Page 79 of The Courtship Trap
Their lips clashed, parted, rejoined—breathless, desperate. Teeth scraped, tongues tangled, their shared hunger consuming them both. There was no more past, no more pain, no more regret. Only this moment. Only each other.
His hands roved over her, grasping the fine wool of her navy walking dress as if he could burn through it with sheer will alone. He could feel her body beneath—the swell of her hips, the arch of her back, the soft resistance of her stays binding her tightly.
It had to go. All of it.
With an impatient growl, he grasped the fitted bodice, fingers seeking out the row of tiny buttons. She shuddered under his touch, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she gripped his greatcoat and tried to drag it from his shoulders. The heavy wool refused to yield, caught against his broad frame.
“Off,” she muttered between fevered kisses, tugging insistently.
With a hoarse chuckle, he tore his mouth from hers just long enough to shrug free of the greatcoat and coat beneath, sending them tumbling to the floor in a heap. She immediately attacked his waistcoat, nimble fingers sliding over the buttons, fumbling in her haste.
Sebastian had no such patience.
His own hands swept to her back, finding the row of fastenings running the length of her bodice. A series of pearly buttons, tiny and damnably intricate. He gritted his teeth, breathing against her throat as he worked through them, releasing one after another.
As he freed the last, the fabric slackened, slipping away from her shoulders.
Harriet let out a soft moan as he slid the gown down her arms, his gaze intent as the rich navy wool pooled at her feet.
She stood before him now in her petticoats, her chemise whispering against the fine linen of her stays, and the sight stole what little breath remained in his lungs.
He wanted to take his time. He wanted to soak this into his very being. But she had other ideas. Her fingers found the fall of his buckskin breeches, tugging at the buttons with a heated determination that nearly undid him. His hand covered hers, stilling her movements.
“Patience,” he rasped. “I want this to last.”
She made a sound of protest as he cupped her waist, his thumbs tracing the curve of her ribs through her stays. Slowly,with aching slowness, he ran his fingers up the boned fabric, feeling her tremble beneath his touch.
A flick of his fingers and the laces at her back loosened. Another tug, and the stays gave way completely.
She gasped as he pulled them from her body, dropping them atop her discarded gown. Her petticoats and chemise followed, the delicate fabric sliding over her hips, the lace-edged hem whispering against the wooden floor.
Sebastian could only stare.
She was exquisite. Last night he could barely make her out, but now she was revealed fully before him. He had always known it, had always remembered it, but nothing had prepared him for the reality of her standing before him now, bared to his gaze, the golden light of an early winter sunset licking over her flushed skin.
“God above,” he breathed, his voice thick with awe.
Harriet’s fingers trembled as they found his shirt, pushing it over his shoulders, baring the lean muscle beneath.
She had seen him before. Touched him before.
But never like this.
Never with this sense of inevitability, as if the world itself had led them to this moment.
She pressed a kiss to his chest, just above his racing heart, and he let out a ragged groan.
Enough.
He grasped her by the hips, fitting her softness to the hard planes of his body with a low groan of satisfaction. Harriet gasped as his fingers swept the length of her spine, coaxing her closer in a slow, inexorable pull.
She arched beneath his touch, her head falling back, offering herself completely. And Sebastian, undone by the sheer beauty of her surrender, could only hold her tighter, pressing a kissto the hollow of her throat, his breath shaking as he whispered against her skin.
“Mine.”
Sebastian slid his arms around her, one beneath her knees and the other cradling her back. She let out a small gasp, her fingers clenching against his bare shoulders, but there was no protest—only the swift rise and fall of her breath, only the way her naked body molded against him.
He had carried her before. Across a dance floor. Onto a horse when she had twisted her ankle years ago. But this moment felt like the axis of his entire existence.
