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He was clearly doing it to torture her—it couldn’t possibly be for him. She didn’t fool herself into thinking that men enjoyed all the bits beyond the actual event. And though she was enjoying this more than she’d enjoyed anything ever, she found herself more than willing to get to the actual event herself. “You can—” She stopped, uncertain of how to say it. “What I mean is—” Another false start. “That is—”
His tongue swirled in a circle, higher up her thigh, sending pleasure sizzling through her. She took a deep breath. “I have done this before.”
Henry slowly lifted his mouth, and looked up at her from his place at her feet, on his knees.Oh, my.She liked that. He was broad and handsome and his lips, which had given her such pleasure, were set in a small, curious curve that sent heat crawling over her cheeks, especially when he said simply, “I have, as well.”
She closed her eyes. That much was clear. With the way she felt, Adelaide imagined he was in high demand behind potted ferns in Mayfair ballrooms. Likely by women who were less embarrassed by this particular scenario. “What I mean—”
He turned to her thigh again. Kissed again. Higher. Closer to where she ached.
Dear God.“You don’t have to—”
More kisses. Higher still.
She squirmed, and he set one heavy hand to her stomach, staying her movement. But he did not stop, delivering another kiss—this one to the opposite thigh. A little lick. A suck.
She exhaled on a little sigh. “You can simply... do it.”
This time, when he looked at her, there was something new in his cerulean gaze. Something that cut through the desire. Something wild. “Do what?”
She looked to the ceiling, wishing she could vanish into the shadows above. “I—”
“No,” he said, his thumb stroking over her skin his only movement. “Tell me. Do what?”
For a moment, she considered what a lady would say. And then she realized there was absolutely no situation in which a lady would say anything even approximating the answer to his question. So she settled on the words she’d heard her whole life. What she knew he wanted. “You can simply... fuck me.”
The air came out of him in awhoosh.
She closed her eyes. She’d been too crass. Dammit. He was going to stop.
Except he didn’t. Instead, he said, “Hmm,” as though he hadn’t considered that as a possibility, and moved, his hands sliding down to her thighs and opening them wide. “Thank you for the suggestion.”
“You’re... welcome,” she said, the words coming uneasy, as his thumbs circled over skin that had never been touched with such lingering purpose.
“Tell me, can I do this? Touch you like this?”
“Y-yes.”
“Do you like it?”
“I—yes.” Very much.
He moved, stroking up, over her skin. “And can I kiss you here?”
A kiss at the seam of her thigh, where it met her torso. How did that feel so good? “Yes.”
“You like that?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.” That sound. It shouldn’t do things to her. It wasn’t even a word, and still it made her ache. “And would you mind if I...” He trailed off and blew a long stream of air over her core.
“I—oh—no...” she panted.
“You like that.”
It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway.“Yes.”
“Good,” he said, the word feeling like praise. Making her warmer. Wetter.
