Page 30 of Meet A Rogue At Midnight
“I could do this all night,” he said and dropped a kiss on her breast.
Livvy shuddered, a high, thin wheeze hissing from her. Her mouth went slack and a blissful hum tripped out of her again. She gaped at him. Tried to focus but her eyes were dark pools. Livvy grabbed the bottom of his waistcoat. Skin around her eyes tightened. Her face flushed and she breathed faster. Was she on the verge of finding her pleasure?
Her brown eyes begged him not to stop.
“Good, isn’t it?” He gloated. He couldn’t help it.
“Uh-huh.”
She was his puppet and he was the marionette master…all managed from gentle circles on her nipples. His erection poked out of his breeches. He itched to be skin to skin with her, to see if the rest of her body was velvet textured, but Livvy was right. The tower was cold. They would warm each other the best they could with hot sex.
His sluggish circles on her nipples spread wider. Ripe breasts, firm as Christmas pudding flushed a shade of pink.
“Livvy.”
She moaned. His hands feathered higher up her chest to her collarbone.
“Livvy.” He hooked a finger under her chin, calling her out of her sensual trance. “Your breeches. Push them to your knees.”
She licked her lips and tried to focus on his face. “You don’t have to stop.”
“I won’t.” He chuckled, a sense of control seeping into his limbs.
Livvy unmoored the wooden buttons on her placket. He wouldn’t be surprised if she counted the number she wore too. Coppery strands of hair fell wildly around her face. She stood with a boot on one foot, a plain stocking on the other, her languorous eyes feasting on him. Not once in unbuttoning her breeches did she break eye contact.
It was potent. More than sexual congress about to happen. A primal thing.
Livvy was laying claim to him.
He didn’t have to touch the seam of skin between her legs to know she was ready.
Cloth rustled. He glanced down and laughter rolled through his body. “Only you would be saucy enough to wear a man’s smalls.”
Could a man have it any better? Intimacy and humor with a woman. Another sign of the rightness of being with Livvy.
A satisfied smile broke her sex-hazed stare. It eased the corners of her eyes and lit up her face. “Doesn’t every Englishwoman wear smalls with her breeches?”
He pulled the string holding up that intimate garment. “A question to haunt many a man, I’m sure.”
She was a sight. Breeches down to her knees. Slender, naked thighs lightly muscled and pale in the unlit room. Shirt pulled up. Breasts peeking over her stays. And a dusky spot in the middle of her untied smalls. The sum total of a vision.
Playful. Sweet. Erotic.
He locked on to the thatch between her legs. “The smalls. Push them down.”
His voice was gruff. He couldn’t take his eyes off the juncture of her thighs shrouded in linen. Livvy hooked both hands in her smalls and wiggled her hips.
The bit of cloth dropped to her knees. For a second or two, he couldn’t breathe. A steel band could be crushing his lungs. The lack of air seemed to scramble his brain. A neat triangle of auburn curls was all he could see.
“Lay down for me.” The command left him taut as a fiddle string.
His skin was tight. Joints and muscles tensed. Desire wound him up.
Livvy seated herself on the bed and lay back. He bent over her, smelling her sex. His cock ached. A wet line darkened the feminine curls between her legs. He had to touch it.
One finger skimmed the dampness.
Livvy spread her knees wide, her stockinged foot freed from her breeches. Slick flesh opened for him. Fingers to her mouth, she watched him.
