Page 47 of Never a Duchess
He was losing control.
He gripped her soft buttocks, crushing her to his body, pressing his erection into her belly, grinding against her to ease the infernal ache.
Gasping, he broke contact. “We should stop before I hike up yer skirts and touch ye intimately.”
She looked up at him, eyes glazed, just as lost in the moment. “Don’t stop yet. I want you to touch me. I was wrong. You’re every bit a scoundrel when you kiss me, Dounreay.”
Time was against them.
Roxburgh could stride into the maze at any moment.
He claimed her again, the kiss deep and passionate, his tongue mating with hers like he had not seen her for nine years, let alone nine months.
An internal war raged as he decided whether to touch her. But the temptress’ hand slid to his abdomen, to the hard ridge bulging in his trousers, to stroke his solid length.
They both inhaled sharply.
Before he knew what he was about, his hands were coasting up her satin thighs to cup her bare buttocks.
“Oh, God!” she moaned.
He moved his hand, slipping his fingers along the soft folds of her sex, touching her, pleasuring her in a way he’d never thought possible.
“Ye’re so wet, love.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Aye.” He stroked the little bud, teasing in gentle circles.
She gripped his coat for balance. “Don’t stop. I need you. I need more.”
“I ken what ye need, but cannae give it to ye here. Nae with yer brother lingering in the darkness.”
Her eyelids fluttered. “Where then? When?”
He daren’t push his fingers inside her, though the thought of pumping hard into her wetness almost made him spill in his trousers.
“Tonight. We’ll see if we can find an opportunity when we visit Madame Delafont at the theatre.”
A loud cough rent the air.
They jumped apart, scanning the darkness.
There was no sign of her brother.
“We must leave before Roxburgh forces ye to marry me.” It would be no hardship. He would never tire of bedding her. After such a thrilling encounter, Callan considered holding his hands high and confessing his sins.
She was still straightening her skirts as they navigated the narrow walkways. He was still trying to regulate his breathing and temper lust’s flames. God, he was ramrod stiff and wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight.
Before they rounded the last bend, she whispered, “Your Grace?”
“Aye.” He stopped and faced her.
“I wouldn’t want any other tutor but you.”
His heart lurched. He’d asked for one thing in exchange for helping her with her research. The one thing she had denied him all these years. Honesty.
He smiled. “And ye’re the only woman I’d agree to teach, Miss Ware.”
