Page 36 of Wicked Again
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She was only human. And Haddon had just disrobed while she watched.
Completely.
And he wasbloodymagnificent. Every inch of him. A thrill ran through her, fingers twitching, remembering the feel of all that lovely muscle and warm skin pressed against hers.
There was no doubt of Haddon’s intentions as he stood before her in the privacy of her small parlor, a place she had never brought any previous lover. Poor Enderly hadn’t made it past the drawing room.
Her eyes flicked below Haddon’s waist where hisintentionjutted in her direction.
Arousal snapped and curled between her legs, suffusing her entire body. There was no use any longer at pretending she didn’t desire him. Haddon would see through the lie in a matter of seconds. Dear Lord, hernippleswere poking through the wet material of her chemise and gown, something he couldn’t fail to notice. Haddon wasn’t blind.
Haddon was like a hurricane, whipping about Marissa with such intensity he left her dizzy and breathless. It pained her to know her feelings for Reggie paled dramatically compared to Haddon, as if she were betraying her late husband somehow.
He’s just a dalliance.
She tried to cling to her paltry dismissal of him, told herself that this was only a casual encounter brought on by the weather and his heroic exploits in the rescue of her hat. He’d been marvelous climbing up that tree. There wasn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t want him in her bed after such a display.
Haddon crooked a finger in her direction. “Come here,” he purred.
Drat.
Marissa obeyed without thinking, taking a step toward Haddon, unable to take her eyes from his naked body, his skin painted gold from the flames licking up the supple lines of his hips and torso. She approached cautiously, determined to stay in full command of her wits. Laughable, under the circumstances.
“Lift them.” He nodded to her skirts. “Petticoats and all.” The words rasped against her skin.
“What—?”
He waved his hand up. “Do it, Marissa. Lift them. Now.”
Heat erupted again inside her. With shaking hands, she lifted the hem of her wet skirts, exposing a great deal of her silken-clad legs...among other things. The warmth of the fire glanced off her thighs as Haddon reached out to trail a finger from the side of her knee up her thigh and into the soft hair of her mound. His finger ran along her crevice, exploring the already moist flesh, gaze fixed firmly on her face, daring her to look away while he touched her.
The caress of his finger was light, barely more than the pressure of a butterfly alighting on a flower.
Moisture seeped between her thighs and she bit her lip. “I—”
“Shh. Don’t move,” he whispered before pressing an openmouthed kiss to the slope of her neck.
Marissa clutched the fabric of her skirts tighter. She couldn’t have moved even if she were on fire. Which, technically, she supposed, she was.
His teeth grazed her neck while his finger slid back and forth against her in a languid manner, searching and teasing until a soft moan escaped her.
“I can’t wait to taste you again, Marissa.” He took the whisky clutched in her hand.
Honestly, Marissa couldn’t believe she hadn’t dropped the damn glass what with holding her skirts and—
Her hips rocked forward as one of his fingers slipped inside her. Holding the glass of whisky in his other hand, he gave her a sip, making sure some spilled across her mouth. Haddon used his tongue to catch the drops of whisky before his mouth fell on hers.
I will drown in him.
The last bit of sense she still possessed fled as his lips trailed over hers. The kiss was gentle, unhurried, but spoke of months of hunger and longing. His fingers never stopped moving against her, stroking and teasing until she made a small sound in her throat.
Haddon’s mouth left hers. “Is there something you wish to say, Marissa?”
“No.” Her thoughts were a floating, jumbled mess. “Only that I’m—” Her words halted as his forefinger found a particularly sensitive spot and a soft moan left her. “Wet.”
“Yes. You most certainly are.” His fingers cautiously circled the small pearl hidden in her folds. The hand holding the glass of whisky gently tipped up her chin, forcing her to look at him as he toyed with her flesh. The thick length of him seared the skin of her thigh.
