Page 111 of Harpy of the Ton
He slipped a hand below her neckline, and her senses came alive as his calloused fingers claimed her breast, sweeping across her sensitized skin until they found what they sought—the hardened bud at the center. Then he flicked the nub, and she cried out as a fizz of pleasure shot through her body.
Then he grasped her gown, fisting his hand around the material, and lifted her skirts. Her skin tightened at the rush of cool air, and she shifted her legs further apart.
“Please…” she said. “I need…something… I know not what…No!” she cried out in frustration as he grasped her wrists and pushed her back. “Lawrence…” Tears splashed onto her cheeks at his rejection. “Please—don’t stop!”
“Oh, Bella,” he said. “I want to bury myself inside you so bad, but I’ve no wish to hurt you.”
“You’re hurting menow,” she said. “Must you always push me away?”
“I’m not pushing you away, love, but it’s your first…” He stopped and shook his head. “Damn.”
“My first what?”
“I want you to feel only pleasure, Bella, but I fear it will hurt.”
“I want this,” she said. “I wantyou.” She reached up and placed her hand on his cheek. “I trust you, Lawrence—my body and my heart are yours.”
“Then your pleasure awaits.”
He picked up the blanket, then spread it on the floor in front of the fire.
“Aren’t we going to your bedchamber?”
“No, love,” he said. “I fear we’d wake the children.”
“Why?”
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. Then he took her hand. “I’ve no wish for them to hear you screaming my name as you come undone.”
“C-come undone?” Though his words were meaningless, a wicked pulse rippled through her.
He took her shoulders in his hands, and a small sigh escaped her lips as he caressed her throat with the tips of his thumbs. Then he lowered her neckline to reveal her breasts.
“Oh, Bella,” he whispered. “You don’t know how much I’ve been wantin’ to do this.”
The tip of his tongue flicked out to moisten his lips.
“We ate well tonight,” he said, “but I find myself ready for another meal.”
“Another… Oh!”
She cried out as he took her breast into his mouth and flicked her already beaded nipple with his tongue. His hot breath caressed her skin, and she arched her back.
He lifted his lips in a lazy smile. “Ah, there’s nothin’ as delectable to a man as his woman offering herself for him to feast on. But I mustn’t spoil my appetite for the feast to come.”
With a deftness that belied his huge, rough hands, he peeled off her gown. Then he removed her undergarments until she stood before him, naked save for her stockings.
She lifted her hands to shield herself from his gaze, and he caught her wrists.
“No,” he said. “There’s much pleasure to be had in lookin’ at you—and there’s pleasure to be had in being looked at, when it’s your man doin’ the looking.”
His hungry gaze traveled across her body, lingering at the apex of her thighs and its thatch of curls where her flesh had grown hot and damp.
Sweet heaven, he was right. How could there be so much pleasure from merely beinglooked at? Or was it thewayhe looked at her, as if he needed her not just for pleasure, but because he couldn’t exist without her?
Then he kneeled on the blanket, pulling her down with him. He cupped her breasts, and his eyes closed as he held them tenderly, as if he feared she’d shatter at his touch. For a moment, he grew still, a slow smile curving his mouth.
“What sweet, sweet breasts,” he whispered. “Made to fit my hands—how I’ve longed to hold them, to worship them, and to taste them.”
