Page 49 of The Art of Sinning
“Yvette—”
“Stay,” she said, before she could change her mind. “Stay.”
A shuddering breath escaped him. “You won’t regret it, I swear.”
“I’m quite sure I will, but—”
He filled his hands with her breasts.
Heavenly day—howdelicious!
His thumbs grazed her nipples, sending her arching up on her toes with a moan. Touching her own breasts furtively under the covers was nothing to this heady onslaught of feeling.
She pressed herself into his hands, and his breathing quickened against her cheek. “I ached to caress these beauties the first night I saw you, my Juno.”
“I’m no goddess,” she said, even as she exulted in his flatteries. “I’m a woman, with earthly needs and wants, not a creature of fantasy.”
“How well I know. Because I’m amanwith earthly needs and wants, all of which have been centered around you for days now. You have no idea how desperately I desire you.”
Just not desperately enough to offer marriage.
No, she had too much pride to say that. Besides, if she spoke those words, he would turn skittish again and this amazing encounter would end. She couldn’t bear it. She wouldn’t.
He reached for the buttons of her nightdress. “May I?”
Without even thinking about it, she bobbed her head. Because she would give anything just now to feel his fingers on her bare nipples.
And he, being something of a scoundrel, was perfectly happy to oblige.
Expertly, he opened her nightdress to her waist, then reached inside to cup one breast. A trembling breath escaped her. How incredible! His hand kneaded her flesh, his fingers deftly plucking, rousing and soothing her cravings by turns, until she swayed against him.
“I want to look at you,” he said.
There was no asking this time. He must have guessed she would go along, because he didn’t even wait for an answer. He simply turned her in his arms and knelt on one knee to spread her nightdress open so he could stare at her breasts.
A blush heated her cheeks. What if he didn’t like them? They always seemed too big and unwieldy and—
“I wish I could paint you just like this, half-naked in the lamplight,” he said hoarsely. He brushed a finger over her nipple, and it hardened to an aching knot. His gaze darkened. “It would be only for me; no one else would ever see it.”
“I hope that’s not a request,” she tried to joke. “You cannot paint me nude.”
“I know.” His eyelids lowered. “So I shall have to settle for tasting you.” And his mouth covered her breast.
Lord help her. Even as she groaned a protest at that insanity, he licked and sucked and plundered her flesh with all the fire and life and thrill of the night that she craved. She craved the heat of his mouth and the slick swipes of his tongue as he teased and taunted and dragged her down into an ocean of feeling.
It frightened her how far she sank, how much more she longed for. Surely it wasn’t normal to want something so much, to want to touch everything,feeleverything. Surely this gnawing in her belly was unnatural.
But at least she could finally touch his beautiful hair. Spearing her fingers through the sun-drenched curls, she reveled in the feel of them sliding over her hands, engulfing her fingers the way he was engulfing her.
“You taste like cherries,” he said against her breast.
“I doubt that,” she said, choking back a laugh. “I don’t rub... cherries on my bosom, I assure you.”
“Then yousmelllike cherries.”
“I drank ratafia at dinner. It h-has cherr—” She gasped when he tugged at her nipple with his teeth, sending her spiraling down into a dark, wild pleasure.
And when he offered the other nipple the same intoxicating treatment, letting his hand stroke the damp nipple he’d left behind, she thought her legs would crumple beneath her.
