Page 77 of A Devil in Silk
He downed his wine in one swallow, set both glasses aside and reached for her. “Tell me what you desire. Don’t be afraid. Remember, this doesn’t need to go beyond a kiss unless you want it to.” He settled his hand on her hip, his thumb tracing languid circles against the silk.
“I know. But adventurers don’t stop until they achieve their goal, and I’ve always dreamed of conquering you, Bentley.”
Chapter Sixteen
Clara didn’t know it was possible to feel so many things at once. Atop the tower, exhilaration had flooded her veins, yet it paled beside the thrill of Bentley’s mouth tracing hot kisses along her jaw.
At the seance, she’d felt fear. But it was nothing compared to the thought of living without this, his hands gripping her bottom, the solid press of his body, stoking the ache low in her belly.
She lusted after adventure, but not as fiercely as she lusted after him. She craved risk, but not half as much as she craved the safety of his strong embrace.
“I need you out of these clothes, Clara, before I lose my damn mind. I need you naked and in my bed.”
The thought was more thrilling than the prospect of soaring high in Mr Green’s balloon or racing hell-for-leather along Rotten Row.
Bentley stepped back, shrugging out of his coat and tossing it aside. His blue eyes no longer resembled a calm sea but the crest of a storm-tossed wave, dark, wild, and fixed entirely on her.
“I can peel you out of them slowly,” he said, tugging at his waistcoat with such urgency that a gold button went skittering across the rug, “or I could be wicked and ruin that sumptuous dress.”
She tipped her chin, heart pounding. “Surprise me.”
“It’s dangerous to give an aroused man free rein.” His cravat was already on the floor, his shirt following in one swift motion.
“I live for danger, remember?”
The sight of him, all bare skin and hard muscle, stole her next breath. Her fingers itched to touch him, to map every ridge and hollow, to learn him by feel rather than sight.
She closed the gap between them and rested her fingertips on his chest. Oh, he was so warm, so smooth, so undeniably male. “I always knew you’d look incredible. But I’ve longed to know how it feels to touch you, Bentley.”
A groan rumbled in his throat. “I’ve imagined this a hundred times too. Don’t stop there.”
His hand closed over hers, guiding her palm over the hard planes. The heat of his skin, the hammering beat of his heart, it was all for her.
“You’re such a contradiction,” she whispered, inhaling the earthy scent of his body. “Soft to touch, all brute strength beneath.”
“Wait until you feel how hard I am. Do you want to know what you do to me? How you drive me mindless with need?”
God help her, she wanted nothing more. “Show me.”
He guided her hand lower, the muscles in his abdomen as taut as braided rope, until she found the solid length straining against his trousers. Heat pulsed through the fabric, urgent beneath her palm.
“Stroke me.”
Her stomach tightened at his shocking command. “Like this?”
She knew the answer when she wrapped her hand around the thick length and worked him through the fine wool. His breath hissed between his teeth, head tipping back as he growled, “That’s so damn good.”
Feeling oddly empowered, Clara tightened her grip. Each stroke drew another shudder from him, another ragged gasp, until she realised she was the one in control, the one undoing him.
A wicked thought popped into her head.
The need to prove shewasa devil in silk.
His devil.
Before she could talk herself out of it, her fingers were at the fastenings of his trousers, fumbling from urgency, not fear. One button popped free, then another, until she pushed the fabric low and freed him.
Sweet mercy!
