Page 19 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl
“Lord Wakefield,” she said, her voice husky with gratitude and a desire that’d only strengthened the moment he stepped through the entryway.
Color splotched his cheeks. “I’m not a gentleman who takes part in such debauchery.”
Warmed at his being embarrassed by his presence here, she spoke on a rush. “I know, my lord.”
Her hasty assurance seemed to have the opposite effect. His perfectly chiseled, hard lips tightened and tipped down at the corners.
“Take off your mask,” he commanded.
With fingers that shook, Cressida immediately complied. He looked at her as though she were a stranger.
“As I said, this isn’t my usual taste in bedsport, but I find myself making an exception for you.”
Then, as he walked slowly towards her, his words registered, as did the heated glint in his eyes, and the truth struck her square between the eyes.
He…wanted her in the physical sense.
He’d come not to save her as she’d believed, but instead to claim her virginity.
And what did it say about Cressida that the truth of it didn’t break her but left her feeling more alive than she’d ever felt in her entire life? That her body should come alive even more, and the temperature of the heat flowing in her veins soared.
Lord Wakefield—Wakefield? Benedict? What was she to call him at a time like this?—stopped when they were less than a breath apart. Her body afire, she swayed closer, arching herself nearer so that his chest brushed her breasts.
The barely-there fabric she wore did little to conceal the breadth and power of his muscular chest.
She couldn’t stop herself from rubbing against him in a bid for relief or the wanton little whimper that slipped out. “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, her face awash with mortified heat. “Th-this is all n-new and I—”
He touched a fingertip to her lips. A rogue’s grin she’d never before seen him don curled his lips into a sensual masterpiece of male beauty. “You needn’t feel ashamed.”
“Shame isallI should f-feel,” she said miserably, her lower lip trembling.
Lord Wakefield brushed the pad of his thumb over that flesh, and this time she fought to keep from rocking her hips against him.
“Look at me.” When she hesitated, Lord Wakefield caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger in a firm, commanding touch. He steered her gaze to his. “There’ll be no shame. Not with me, sweet.”
Not with him.He spoke of himself being different than other men, and for Cressida, he always had been. Her throat moved wildly. On top of that, he’d added an endearment to his avowal.
Just like that, she fell in love with him all over again.
Lord Wakefield—no, Benedict. From this day forward, he’d only ever be Benedict.
“Don’t be afraid, little love,” he murmured huskily.
“I could never fear you, Benedict.”
His enigmatic blue eyes darkened.
“I’m going to kiss you, little love.”
Little love.
The promise of his words, the husk of his voice, and the latest endearment he spoke pulled another moan from her.
“I-I am not good at this. I’ve never…”
“Been kissed before?” There was a smile in his voice.
Cressida nodded jerkily.
