Page 97 of A Wicked Game

Morgan sent her a laughing, knowing look. “I’ll assume that’s not a sound of disgust, and continue?” He slid his hands to the button of his falls, paused, and shot her a provocative look from beneath his lashes. “ShallI continue?”

Harriet gripped the arms of the chair and managed to nod. Everything inside her felt hot and restless.

He unbuttoned his falls and stepped out of his breeches. When he straightened, he was fully naked—and fully aroused.

Harriet bit her lip, certain her cheeks were red from more than the heat of the fire.Good God!She’d thought the men in the drawings he’d given her were comically exaggerated, but Morgan was equally well-endowed. That part of him, so proudly male, reared up from a thatch of curly dark hair between thighs that were heavy and rippling with muscle.

She’d seen a statue of Neptune once, in the middle of an enormous fountain. He’d been constructed along similar, epic lines, all glorious sinew and rippling muscles as he whipped up a stampede of plunging water horses with his trident. His bottom half had, disappointingly, been shielded by some frothy, rolling waves, but Harriet could only imagine the rest of him would have been as glorious to behold as Morgan.

“Shall I get the smelling salts?” Morgan teased. “You look a little faint, Miss Montgomery.”

Harriet finally snapped out of her trance. “Show me what to do,” she croaked. “How to touch you. To please you.”

“Don’t you remember the drawings in that book I gave you?”

She nodded, and he took a step closer.

“Do what they were doing,” he said. “Touch me wherever you like.”

His knees nudged her own, through her skirts, and despite the fact that he was looming over her she experienced a rush of power at the fact that he was naked while she was still fully clothed. The contrast was unexpectedly thrilling.

In a flash, she recalled the image of a woman’s hand wrapped around the man’s member. She reached out and gently closed her fingers around his cock. It was warmer than she expected, soft skin over incredibly hard ridged muscle.

Above her, Morgan hissed out a breath. “Bloody hell, Harriet. Harder. Hold me harder.”

He reached down and curled his larger fingers around hers, then slid their joined fists up and down, showing her the rhythm. “God, that feels so good.”

He bent over her, propping his left arm on the back of the chair for support while his right hand continued to move with hers. When she caught the rhythm he released her, and her heart sang at the sound of his ragged breathing.

Growing bolder, she slowed the pace and leaned forward, and licked the tip of him with her tongue.

He let out a torturous groan and she smiled up at him, seized by a wicked, heady confidence. “Hmm. You taste salty. Like all good things in life.”

Her shook his head at her cheekiness, even as he pulled free of her grip. “That’s enough of that, or this’ll be over before we begin. Your turn.”

He stepped back and gestured for her to rise, andwhen she did so he retreated, sinking back into his own wing chair and lounging there like some glorious fallen angel.

“Off with it, Montgomery!” he growled. “Remind me of what I’ve been missing.”

Emboldened by the look in his eyes, Harriet removed her dress, and quickly unlaced her stays. He watched, silent, as she let her petticoats drop to the floor, then caught the hem of her shift and pulled it over her head.

He sucked in a breath as she stood there in just her shoes and stockings, her heart thundering as she waited for his verdict. The heat from the fire warmed her left side, but her nipples were tight and her stomach swirled in something akin to panic.

His gaze roved over her in a caress she couldfeel. He focused on the place between her legs, and when he bit his lip, her knees went a little weak.

“Think we should revisit kiss number three?” His voice was a silky purr, rough around the edges. “Are you wet there, Harry? Tell me the truth.”

Harriet pressed her knees together and tried to stop the ache that pulsed between her legs. “Maybe.”

His chest rose and fell in great uneven breaths. “I want to touch you. Come here.”

Nervous, but willing to try whatever he wanted, Harriet stepped up until her stocking-clad knees touched his.

“Widen your legs.”

He placed a hand on each of her hips, drawing her forward until she straddled his lap in the chair. Harriet hitched in a breath. The move brought her breasts directly level with his face. She hovered above him, her thighs splayed wide over his, and she’d never felt so open, so exposed, in her life. Scared that she might loseher balance, she grasped his shoulders, and her fingers dug into the muscles there as though he were a life raft in a storm.

His own fingers tightened on her hips and he made a strangled sound of longing in his throat.

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