Page 47 of Love in the Time of Scandal
“Doing something like this.” He lowered his head and pressed a kiss to that pulse.
“That’s what you thought of? You wicked man,” she murmured.
He could feel her fingers in his hair. All thought of food and sleep fled. “Isn’t this what you want?” He angled his body more over hers. Penelope slid down the cushion, under him, her eyes gleaming under half-lowered lids.
“What do you mean? Are you implying I’m wicked?”
He grinned at her pretense of indignation. “Isn’t anyone who reads Lady Constance?”
She froze. “What? I mean, who?” A deep pink suffused her face. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Which was your favorite issue?” He pulled loose the peach ribbon that held her dressing gown closed and spread the gown open. Her night rail was so thin, he could see her breasts beneath the fine cotton.
“You—you know about them?”
“Doesn’t everyone in London?” He thumbed one pink nipple and nearly growled as it peaked rosy and firm. “And you left a copy in plain view in the dressing room.”
Penelope stared at him, then let her head fall back and laughed until her shoulders shook. “And you don’t disapprove?”
Benedict had taken advantage of her outburst of humor to find her ankle under the folds of her dressing gown. Now he just gave her a rakish grin as he slid his hand up her shin. “If her stories amuse you, who am I to deny?” He tugged at her knee, lifting it up and apart from its mate to rest against the back of the settee. “If they inspire you, why would I forbid?” He drew her other leg across his lap, sliding down the cushions to rest more snugly between her thighs. “And if they arouse you...” He shrugged, plowing his hands under the dressing gown to move her hips to a better position. “I rather approve.”
Penelope lay against the side of the settee, her lips parted and her eyes glittering. Lust flowed through him like molten steel, igniting every nerve. “Are you?” Beneath her night rail, he swirled his fingertips over her belly. “Aroused?”
The question seemed to startle her. She swallowed, then licked her lips. Her muscles quivered beneath his fingers, drifting slowly upward. “Perhaps.”
“Oh dear,” he murmured in mock concern. “What would decide the matter?”
She licked her lips again. “Would you let me on top of you?”
He was already primed, but the thought of Penelope riding him on the settee made him so hard he could barely move. “Yes,” he managed to say.
Something sparkled in her eyes. “Then come to bed.”
“No.” He stopped her as she made to scramble off the settee. “Right here.”
She glanced at the door in shock, then at him with growing excitement. “Here?”
“Take off your dressing gown.” He shucked his waistcoat and yanked the shirt over his head. A bright blush stained her cheeks as she disrobed, but it was eagerness and not maidenly reserve. By God what a brilliant marriage this was, he thought as he unbuttoned his trousers. “Come here.”
“Will this work?” She gingerly put one knee beside his hip. He took her hands and drew her toward him, settling her astride his lap. Her breasts were right in front of his face, barely veiled by the thin cotton of her night rail, and he couldn’t resist licking one plump nipple through the cloth. She flinched and gasped, then cupped one hand behind his neck. “Do it again,” she whispered.
He’d meant to all along. He caught the little bud between his teeth and swirled his tongue over it. In response, she shuddered and surged against him, her body pressing exquisitely against his erection. Blindly he rolled up her night rail—it seemed to be composed of hundreds of ells of fabric now—until her legs were bared to the waist and he could feel the soft, damp curls between her thighs, just a few inches from where he wanted them.
“You’re on top,” he rasped, barely able to speak. “What do you desire now?”
Her gaze dropped. His erection strained between them. Penelope shifted her knees, studying it, then licked her palm and wrapped her fingers around his cock.
“Holy Father,” he choked, his back arching involuntarily even as his hands clamped down on her hips.
“Isn’t this the proper way?” She flashed a coy smile at him as she continued to glide her hand up and down.
The witch knew very well that it was damned perfect, Benedict thought, but he managed to nod.
“I like it,” she whispered, watching the motion of her hand with a fascination that nearly sent him over the edge. “I always wondered what it would feel like, and exactly how big it was...”
He was going to come in her hands, even before she circled the head with two fingers and pulled, applying exquisite friction. Shaking, he seized her hands. “Touch yourself. Show me how you do it.”
Again she blushed bright pink, but obediently she laid one hand over her mound, smoothing her nether curls out of the way. She closed her eyes and turned her head away as her fingers began to stroke, circling and rubbing.
