Page 96 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
He was naked, she was almost so, and as his hands instinctively found their way beneath the hem of her chemise and his palms glided over the luscious globes of her bottom and the shock of skin-to-skin contact seared through them both, the expertise of years raised its head.
He hadn’t thought this through. He had no plan for how matters would proceed. He hadn’t allowed for the heightened urgency that had gripped them both and derailed all hope of him controlling the play, yet with her lips and greedy urging hands, she continued to make her demands crystal clear, and he needed to decide on the right next move immediately if not sooner.
He’d been an acknowledged rake of the highest order for over a decade. There was a reason for that.
This was nothing more than his latest challenge.
With blinding rapidity, he reviewed and discarded a slew of possibilities; there was really only one that met the needs of an enthusiastic lady-virgin.
As if to confirm that, her hands were streaking over him, exploring the contours of his body and eagerly reaching for areas he would prefer she didn’t yet touch. Decision made, he didn’t bother to relieve her of her chemise, but hauled her hard against him, trapping her hands, then he bent slightly, looped an arm beneath her bottom, and hoisted her up against him.
She broke from the kiss on a gasp. Her hands fell to his bare shoulders. Her breasts, screened only by the finest gossamer silk, rose and fell dramatically right in front of his face. His mouth watered, but he held to his course, the one he knew would be best for her. Prompted by the slide of his hands along the backs of her thighs, all but instinctively, she clamped her knees to his hips. From beneath heavy lids, through her long lashes, she looked down at him, and her blue eyes smoldered.
Before she could think enough to attempt to direct him, he turned and sat on the bed, then fell back onto the silk coverlet.
She uttered a small shriek as she followed him down, then discovering herself straddling his waist, settled and slowly pushed up. Once she was sitting across his hips, her knees to either side, predictably, she tried to frown, although the effect was nothing like her best efforts. “What…?”
His gaze drinking in the sight of her, he let his lips slowly curve. “We’ll get to what’s next in a moment, but first…” Firming one hand at her back, he half sat, propping on one braced arm. “You’re still wearing too many clothes.”
He breathed the last word against the peak of one breast, then licked the silk over the jutting tip, wetting the fabric until it stuck to her heated flesh, then he opened his mouth and drew the luscious bud in. She made a shocked, choked sound, and her fingers slid into his hair and gripped. Tight. They tightened even more as he licked, laved, and curled his tongue about her distended nipple. He played, and she fought to catch her breath, which only grew more ragged with every passing second.
Eventually judging her too far gone to attempt redirecting him, he slid his hand from her back and closed it about her other breast, kneading in time to his devouring. Then he drew back—to a wordless, breathless protest from her—but only to transfer his attention to her thus-far-neglected breast.
The relief that slid through her as she realized his intention set his lips curving again.
He would have taken more time to savor the delights of the luscious mounds, but part of his so-experienced brain kept track of her responses, following each movement, logging every sigh, waiting for the right moment…
When for the third time, she squirmed against him, grinding her hips across his, he drew back and, grasping her chemise with both hands, drew the filmy garment up, over her head. Without hesitation, she lifted her arms and freed them, leaving him to fling that last barrier away.
Before the material even left his fingers, she fell on him, clasping his face between her hands and pressing a kiss that was all fire and demand upon him.
Then she drew back just enough to focus on his eyes. “Show me. Now.”
His reaction—instinctive in the face of such blatant challenge—was to spear the fingers of his hands into her hair and hold her steady as he plundered her mouth anew. He gradually sat up, easing her hips back.
“How?” she whispered through the shockingly ardent exchange.
“Like this.” He showed her how to position herself, then from close range, met her gaze. Their heated breaths mingled as he whispered, “The reins are in your hands.”
She blinked, and he watched—delighted anew—as understanding dawned, infusing her delicate features.
Then her eyes locked with his and, holding his gaze, she eased down.
Taking him in, inch by excruciatingly slow inch.
His hands rode her hips. His palms itched with the impulse to push firmly down. He set his jaw and resisted. Endured. This might be torture, but it was the best way for her, for her first time…
The head of his erection butted against the barrier he’d expected to find, and she frowned.
Before he could gather his wits enough to issue direction or encouragement, she tightened around him, shattering his ability to think, then apparently realizing the inadvisability of that action, she relaxed her inner muscles and, with typical determination, pushed forcefully down.
“Oh—” She bit off the pained sound.
“Shh.” He kissed her gently, drawing her into the kiss, distracting her even while his senses reeled. She was tight, so tight; he felt as if, behind his lids, his eyes had crossed with sheer pleasure…
Easing back from the kiss, he whispered against her lips, “Just wait a moment.” Then he kissed her again, more deeply, snaring her skittering senses and drawing them into the exchange.
She followed his lead, at first. But seconds later, she pulled back from the kiss and, eyes closed, experimentally shifted.
