Page 29 of Meet A Rogue At Midnight
Sensations swamped him. Words failed him. He needed Livvy. To feel her. To taste her. Tipping her chin high, he planted the softest kiss on her mouth. It was all he could do. He coaxed sweetness from her, his lips brushing hers, a whispery touch meant to soothe her and heal the storm inside him.
“Oh, Jonas.” She breathed his name. In it was contentment, the future, and a sultry promise.
Dipping low, he sucked on the plump center part of her upper lip. A taste, a nibble…a deeper suck. She moaned, swaying into him again. Welcome friction rubbed the tip of his cock, the pleasure a white hot shock to his brain. Her homespun breeches, the wool and the wooden buttons rubbed his skin. Separation was agony. He needed to seat himself inside.
He gripped her backside with both hands and hoisted her up. Livvy yelped into his mouth, wrapping her legs around his waist. They didn’t break their kiss. Mouths pressed hungrily. Tongues touched. He walked, carrying her to the bed.
“Your clothes,” he mumbled into her mouth and kissed a trail to her ear.
“My clothes.” Livvy shivered when his lips played with her lobe. “We should slow down.”
“No,” he rasped.
Her fingers bumped between them. She didn’t rush. She giggled when he nipped her earlobe. When his mouth ran into her formidable cravat, he growled his frustration.
A nervous titter spilled from her. “There is no rush.”
“I think there is.” He bit the cravat’s tie and yanked it with his teeth.
Livvy inhaled a hiss of sound. The mannish waistcoat parted. A cambric shirt covered her. The cravat loose, he searched for her shirt’s opening at her neck. Touching her throat calmed him. He dragged his splayed hand from her throat, to her collarbone, to the top of her chest, careful to memorize her shape. Livvy’s bare skin calmed him. This was only her neck and the top of her chest. She could be the tonic a sick man prayed for. Life-giving. Sustenance of the best kind.
What would happen when he touched the rest of her?
When he thrusted into her, her naked body writhing beneath him?
His body tightened painfully at that picture.
Breasts jostled. Pale thighs clenched his hips. Her brown eyes with their slight, exotic tilt watched him under heavy lids.
Livvy removed her coat and let it drop to the floor. “I’m counting on you to keep me warm.”
“I can do that.”
He lifted the hem of her shirt and tucked it under her chin. Whalebone stays cinched her. His hands spanned her ribs. Slowly, he dragged his thumbs down the whalebone, tracing the ridged lines until he landed on bare skin. No shift. This was nice. He tested the curve of her pelvic bones, following the dip into the waistband of her breeches. Her skin pebbled wherever his thumbs touched.
Livvy hissed, her shirt hem slipping free of her chin. Hands shaking, she wrangled the shirt in one hand, her the lacing of her stays with the other.
“Let me,” he said, brushing her hands aside.
Milk white breasts spilled over the top of her stays. He tugged the ties, working the top three tiers with impatient hands. The lacing parted and he had to stop. The valley of her cleavage showed between the lacing. He stared, slack jawed. Full, inner curves pressed inside the stays…firm and round moving each time she breathed.
Hehadto touch.
One finger slipped past the ties inside her stays and traced a pale curve.
“Your skin is finer than velvet.” He was awestruck. He had to explore the inner part of her breast again and again to assure himself of the truth—Livvy was made for his touch.
The texture of her skin, the softness…
And this was one finger on one breast.
She watched him, fascinated by his hand inside her stays. The garment slumped lower on her torso until two pink-brown nipples popped to view.
“Well, hello.” He grinned, his gaze locked on those two points.
The greeting was worthy of a cad. Base and obscene. He should be romantic. Instead, he honed in on the coin-sized peaks. With both hands, he twirled the tiny tips between his thumb and forefinger in barely-there circles. Breast play was an art form he’d not perfected. He liked them. Big. Small. Full and round. Or a slight curve the likes of a small dumpling. But, this was Livvy he was touching, pleasuring, if he went by her moans.
Her head was lax, tipping to one side. He kissed the exposed skin, breathing her warmth and the wash of clean rose-scented soap on her neck while his fingers circled her areolas. The tender nipples had turned a shade of raspberry.
