Page 41 of Lord Garson's Bride
He had, the villain. With them jammed so close, she heard his every unsteady breath. He’d definitely hear anything she said to him.
She licked her lips and spoke more strongly. “I said touch me.”
“Where?”
“Must I say it?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a devil.”
“Right now, I feel like I’m roasting in hell.”
Jane tried to get the words out, but a boulder blocked her throat. She tightened her grip on the strap and clenched her thighs against his legs, as if firming her seat on a horse. Her hand lifted off the seat and caught his wrist. Actions might speak louder than words.
She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles.
“Jane…” he said in a shaken voice.
“Let me show you what I want.” She brought his hand between her legs, pushing up her skirts and letting him feel her soaked drawers. Finally she found the nerve to speak. “Touch me here.”
He cupped his hand over her mound. “You’re wet.”
After four days with Hugh, the welling surge was familiar, but it still made her self-conscious. To think, she’d imagined her embarrassment had passed.
“I can’t help it,” she muttered.
“It means you want me.”
She released his hand to clutch at his strong male thigh. “You know I do.”
He squeezed her soft flesh, then stroked her. She made a choked sound, when his finger circled a place that set off a volley of pleasurable explosions.
“You’re so hot and ready,” he said with such satisfaction in his voice, she almost laughed.
“You sound pleased with yourself.”
“I am. I hope you’ll be pleased with me, too.”
He rubbed that hidden place, and she whimpered, all urge to laugh abandoning her. She thought she’d wanted him before, but now every muscle contracted in agony. Behind her, he was as taut as a bowstring. That seeking finger stopped tormenting her, just as she rose toward some unknown ending.
Before she could protest, she felt a subtle stretching as one long finger penetrated her.
“Hugh,” she gasped, instinctively flinching away. But with a large male body at her back, there was nowhere to go.
“You’ll like this,” he murmured, cupping one bare breast.
All these wild responses left her shaken and bewildered. “It’s wicked.”
“But good.” When he teased her nipple, she softened around his predatory finger.
He pulled out, only to use two fingers on her. This time, her body accepted him more readily, and when his thumb teased that sensitive place in time with the glide of his fingers, she sank into a sensual fog where nothing existed but Hugh and what he did to her.
That strange spiraling feeling stirred again, tension coiling tighter and tighter with every shift of his hand. Her breath emerged in jagged gasps, and the hand on his leg curled into talons, digging into taut muscle.
“Don’t fight it, Jane,” he murmured into her ear.
Even as she strained toward something she didn’t understand, her old terror of losing herself to passion flickered to life. But the clamor for relief drowned that small voice of caution. She shivered and squirmed against Hugh’s chest. Still the mysterious outcome hovered out of reach.
