Page 22 of The Inconvenient Compromise
“Then what would you like, Fiona?”
“For you to make me forget everything else,” she whispered. “I am not a seductress, Lucian. I do not know how to ask for what I want except to state, very bluntly, that I want you.”
“There are no more seductive words in all of the English language,” he replied. Even as he spoke, his hands drifted up from her waist to the buttons at the back of her gown. Freeing them one by one, the fabric parted, slipping from her shoulders to reveal the crocheted lace edging her chemise and the upper swells of her breast rising above her stays. “Hearing that you want me is… a relief. Because I want you. Every minute of every day. It consumes me.”
“Let’s go to bed.”
“Oh, no,” he refused with a wicked grin. “Beds are not a requirement, Fiona. It’s time to begin your education… Let’s discover just how wicked you’re willing to be.”
* * *
Fiona’s heartwas pounding in her chest. Her skin felt overly warm, and all she wanted was to strip off the velvet dress and feel the air on her skin. So, without further hesitation, she rose from Lucian’s lap, shrugged out of the peacock blue velvet, and let the gown fall to the floor. Her petticoats were next. And he did nothing to help. He didn’t touch her at all. Instead, he leaned back in the chair, watching her. The weight of his gaze moving over her was like a caress in and of itself.
Loosening her stays, she allowed them to fall to the floor, landing amidst the growing pile of discarded clothing. Leaning forward, she reached for her garters, but Lucian’s hand shot out, encircling her wrist.
“Leave those on. Stockings, garters… and the pearls,” he said, nodding toward the simple necklace that encircled her throat. “Those should stay on. But everything else goes.”
He’d told her he was going to introduce her to wickedness, and it did feel wicked, indeed. But it also felt exciting. Naughty. Scandalous. Wanton. All of those things that she’d been told all of her life that she should never be—and with him, she wanted to be every last one of them. She was fairly certain he wanted her to be, as well.
Fiona, with more boldness than she would have expected of herself, slipped the straps of her chemise down over her arms. For just a moment, she clasped the garment to her, shielding her. But taking a deep breath, on exhalation, she let it fall.
She stood before him just as he’d asked. Wearing only her stockings and garters, high-heeled slippers, and a single strand of pearls, she felt more exposed than she would have had she been entirely nude. More exposed. More vulnerable. And more eager for his touch than she had ever imagined she might be.
“Remove the pins from your hair,” he instructed, “Slowly.” He still had not touched her. Instead, he leaned back, letting his gaze roam, drinking in the sight of her.
Lifting her arms, Fiona did as he’d asked. One pearl-studded hairpin at a time, she slipped each one free from the coiled mass of her hair. When it all tumbled down, spilling over her shoulders in a tangle of riotous curls, his demeanor changed. His expression became dark and fierce—hungry. He was no longer letting his gaze roam lazily over her. Instead, he was reaching out, his hands clasping her waist and tugging her forward. Standing before him as he was seated in the chair, he had but to tip his head back to bring his mouth to her breast.
The press of his lips, followed by the sweep of his tongue and then the gentle sting of his teeth, drew a gasp from her. Fiona’s hands slipped to his shoulders, grasping the fabric of his coat as she tried to still the quaking of her knees.
He pulled her down onto his lap once more, but this time she was straddling his thighs, facing him fully. She could feel the hard ridge of his arousal against her own thigh. With more bravado than she would have given herself credit for, Fiona slipped her hand between them, touching him intimately, feeling the firm heat of him beneath her fingertips.
“Minx.” His voice was a rough growl, but the word itself had been infused with warmth and no small amount of approval.
“It’s unfair,” she whispered.
“What is?”
“The deficit in our knowledge. You know perfectly well how to seduce me, how to bring me pleasure… and I am, save for our encounters, entirely ignorant. That’s hardly fair.”
He looked at her for a moment and then, with a decisive motion, freed the buttons that fastened the fall-front of his breeches. “Then let me show you.”
When he grasped her hand, wrapping it firmly around his straining flesh, Fiona was amazed by the soft texture of his skin. Impossibly hard, and yet her hand moved over him as if gliding over silk.
Tentative at first, she grew bolder and more certain with each caress. When a shudder rippled through him, Fiona felt a surge of something she had never truly known in her life. Power. This man—so large and strong, powerful in every way—and she could bring him to such a point of surrender.
Still gripping him firmly in her hand, keeping that rhythm, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his neck. Thinking of all the wonderful things he had done and the way each had made her feel, she turned the table. She flicked her tongue over the point where his pulse beat and then scraped her teeth lightly over the corded muscle there.
His hand closed over her wrist, halting her movements.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” he said breathlessly. “You are doing everything right. But if this is to last long enough for us both to find our pleasure, you must stop.”
Reluctantly, Fiona allowed him to remove her hand. But any disappointment she felt at having her explorations cut short was soon forgotten. His hands slid beneath her thighs, lifting her up onto her knees, and then he was nudging inside her—his hard flesh easing into her, filling her. The sensations were exquisite. They robbed her of the ability to think. She could only feel. And when his hands moved to her hips, guiding her up and down, setting a rhythm that would build until it took them both to the point of release and beyond.
Fiona was unaware of the cries that escaped her. Even had she been aware, she’d never have been able to subdue them. At that moment, her body was no longer her own. She felt as if he owned her completely—every touch, every breath, every shudder, and gasp belonged to him.
There was no gentle release. It wasn’t the ebb and flow of waves. It burst within her with all the fury of a raging storm. Her head fell back, and her nails dug into his shoulders. Sweat slicked her skin as she trembled violently against him. And then she felt him surging into her once more, driving deep and holding her close. The rush and heat of his seed spilling inside intensified the lingering spasms of her body around him. A broken sob escaped her.
