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She studied the statue of the man. A familiar sensation stirred in her groin. “Stimulating.”
He grinned at her impudence. She stepped up into the pavilion. When she turned and looked at him, his grin had faded, replaced by a serious expression.
“What is it?” she asked, wondering at first if he was troubled by concerns for his sister.
He sauntered to where she was. She saw then a ravenous look in his eyes, and her body responded immediately, her senses leaping to attention.
He tilted her chin up and ran his thumb against her lower lip. Her heartbeat quickened at his touch. She wondered that his ardor had been stirred so easily and that her own was proving every bit as eager.
Chapter Twelve
BUT HIS EYES ALSO held a different look she could not place. His gaze traversed her physiognomy as if he were a scout surveying the terrain, landing eventually upon her mouth. Lowering his head, he took her lips with his. Her guard melted away. Though they lacked complete privacy, she welcomed the kiss. It felt all too pleasant.
He worked her mouth with an almost tender quality, coaxing all sorts of feelings to stir inside of her, including that familiar longing in her abdomen. She detected the scent of his shaving cream mixed with the coffee he drank, and idly realized that there was little about Lord Rockwell that did not appeal to her. She would have thought herself quite expended after the activities of last night, but she wanted him again.
“Shall—we—return—to—the—house?” she asked in between his kisses.
“Why?” he murmured against her lips.
For privacy, of course. Instead, she replied, “You have a penchant for public displays, my lord.”
His kisses became more adamant, more hungry. He held her head in place with one hand while he took whole mouthfuls of her. Instinctively she put a hand upon his forearm, though he had yet to be exceedingly rough with her. Desire bloomed below her waist. He had taken her last night. Would he go so far as to do that in the gardens?
As if in answer to her question, he abruptly swept her off her feet and laid her across the marble bench. He continued to kiss her, his tongue darting into her mouth only ever so often, teasing her with the possibilities. She grew warm quickly, and not just from the heat of his body over hers. The simple weight of him upon her was enthralling. She was not completely at ease with where they were, but she had learned from her experience yesterday not to protest too much. And in truth her mind was being superseded by the wishes of her body.
The bench was cold and hard, but another discomfort, one that could only be satiated by his lordship, proved more urgent. With every kiss upon her neck, her collar, the tops of her breasts, the yearning grew. She arched her back, allowing him greater access to her neck. His hand was upon one breast, pulling down her décolletage until he could access the nipple, which he sucked and fondled with his tongue. Arrows of desire shot from her bosom to her cunnie, and she could feel the moisture gathering between her legs.
This was hardly fair. If she were to be publicly exposed in such a manner, the least he could do was to join her. She reached for the buttons of his pants.
“Not yet,” he mumbled as he placed her hands back at her sides.
After easing himself off of her, he pushed her skirts above her knees and spread them apart. Standing between her legs, he appraised her wanton position. She watched curiously as he lowered himself onto a knee. He kissed the inside of a thigh. She shivered at the delicate caress. His kisses trailed upwards to her cunnie. No man had ever had his face so close to that most intimate part of her body. What did he intend? His head was beneath her skirts.
“Bloody damnation,” she swore when his tongue flicked at her clitoris.
Her body jumped at the trespass, but he held her hips firmly in place.
“I cannot submit to this,” she protested, trying to sit up. This was embarrassing and wanton beyond words.
“You will,” he said from beneath her skirts.
She took a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut when he licked her once more. Still unaccustomed to the touch, she attempted to squirm from his grasp.
“Relax and enjoy,” he encouraged.
Reluctantly, she tried to settle down. He rubbed his tongue against her flesh.
“Ahhh!” she cried, jerking.
It was a delicious sensation but still too foreign a concept.
“Hold still,” he commanded.
“I can’t.”
Having a cock between her legs fit a natural order. Having his head there was surely blasphemous? But then, what at Chateau Follet was not improper?
He looked up from under the skirts at her. “Are you defying me, Miss Herwood?”
