Page 51 of A Wicked Game

His lips twitched, as if he could read her thoughts. Very deliberately he let his fingers trace inward, skimming her damp folds, then parting them, sliding in the slippery wetness her body had produced. Her cheeks blazed, but she couldn’t look away. She arched against him, desperate for him to ease the ache he’d started—

He withdrew his hand.

“Not like that,” he chided. “I promised you a kiss.” He glanced between her legs and whatever he saw there, within the frothy tumble of her skirts, made him bite his lip. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I’ve dreamed of tasting you forfucking years.”

Her mouth dropped open in surprise, but there was no time to process his unexpected admission. One of his hands slid to her hip while the other slipped beneath her bottom. She fell back onto her elbows, and then his mouth was between her legs, hot and wet, and she could only gasp in astonishment.

He kissed her with lips and tongue, alternately licking and teasing. Feasting, then savoring, as if he couldn’t decide whether to take his time, or devour her in one fell swoop.

Dear God, what a sensation!His lips found the sensitive bundle of nerves within her curls; he flicked it with his tongue and then tapped lightly with his fingers and Harriet nearly shot off the bed.

“Morgan!”

He groaned against her, a sound of pleasure and agony, like a dreamer, and the vibration made her even more feverish. Utterly unable to keep still, she grabbed his hair, holding him in place, silently begging him to continue this wicked torment. In that moment she didn’t know whether she loved him or hated him. Perhaps it was both.

“Don’t stop!”

Kisses. More kisses: wicked and wonderful. Darkness and pleasure swirled behind her eyelids. Her entire beingseemed centered at the junction of her thighs, her stomach muscles tensing as his touch wound her higher and higher even as she was sinking, falling.Dying.

She was about to beg for mercy when his tongue slippedintoher, stabbing deep, and her body clenched around him like a fist.

She was beyond embarrassment now. Past shame. And he seemed to know exactly what she needed. He quickened his pace, tongue and fingers working in wicked harmony, and she gasped his name, clutching at his head, striving for that pinnacle of joy.

She splintered apart. Waves of pleasure rolled over her, as powerful as breakers in a storm, pitching her to the depths of smothering, drowning ecstasy.

When she finally regained her senses, Harriet found herself staring up at the ceiling, her chest heaving, her limbs still shaking with tiny tremors. Her entire being seemed to glow with satisfaction. She glanced down her body, past the voluminous puff of her skirts, and found Morgan still crouched between her thighs. Heat flashed over her skin, and for an endless moment they just stared at each other, as if neither of them could quite believe what they’d done.

And then he sent her a cocky, knowing smile, and the spell was broken.

“Welcome back.”

He stood, wiping his glistening mouth on his shirtsleeve, then fluffed her skirts down over her knees. For a heart-stopping moment he stood looking down at her, and she wondered what would happen if she simply opened her arms and beckoned him down.

Would he cover her with his body? Would he kiss her? Touch her? Strip them both of their remaining clothes and make love to her fully, as she was so desperate for him to do?

Unable to stop herself, she dropped her gaze to the front of his breeches to see if he’d been remotely affected by what they’d just done, and her eyes widened at the obvious bulge outlined by the snug fabric.

His eyebrows lifted as he saw the direction of her gaze. “See something you like, Montgomery?”

Without a hint of embarrassment, he molded his hand over the bulge and shifted it to what was presumably a more comfortable position. “Because if you want to add kisses four, five, and six, I have plenty of suggestions.”

She hadn’t thought it possible to get any hotter. Feeling at a distinct disadvantage flat on her back, she struggled to sit up, but the mattress was so soft it thwarted her every move. With a snort of amusement, he reached out a hand, caught her own, and hauled her up.

The ease with which he did it reminded her just how strong he was; and how careful he’d just been with her. Her heart compressed a little more.

Oh, God, she was in trouble.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Morgan fought to clear his swimming head. He felt drunk, utterly intoxicated. Harriet’s scent, her taste—dark and sweet—lingered in his mouth, his nose. His only thought had been to pleasure her. Every pulse of his blood had been filled with the same desperate refrain:Lovethis.Needthis. Needme.

He’d tried every trick he’d ever learned, following the cues of her body, the way she grasped him tighter, or arched, or the way her breath caught on a groan. The sound of her climax had made his heart almost burst with satisfaction.

He’d envisioned her like this in his darkest moments, her skirts rucked to her waist in a frothy foam of petticoats, long hair fanned out around her head, wallowing in the silken ripples of his bedspread. Now the image was seared into his brain like a brand.

God, he was so close to losing control. She was laid out before him like a feast, and he was as starving as he’d been in his prison cell.

He sucked in an unsteady breath. Her thighs had been so soft, like cream silk. He wanted to see her naked. His cock was stiff and throbbing in his breeches, and when her curious gaze rested there, he thought he might explode.

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