Page 87 of To Catch A Rogue
This afternoon brought to light an entire side of this scenario she hadn't been in the right mind to examine last night. All she'd wanted last night was the affection and understanding she'd known she'd find in his arms.
But her needs this afternoon were a little more complex.
And, if she wriggled just the faintest bit, she could feel his own need pressed firmly against her bottom.
Growing up in a household full of males made her quite aware this was a natural morning ritual when one had a cock. But it felt as though that brutish length was all for her, reaching for her insistently.
She'd been trying to ignore the way he looked at her now, telling herself it meant nothing.
But if she were honest with herself, it was only a lie she let herself believe because the alternative scared her: that Charlie might somehow return her own affections.
She wanted him. Desperately.
And she wanted him to want her.
Lark lay frozen in silent agony. She didn't dare shut her eyes, for if she did she could see the look in his eyes when he pushed her back against the wall of the pool and kissed her.
And maybe understanding hadn't been all she'd hoped to find in his bed when she crept into it last night.
Charlie sighed and buried his face in her hair. His hand brushed against her breast, his fingers almost, but not quite touching her nipple. A sudden surge of desire made her womb clench. If she turned, just so, then he'd be touching her.
Lark's heart hammered in her ears.
The languid ache of unfulfillment seemed a specific sort of torment; it felt as if there was a screw twisting slowly and inexorably within her, notching every inch of her body tight with need.
She could feel her drawers growing damp. What would he do if she reached between her thighs and touched herself? She needed to assuage this furious tension within her before it drove her to do something reckless.
The brush of Charlie's thumb flicked over her nipple, a slow, deliberate rasp that forced her to set her teeth into her lower lip to capture her soft gasp. The arm draped over her waist remained heavy, however, and for a second she thought maybe she was safe. Maybe he wasn't aware of what he was doing to her.
But the teasing movement came again, burying any hopes she'd had that he might be dreaming.
Lark's fingers curled in the sheets. She wanted to moan and bury her face in the pillow, but she was afraid if she moved, she'd break this spell.
"I know you're awake," Charlie whispered.
His thumb rasped against her nightgown again, sending a quiver of electric sensation right through her. That thumb asked a question. And she didn't want to admit she was awake, for then she'd have to admit she wanted this.
"Your breathing's heavier and your heart started racing a few minutes ago," he murmured against the back of her neck. "It's almost as if you want me to do more, but I'm not sure if that's right. You'd have to tell me you wanted this. Do you want me to touch you, Lark?"
Damn him. Lark closed her eyes and nudged her breast forward into his hand. Instantly, his palm curved around her, cupping the soft flesh. He moved slowly, exploring her. Circling his forefinger in ever-tightening concentric circles around her nipple, until she was practically holding her breath—
He pinched it, and Lark gasped as his grip softened and his thumb soothed.
They were barely moving.
Every moment of this encounter held an illicit edge.
If they didn't speak of it, or bring it to light, then perhaps it wasn't happening.
Charlie found the edge of her nightgown, still half-unbuttoned from the night before, and slowly dragged it open. It was as if he took some sort of pleasure in prolonging each movement, as if he could sense how much it ached.
Then his hand was on her bare skin, his fingers pinching and teasing her. The hot flush of pleasure speared right between her legs, until her thighs were slipping together.
He rose up onto one arm, his face coming into view, his blond-tipped lashes stained gold in the thin bar of sunlight that crept through the window. She'd expected a teasing smile—this was Charlie, after all—but his blue eyes were very serious, his pupils dark with desire.
"You're beautiful," he whispered, bending low to brush a kiss against the curve of her breast. "I've spent forever imagining doing this to you. I dreamed of the sounds you'd make, the way you'd taste, but nothing comes close to the truth. Nothing."
And then he was leaning down, capturing the aching bud in his mouth.
