliver bent his head, lips grazing hers for one brief moment before kissing her properly. She almost stumbled with the force of it, reaching up to cling onto his shoulders in response. He kissed her thoroughly and purposefully, in a way that left very little room in her head for doubt. Breaking away, he pressed his mouth to her cheek, then to her jaw, and then to her neck. The sensation was electric, heightened by the scrape of his beard-roughened jaw against her sensitive skin. His hands—so much bigger than she’d realized, now that they were trailing down her body—came to rest at her waist, fingers brushing against the buttons of her trousers.

He lifted his head away from her neck. “May I?”

“Yes,” she whispered, grateful that he’d thought to ask. “You may.”

She’d never been asked, not once a certain threshold had been crossed.

Oliver knelt before her, and she marveled at the way the light of the fire played across his tousled hair. Her admiration was cut short by the sensation of her trousers loosening from around her waist as Oliver carefully tugged them off. Much to her relief, her shirt fell at her thighs, tailored to perfection by Caroline.

Standing once more, Oliver offered her a hand. She took it, stepping out of the pool of her trousers. She felt far more naked than she truly was, especially once the heat of the fire reminded her that she wasn’t wearing undergarments of any kind.

“Hmm.” Oliver tore her away from her thoughts. “How shall we do this?”

“I beg your pardon,” Kalila said, “I thought you already knew.”

“I’m weighing our options,” was his cheeky response.

She nodded in mock understanding. “Of course.”

Oliver moved to drag an armchair away from the fireplace. Positioning it in front of the mirror, he turned toward her.

“Come.”

Kalila joined him by the chair, curiosity barreling through her. “Shall I sit?”

“In a moment.” He winked at her and sat. “Now you can sit.”

Heat flooded her face. And her body. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” A lazy smirk pulled at his mouth. “Are you?”

Instead of responding, she perched herself on his lap. Immediately, her attention was drawn to the mirror. Oliver met her gaze in the glass, his expression one of complete satisfaction.

“Well?” she prompted, aware that her most sensitive parts were at risk of brushing against the fabric of his trousers.

Oliver sat back, the shifting of his body beneath hers making her want to squirm. “Have at it, then.”

Be brave, she willed herself. It isn’t the same. He isn’t the same. This is not a trap.

Kalila dragged her hands along her thighs, grasped onto the edge of her shirt, and pulled it upward to reveal herself to the mirror.

To Oliver.

Leaning against his broad chest, she felt his hardness press against the small of her back. A flood of intense need coursed through her, so strong that it almost made her want to hide. But the time for hiding—the time for composure—had long passed, and she knew it.

Beneath her, Oliver moved his legs, causing her to fall back against him, thighs completely spread. His breath came in strangled exhalations. “Go on,” he ground out, knuckles white as he grasped the arms of the chair. “Please.”

Her eyes met his in the mirror, and she could have sworn that he was seconds from losing control. But he didn’t. He remained still, betrayed only by the evidence of his arousal. Taking a deep breath, Kalila reached between her legs, dragging her fingers through her folds.

Wet. She was wet.

Behind her, she heard his sharp intake of breath, and a whispered “Christ.”

And that was all it took. The walls she had so carefully built around herself came tumbling down as she repeated the motion, rubbing a slick finger against her swollen bud. She made no sound—she never had—but saw the rise and fall of her chest as her breath quickened, pleasure coursing through her.

“Right there, hmm?” Oliver crooned, prompting Kalila to nod as one finger became two.

Then it was her turn to have an idea. Her turn to weigh options. She shifted against his length, pulling a curse from his mouth before saying, “Give me your hand.”