Page 47 of When a Lady Desires a Wicked Lord
For a heartbeat, she considered the guard who patrolled nearby, but the press of his lips to a deliciously sensitive spot at the base of her throat silenced the nagging harpy in the back of her thoughts.
“Yes,” she murmured, nearly mindless with need. “Please. Yes.”
His hand skated along the length of her thigh, infinitely gentle, stirring delicious tingles of sensation. Exploring her softness. Kindling her desire. Tempting her to abandon all restraint.
With a sweep of his fingers over her achingly sensitive flesh, he stirred the first flickers of need to a blaze. Hunger filled her every cell. A sweet bliss washed over her, and she canted her hips, wanting more. More of his touch. More of his tenderness. More of his words of love.
“Darling, I want to hear you…when I give you pleasure.” His voice was low and husky, raw with longing.
The gravel-edge plea touched a wanting deep within her. She arched against him, pleading with each movement of her hips for the decadent sensations that were pulling her toward a mindless vortex.
Her inner muscles contracted and pulsed. Much more of this, and she would go mad. Or so it seemed. She couldn’t define the hunger. But it was so very real. A bittersweet ache only he could soothe.
“Oh, Benedict. Yes…yes.”
She cried out. Softly, for his ears only. Unrestrained in her delight, drinking in every pulse, every sensation, every moment of pleasure.
Each breath sounded amplified against her ears. She rested her head against his broad chest, secure in his arms. Content and utterly sated.
And yet, wanting more.
Wanting his pleasure, as he had wanted hers.
Shyly, she glided her fingers over the breadth of his shoulders. Slipping beneath his crisp linen shirt, she curved her hand over his shoulder, feeling the sleek power of lean muscle. The sheer maleness of him filled her with a craving to feel those muscles tense beneath her fingertips as he reached that delicious peak of sensation. She wanted to feel him shudder with the fulfillment of release. She wanted to hear him call her name, rough with passion, and desire, and sensual delight.
She slid her hand along the flat, hard plane of his chest. He let out a breath, as if he fought for control of his impulses. She did not want him to restrain himself. That was the most distant thing from her mind.
No, she wanted him to fully express his passion. She yearned to feel his response to her touch, to express the ecstasy he felt as she had given voice to hers.
With a smile, she ran the fingers of her left hand through his hair, savoring the silky texture of the wheat brown strands, as she ran the fingertips of her other hand through the feathering of dark hair that spanned his chest and tapered into a line bisecting his middle. A deeper brown than the strands on his head, the hue accented the meld of muscle and flesh and bone.
Pressing a kiss to his lips, she shifted her right hand lower, tugging his shirt loose from his trousers. Sliding beneath the fabric, she explored the contours of his male body.
His belly was hard and ridged with muscle, his skin bronzed. Growing bolder, she allowed her fingers to trace the same path he’d drawn on her with his touch. He shuddered with awareness.
His trousers could not hide the evidence of his arousal. The ridge of his erection pressed to the fabric, straining for release. Her mouth went dry with a primal yearning.
Gently, tenderly, she reached out to him. With the tips of her fingers, she caressed the length of him. Growing bolder, she cupped her fingers around his shaft. He groaned, even as he throbbed against her tender possession.
She let out a sigh, wondering if she possessed the daring to open his trousers and bare his body to her.
Sensing her thoughts, he gently shook his head. “We must not…go any further. I cannot guarantee my restraint.”
She pulled in a breath, fortifying her fragile daring. “And if I do not wish you to conduct yourself with restraint?”
He gulped a breath, and for a heartbeat, it seemed he might actually be praying for strength.
With a leisurely gentleness, he put an arm’s length between their bodies. His eyes gleamed with heat, even as he smiled. “This night was for you, darling. I wanted to bring you pleasure. Tonight, you gave me what I needed…you, in my arms, my name on your lips.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Tell me why you left London.”
For such a very long time, Alex had wanted an explanation, to hear from Benedict in his own words why he’d left her. Now, as she sat nestled on a settee before the hearth, her head resting comfortably against his shoulder, she calmly voiced the question that had once seemed a not-quite-healed wound.
This time with Benedict seemed so natural. So right. The sense that they belonged together filled her with emotions she’d thought long dead. She’d hesitated to speak the words for fear of shattering their tenderness. But she had to know. She had to understand.
Even more than she yearned for his kiss, she needed the truth.
