Page 66 of The Rakehell of Roth
His fingers had stalled at the waistband of his breeches.
“Why are you stopping? Disrobe means disrobe.”
“And you?”
“I am the proprietress of the transaction,” she told him, her brain’s capacity to function reducing with every breath. “You are the performer.”
A surprised chuckle burst from him. “Now I know how a debutante feels on the marriage block. Or better yet, a Cyprian.”
Isobel stilled, remembering what he’d told her about the rules of consent in the club. “Lord Roth, do you grant me permission to proceed?”
“I do.” His gray eyes were so dark they were nearly black, but they shone with approval.
“And you acceptmywill in all things.”
“Yes.” The word was a primal growl that set her lady parts on fire.
“Good.” She rewarded him with a sultry smile and strolled around the desk. “Bind your eyes.”
Winter stared at her for a protracted moment, but then lifted his arms and wrapped the fine linen around the upper part of his face. Ragged breaths sawed past his lips, chest heaving as his clenched fists fell to his sides. God, she’d never seen a more beautifully made man.
And he washers.
Isobel drew her own ragged breath into her aching lungs, ogling him without fear of him seeing just how desperate she was to drink him in. Freed of the hot press of his eyes, she traced a fingertip down his chest, watching as the muscle leaped reflexively beneath it, all the way down to his waistband that was still fastened.
“You disobeyed me, Lord Roth,” she chided, knuckles brushing over his flexing abdomen. They leaped, too, along with other still-covered body parts. “I seem to recall telling you to get rid of these.”
She let her hand drift lower, hearing his sharp intake of breath, her woolen mind dimly confirming that he was rock-hard everywhere, especiallythere. The thick shape of him had been burned into her memory, but she wanted toseehim.
Emboldened, Isobel unfastened his falls, allowing his eager erection to spring free from its confines, and nearly swooned then and there. Rowlandson might have some disturbingly erotic drawings, and she might have been able to keep a clear head while paging through the filthy pages earlier, but none of them could compare to the real thing.
Winter was as formidable and as beautiful there as he was everywhere else.
“Isobel.” The three-syllable rasp of her name dripped through her like hot honey.
“Undress me.”
He exhaled a groan. “I cannot see.”
“Then feel.”
…
Winter wondered if a man could actually die from need. His ballocks were so tight, his cock so full, with every muscle in his body straining for release that he was sure he was balancing on the very edge of death. Buthell, what a way to go.
He could feel his wife’s eyes on him, the lack of sight heightening every other sense—the smell of her, the sound of her own suffocated breaths, and now thefeelof her.
As instructed, Winter reached out blindly, attempting to control the trembling of his hands when they contacted the front of her body. He fumbled with the buttons at first, but managed to get the first layer off and then her waistcoat. She helped with the shirt and then stepped away. The rustle of clothing reached him.
God, he wished he could see.
She shifted again, and then warm breath caressed his ear. “Put your hands on me, Winter.”
At the sound of his given name, this time, he couldn’t hold back the shudder that dissipated like lava through him. A shudder that turned into a full-on quake when his bare hands met soft feminine flesh. Her hips. Hernakedhips. His greedy palm slid around the satiny curve, cupping the firm arse he’d drooled over before, her velvety skin making him harder than he’d ever been in his life.
“Sit,” she ordered, pushing a palm to the center of his chest and urging him back into the seat behind him. Hell, he loved the sound of her voice. Her breathy commands. And then she straddled him, thighs bracketing his. Fuck this charade, he had to see her. Had to take her in.
Winter reached up to remove the blindfold.
