Page 50 of The Courtship Trap
“You are playing with fire,” she whispered against his lips, but she made no effort to pull away.
“I have been burning for years,” he murmured in return, and then his mouth was on hers again, deep and searching, coaxing her lips apart until she trembled against him.
She scarcely noticed when he began to untie the belt of her wool robe, only realizing its absence when cool air licked against the thin silk of her negligée. He spread his hands over her back, his touch gentle, molding her to him as his fingers traced the delicate curve of her spine. She gasped as he reached the small of her back, then lower, until his palms pressed against the flare of her hips, drawing her closer until there was no space left between them and she could feel the hard length of his arousal against her quivering belly.
Sebastian’s lips abandoned hers, traveling downward, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of her throat, his tongue searing heat against her chilled skin. She arched, a moan slipping from her lips, granting him better access. He lathed the sensitive skin of her neck, his breath hot against her ear as she shuddered in surrender.
He stepped her back and then lowered her down onto the rug in front of the fire, stretching her out beneath him before leaning back to shrug out of his winter overcoat and his evening coat beneath until he was down to his linen shirt and waistcoat. His hands splayed over the delicate silk covering her body. Harriet felt his ravenous gaze as he took in the sight of her, almost laid bare, her chest rising and falling with each breath.
His fingers skimmed her shoulder, slipping beneath the delicate strap of her negligée. Slowly, excruciatingly, he eased the fabric downward, baring one shoulder, then the other, until the silk pooled around her waist. The air kissed her skin, sending a fresh shiver through her even as his gaze burned over her exposed flesh.
“You are magnificent,” he said hoarsely, his voice thick with interest far deeper than desire.
His hands followed the path of his eyes, cupping her breasts, his palms warm against her skin. Harriet gasped as his thumb brushed over the tight peak, sensation shooting straight through her. Her body responded instinctively, arching toward him, seeking the heat of his touch.
Sebastian lowered his head, his lips replacing his fingers, his tongue teasing over the puckered tip. A soft cry escaped her, her fingers digging into the muscles of his back as pleasure coiled low in her belly.
His body was hard and unyielding above her, a contrast to the patient worship of his mouth. He kissed a slow, searing path down the length of her torso, his breath warm against her skin, nuzzling every inch of her until Harriet thought she would go mad with need.
She pressed closer, seeking him, feeling the unmistakable heat of his arousal straining against the fine wool of his trousers. Her heart pounded wildly, a desperate rhythm that matched the fire coursing through her veins. But despite her urgency, Sebastian’s hands mapped the curves of her body with aching precision, his touch lingering at the swell of her hips before dipping lower. His mouth followed, his lips grazing her lower belly.
She could scarcely think, could scarcely breathe beneath the onslaught of sensation. She had taken lovers before, but this was different. This was not the pursuit of pleasure or distraction. This was a synchronism that stripped her bare, left her vulnerable in a way she had never allowed herself to be.
It was as if she were awakening from a deep slumber, rediscovering the magic of true affinity. As if, for the first time in years, she was truly alive.
Rising up to his knees, he quickly unbuttoned his waistcoat and tossed it aside before grabbing at his linen shirt, yanking it free of his trousers, and whipping it off in one fluid motion.
The firelight cast a golden glow over his bare skin, illuminating the lean, hard planes of his torso. The years had honed him—sculpting the smooth expanse of his chest and the taut ridges of his abdomen into pure masculinity, undeniably powerful. Fine blond hairs dusted his chest, a faint trail leading downward over the firm muscles of his stomach before disappearing into the waistband of his trousers. His shoulders were broad, his arms strong, corded with sinew that flexed as he braced himself above her.
Harriet had seen beautiful men before, but Sebastian was different. He was a study in contrasts—elegance and raw strength, refinement and untamed desire. She reached up, her fingers gliding over the warmth of his skin, tracing the lines of muscle and the faint scars earned through years of travel and adventure. He was perfect, a veritable warrior descended from the halls of Valhalla.
And for this night, he was hers.
Her fingers trailed downward to the waistband of his trousers. His breath hitched, his muscles tightening beneath her touch.
Her gaze met his, and for a moment, the world held still.
No past regrets. No lies. No future uncertainties.
Just this.
Just them.
Sebastian’s fingers found the delicate edge of her nightdress, inching it down over her trembling legs with aching slowness as if unwrapping something rare and precious. Harriet’s breath caught as he slipped it over her extended legs in a whisper of silk. A shiver stole over her skin, though she did not feel the chill. It was not cold that made her tremble but the sheer intensity of Sebastian’s gaze as it roamed over her naked body.
His knuckles brushed over her stomach, tracing the fragile musculature as if reverently inspecting a sculpture for itsveracity. “You are exquisite,” he murmured, his voice hushed with awe. He lifted his hands, gliding over the swell of her breasts and the curve of her waist, caressing her inch by inch.
Harriet could scarcely breathe, her body caught between instinct and restraint. She had never felt so exposed, so utterly vulnerable with no wine to mask the truth, yet she did not move to cover herself. She wanted this—wanted him. And she could see in his eyes that he wanted her just as desperately.
Sebastian let out a slow breath, as if steadying himself, before his hands traced down the column of her throat, along her collarbones, lower, exploring every dip and hollow of her body. His fingers skimmed down her arms before settling at her waist, spanning the curve of her hips.
His lips followed the path of his hands, pressing a trail of slow, lingering kisses down the slope of her shoulder, across her collarbone, over the aching, sensitive skin of her ribs as she reclined on the rug. Every touch left a burning imprint, every caress unraveling her bit by bit.
“Mine,” he whispered against her skin, his voice thick with longing.
Harriet exhaled a shuddering breath, threading her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, drowning in the exquisite torment of his mouth as he devoted himself to her, inch by inch. His lips found the dip of her navel, his tongue flicking softly against the sensitive skin there, drawing a gasp from her throat.
Every touch, every murmur against her skin, sent liquid heat pulsing between her thighs.
