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“Oh, I’m doing it exactly right.”
“Do you need me to draw you a map? Can you not find my…?”
He flicked his tongue over her nipple; as if on command, she arched. “Find your what, sweetheart?”
“So help me, I’m going to kill you for this.”
But he only laughed, saying, “That’s right, just like that,” and dragged his traitorous lips over her ribcage, over her stomach. She parted her thighs to give the blockhead a clue, but he ignored her, his mouth lazily exploring her stomach and the crests of her hips.
“You villain,” she muttered. “You cad, you devil, you blackguard, you scoundrel, you… Oh.”
Oh.
He had finally found her quim. With his mouth.
Dazed, she lifted her head to stare at him. He lay between her thighs, caressing her with his tongue, and then he pressed his thumb—
Oh.
Her hips rose; he pushed them down, so she looped a leg over his shoulder and pounded him with her heel.
Flashing her a smile, his eyes held hers as he lowered his mouth to do it again. How contented he looked! And so infuriatingly pleased with himself! Oh dear heaven, she wanted to strangle him and kiss him and love him and kick him. A different pleasure arose, a new pleasure, deep inside where even his touch could not reach.
“Still want to draw me that map, sweetheart?” he said.
He nipped the inside of her thigh. Need rushed through her, and with an alien yelp, she fell back, her hands helplessly curling in the silk and velvet of his robe, as the firm warmth of his mouth continued the exquisite work that his masterful fingers had begun.
She closed her eyes and followed his advice: to feel, only feel. Sensation coursed through her veins like hot liquid gold, drawn toward her center by his insistent, commanding mouth. Sensation flowed from her toes and her fingertips, from her back and her breasts, flowed to her center, pooling, swelling, building, a hot heavy whirlpool of sensation, swirling in her core, right above where his mouth—
Stopped.
Everything stopped. The torrent of sensations swirled in place, neither rising nor subsiding. She raised her head and glared at him, meeting his wild eyes.
“Curse you,” she managed to say, the words a mangled cry of breath and torment. “What on earth are you doing? You can’t stop! You must… You have to…”
His eyes burned into hers. She watched, mesmerized, as her world narrowed down to his hand, to the touch of his tongue on his own thumb. That thumb became the center of her universe, as he pressed it firmly against her; she bucked, crying out with pleasure and need, and then his mouth was on her again, continuing his call. She had no idea what he was doing, but she didn’t care; what mattered was the insistent, swirling sensation, rising under his command, rising until it burst into hot waves that rippled back through every inch of her skin.
Arabella collapsed onto the rug, pleasure still pulsing through her with each thundering beat of her heart. Vaguely, she was aware of Guy extricating himself from her boneless legs. He stretched out beside her. She found enough strength to shift and flop against him like a cat.
Neither spoke or moved. The fire crackled and the clock ticked. Arabella’s heart calmed, the sensations subsided, and her brain began to work.
Just enough to note that she had asked, and he had given.Start with something small, he had said. So she had, with success, and already she felt stronger, the way taking action always made her feel stronger. Perhaps it was the dizzying thrill that came with knowing she had faced a fear, that he had been generous and caring and undeterred by her fury, that made her feel more like herself than she ever had.
Perhaps it was that same thrill that made her rise and study him, as he lay with his arm thrown over his eyes, that feeling of strength that made her press her hand to his heaving chest, like she was staking a claim.
* * *
Guy kepthis arm over his eyes and tried to breathe. Arabella’s palm was exultant on his chest, and her lingering taste on his tongue clouded his last scrap of judgment.
“Now it’s my turn to touch you,” she said, her voice husky and unexpectedly playful.
“I promised we wouldn’t.” He flung his arm away from his face. Her hair was a wild dark cloud, her lips swollen, her eyes languorous with erotic promise. “You asked to be touched; I touched you. That is all.”
“You’re being honorable again.”
“It’s a curse,” he agreed.
“Not for me.” She tightened her hand into a claw, scratched a tormenting trail over his sternum. “I don’t have to be honorable.”
