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“No.”
A strained smile came across his face. “I understand.”
“No,” she repeated, lifting her head. “We do need to do more, Cillian.” she told him. “I need you. And I think you need me too.”
***
The woman wasn’t wrong. Cillian needed her more than his next breath. Quite how he’d married a sweet, shy woman and ended up with a temptress he did not know, but as it stood, he was not complaining. Having Ivy pleasure herself against him was the sort of thing dreams were made of.
“I need you.”
The words, such a weak admission, didn’t feel as awful as he feared. He’d never needed anyone. What was the point? People didn’t trust him, and people didn’t like him. The only people he’d cared for were his mother and the men he went to war with.
It didn’t mean he needed them, though.
“Touch me,” she begged. “Please.”
As if he could deny her.
In answer to her plea, he skimmed a hand over her chest and down. She rose and fell with his touch like waves on the ocean. He’d never seen anyone or anything so beautiful. Not even the hills of Ireland could compare.
Cillian gripped her skirts and hauled them up, baring her stockings and pale skin to his view. He forced himself to go slowly. They’d reached a tentative agreement—they both wanted one another. But one mistaken move, and she might change her mind. He wasn’t sure he would even blame her. She’d been saddled with an old, injured husband whom no one trusted, and half his household hated.
Yet somehow, she desired him. Hell, she might even like him. It was practically unfathomable.
That didn’t mean he wouldn’t take everything she could give, though. He was strong in some ways but not when it came to her.
Never when it came to Ivy.
He grazed his fingertips around her thigh, and she drew in a deep breath, holding it until he kissed her. Her mouth was as warm and as giving as her body.
She writhed and moaned as he kissed her and moved his hands up and down her legs, allowing his thumb to reach the top of her thighs then down again. He teased as though he had all the time and control in the world, as though he was not a gunpowder keg ready to ignite. Up her thighs and down, touching the crease at the very top before retreating. He needed to make sure she was entirely ready.
“Touch me,” she begged again.
There was only so long a man could resist. He shifted her back enough to slip his fingers between them and meet the heat of her body. She arched and stiffened as he loved her with his fingers. He watched her brow furrow and her lips purse as she gripped his arms.
Cillian bit back a curse when she moved into his touch, the sight more erotic than anything he’d ever seen. Keep your scantily clad courtesans and your carefully coiffed debutants shimmering in jewels. He wanted this slightly mussed, fully clothed and diamond less woman writhing on his lap and only this woman.
Her lids flew open when he pushed a finger deeper. Silent pleasure rounded her lips and her grip on him tightened. He eased in another finger and Ivy seemed to give herself up, rocking her hips while he curled his fingers and touched a spot deep inside her.
“More.”
More? Hell, he was going to give her everything.
He needed less, though. Less clothing. Less fabric between them.
Removing his hand from between them, he tugged the spencer jacket from her arms and tossed it aside. It was only luck it didn’t land in the empty but ash-filled fireplace.
Then he reached around, aware of her wide-eyed gaze upon him and popped one button then the next then the next. When her gown loosened, her hands flew to her chest, and she kept the fabric there.
“Stop.”
“Of course.” Cillian dropped his hands to the arms of the chair. Somehow, he’d keep the disappointment from his face. Somehow, he’d figure out a way to control his damned raging erection.
“It’s just…” Her throat bobbed. “You’ll see me.”
“Well, yes…”
