Page 47 of The Truth About Lord Stoneville
His gaze turned a molten black. “I don’t know.” He kissed her again, ravenously, with a raw need that roused an answering need in her, especially when his fingers fondled her breast wantonly, smoothing the damp nipple, rolling it until he made her gasp.
Then his hand left her breast to slide down and lift her skirts.
She jerked her mouth from his. “What are you doing?”
“There are other places a man wishes to touch a woman.” He slipped his hand beneath her skirts. “I take it your aunt never told you that.”
“She told me. But she said only a husband should do so.”
“Or a prospective lover,” he said hoarsely. He cupped his hand between her legs, and she squeezed them together in shock. “Maria . . .” he breathed, her name like a prayer on his lips. “Open for me. Let me caress you, angel.”
Angel?Angels didn’t sit on the laps of wicked scoundrels—not unless they were the fallen kind.
“I just wish to caress you,” he choked out, “nothing more.”
A strangled laugh escaped her as she fought the sensual spell he was winding around her, the one that made her ache to have his hands wherever he wanted to put them. “I’d make you swear to that, except I know how little you can be trusted when you swear.”
He looked torn between protest and laughter. “I tell you what.” He drew his hand from between her legs and shifted her on his lap. Then he placed her own hand on the bulge in his tight trousers. “Since you clearly knowhow to make a man suffer, I give you leave to do what you must if I dare go further than caressing.”
As he curved her hand around his thinly clad flesh, his voice grew thick. “Of course, given the choice, I’d prefer that you caressmewhile I’m caressing you.”
“I don’t know how,” she whispered, fascinated by how his flesh seemed to leap beneath her hand.
“Just rub it.” He released her hand so he could delve beneath her skirts once more. “Up and down along the length.” When she did, he sucked in a harsh breath. “God, yes. Like that.”
Meanwhile, he’d found the slit in her drawers and had slipped his hand inside. But this time he didn’t only cup her, he rubbed her right on what her aunt had always called her “special place.” When she released a moan, his eyes blazed hot. “That’s it, angel. Open for me . . . let me feel your pleasure . . .”
Heavens alive, what he was doing to her . . . there were no words. He dipped his head to nuzzle her temple as his palm pressed her down there in a motion that made her want to squirm, then push against it.
“You like that, do you?” he rasped, moving his mouth over her hair in a series of feather-light kisses.
She buried her hot face in his shirt.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he whispered. “Women were made to have the same pleasures as men, no matter what the prudish in society say.” His clever fingers combed through her damp curls as if in search of a prize.
When had she become damp there? Aunt Rose had said naught about that, just that her “special place” would grow ready for a man, and then the man would put his “thing” inside her.
Only it wasn’t his thing that Oliver was putting there now. It was his finger, teasing, taunting, stroking her so silkily she wanted to cry. Who knew that a finger could feel so . . . very . . . amazing . . .
“My God, angel,” he murmured, “you’re like hot velvet to the touch.” His breath grew labored, and he thrust his flesh against her hand in much the same way as she undulated against his palm.
It reminded her that she’d meant to stroke him, too.
When she did, he seized her mouth in a fierce, heady kiss that sent her head spinning. Now there were two fingers thrusting inside her, and his thumb was pressing her in a way that made her absolutely insane. The strokes of his thumb grew rhythmic, insistent, pulling at her, dragging her from the heavens down toward the black waters that called to her from below, that had always called to her, always fascinated her.
Before she knew it, she was falling, spiraling, her wings riding the wind as her body swooped and twisted and rushed toward the dark, secretive water. And as she plunged into its churning depths, a wild joy like nothing she’d ever known shattered her apart.
She tore her mouth from his, gasping, straining against his hand, her knees shaking and her body shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure rocked her.
“Oh, God, yes . . .” he murmured, “yes . . . keep doing that . . .”
Doing what? Oh. Right. She was still pressing the bulge in his trousers, except that for the last few minutes, she’d been using the same rhythmic motion he’d used on her. Suddenly a hoarse cry escaped his throat, and his flesh spasmed beneath her fingers. Within seconds the fabric grew wet, dampening her hand.
She jerked her hand away, not sure what she’d done. But when he threw his head back, a ragged sigh escaping him, she realized that it had pleased him. A smile hovered on his lips, and his features wore a look of utter bliss.
“Angel . . .” His eyes were heavy-lidded as he stared down at her. “You’re . . . amazing.”
I’m fallen,she thought.
