Page 4 of Her Beautiful Bastard
“Is it not better for people to speak honestly and without artifice?” he challenged. “For instance, I should make you aware that I have every intention of kissing you, angel.”
Instead of the maidenly outrage that should overtake her at such a bold claim, Lydia experienced a heady rush of blood straight to her belly. Heat suffused her face and neck as her gaze dropped to his mouth. She’d been kissed a handful of times, and not once had any of the young men announced their intentions before the fact. She hardly knew what to make of it.
“Is that so?” she managed, trying to force nonchalance into her voice.
“Very much so,” he confirmed. “In fact, I require it as payment for rescuing your shoe.”
“You believe returning my own property to me merits a kiss?” she asked, now more amused by his brazenness than shocked.
Turning his head, he glanced over the wall, down at the spot he’d just been standing in. “It’s quite a ways down, is it not? The velocity of your shoe dropping might have done me serious bodily harm. I could have fallen during my climb and broken my neck. Going back down will prove more of a challenge than ascending. So, yes, angel, I do believe my heroism to be deserving of a kiss.”
Raising her chin, she extended one of her hands to him and smirked. It was ridiculous to carry on this way, especially since this was just the sort of situation Michael and her sister-in-law had warned her against before the start of the Season. But, she could not seem to help it. His teasing made her want to tease him back, to laugh with him and forget about having to eventually return inside.
“Very well, then, sir,” she quipped. “Please, accept the offer of my hand for your kiss. I give it freely as my thanks for your daring feat of courage.”
For a moment, she thought he meant to refuse her hand, but then, he was grasping her wrist, lowering his eyes to her satin glove. She sat and watched, motionless, as he began tugging it loose at her fingers, then pulled it away completely. The material slid over her skin like a caress, making her shudder in response. He laid the garment over his thigh, then pulled her arm taut, palm up.
His dark head dipped, his grip on her light enough that she could escape, but firm enough that she understood he did not wish to let go. He would if she demanded it—she understood that without having to be told. For all the times she’d been warned to guard her virtue, Lydia somehow knew this man would not be a serious threat to it.
Warm breath whispered against the inside of her wrist, making her pulse race in a wild gallop. She wondered if he could feel it as his lips brushed the place where the delicate blue veins pumped her lifeblood. He didn’t quite kiss her, seeming content to skim his lips over that sensitive spot, inhaling slow and deep as he breathed in her scent. He exhaled in a rush, his lips moving over the heel of her hand, then pressing against the center of her palm.
She was trembling now, equal parts terror and anticipation making it difficult to draw breath. No one had ever kissed her this way, making her feel as if she’d been set aflame … and his mouth had barely touched her.
“Ah, angel,” he whispered, turning her hand over to kiss the back, his lips searching out her knuckles, moving over her fingers. “I’d climb this wall a hundred times more for the same honor.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but her words broke off on a gasp when he opened his mouth, enveloping her little finger into the depths. His lips closed around the digit, his tongue laving it with excruciating slowness as he sucked his way up from the knuckle to the tip. A little sound emitted from the back of her throat in response, and it seemed to trigger something in him, some answering reaction. His eyes snapped up to meet hers, and he swiftly released her hand before reaching out to wrap an arm around her.
His hand spanned the small of her back, urging her closer—so close, she was nearly in his lap, straddlinghiminstead of the tree limb. If she’d thought his kiss upon her wrist had awakened her, it was child’s play compared to this. The sensation of sitting astride his strong thighs, his body hard yet soft and warm beneath her, the muscles of his chest humming against her palms with barely contained power … it was too much, yet not enough all at once.
Her sister-in-law, Amelia, had taken her out of earshot of her mother and explained to her quite a few things about male and female relations using frank and direct speech. The mysteries of what went on in the bedchamber were no longer unknown to her, so she fully understood what the hardened flesh pressing against her mons through the fabric of her gown meant on behalf of her mysterious gentleman. Yet, even knowing how close she hovered on the brink of ruin could not stop this. Every instinct within Lydia urged her to stay, not run.
“You should tell me to stop now,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and thick, all the playfulness it had previously held gone. “You should slap my face, and push me away, and run, angel. It is your final chance.”
His eyes had gone heavy-lidded, and the expanse of his chest heaved beneath her hands, as if he struggled to breathe just as she did. Her gaze fixated on his mouth, which had made her feel so good with just a brush against her wrist and a kiss on the palm. How much more could he electrify her by putting those lips on hers, tasting her, letting her taste him?
There was only one way she could be sure.
“Don’t,” she whispered, sinking more fully against him, her body melting into his. “Please, don’t stop.”
He issued a rough groan, both his hands clutching her back as he swooped in to comply. His lips found hers, urgent, but gentle, capturing and releasing her mouth with short, sweet, nibbling kisses that left her feeling drugged. Her head spun, the sensation of dizziness forcing her to grip the lapels of his coat. She was panting against his mouth, her ardor a match for his as they learned each other, turning their heads to attempt different angles, nibbling, tasting, searching.
Then, his arms went tight around her at the exact moment he slipped his tongue into her mouth. She moaned at the first real taste of him, in reaction to the feel of his velvety tongue tickling hers. The sound was completely wanton and unlike her, but he seemed to like it, matching it with an answering growl. Her back arched, and the world overhead tilted and whirled.
Dear God, she wasswooning.
It was ridiculous, the entire thing. She’d found herself in a scene straight out of a dream, in which moonlight was the only light, and a man with perfect lips knew just how to kiss her, just what to say to make her melt. She should put a stop to this, push him away and climb down the tree, rush back into the house.
But, God, he tasted wonderful, like tobacco and brandy, and his body fit so perfectly against hers, and this all felt so right.
“Angel,” he murmured between kisses, his breath tickling her cheek. “You will climb down this tree right this instant and put me behind you. Run, go back inside.”
Even as he commanded her to leave, he was still kissing her—her cheek, her jaw, her chin, her throat. She tipped her head back to let him taste more of her, drunk from the heady feeling of being worshiped by a stranger.
“W-why?” she stammered.
“Because, soon, I will not be able to stop,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her ear. “I will want to snatch up your gown, tear open my breeches, and find my way inside you. And I can promise I will not let the fact that we are in a tree impede me.”
She shuddered at what his words promised, and realized she wanted it, all of it. She wanted his hands beneath her gown, touching her intimately. She wanted to know what it was like to have a man inside of her—thisman.
