Page 30 of Gentlemen Prefer Heiresses
He’d never been intimate with a woman of such purity, one who was experiencing all the many different facets of pleasure for the first time. It inflamed his own yearnings to know she was not merely a virgin at her core, but that her entire body was an untouched temple that had never been explored by any man. He was humbled by the gift she had presented him.
He trailed his mouth to the sensitive spot behind her ear. “You’re to tell me if I do anything you don’t like.”
“And if I do like what you’re doing?” she asked on a soft sigh.
“Tell me that as well—with words, with sighs, moans, a bit of squirming.”
“You’re going to make me squirm?”
“That’s my goal. Don’t hold back, Gina. I will not sit in judgment of your reactions.”
He guided his lips and tongue along the silken path just above where the collar of his shirt rested. “Another button,” he ordered.
She obeyed and he eased his shirt off her shoulder. It shouldn’t have hit him like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen it before when she wore a ball gown. He didn’t know if he’d ever found anything as sensual, however, as her in his clothing. Memories of her were sure to flood his mind anytime he wore the shirt in the future, and he suspected it would quickly become thin and frayed with its constant use.
He took his mouth on a leisurely journey over her shoulder. She sighed, a long drawn out, almost painful sound but he knew it wasn’t pain she was feeling. “Another.”
He slipped his finger beneath the cloth at her other shoulder and slid the linen down. “All of them.”
His voice sounded as though he were strangling. He was aware of the little tugs on his shirt. She didn’t hesitate. She trusted him. Wholly. Completely. Absolutely. He should command her to button herself up to her throat. He should spin on his heel and march from the room in long strides that would quickly get him beyond reach of her.
Instead he stood there and kept his mouth shut. When her hands fell to her sides, he lowered the cloth, not even bothering to watch it drift to the floor, too mesmerized by the perfection unveiled.
“My God, but you are beautiful.”
The reverence in his voice brought tears to her eyes. Tillie, Tillie was the beautiful one, the one who’d swept into London and brought lords to their knees. Gina’s uncle had been forced to make a deal with Rexton in order for Gina to draw anyone’s attention. She’d wanted dukes and earls to fight over her, marquesses and viscounts to vie for her affection. She’d wanted her dance cards filled, the soles of her dancing slippers worn thin, and her pick of proposals.
Now all she wanted was for Andrew Mabry to touch her.
Oh, she was a wicked girl, and she didn’t care.
Slowly, so slowly, she turned around. The man looked to be in torment as his gaze dipped and lifted back to her face. Without prompting, she reached for his buttons.
“Gina—”
“I want to see you, too,” she admitted, before her courage left her.
He remained still until all the buttons she could reach were loose, then he pulled his shirttails from his trousers, dragged his shirt over his head, and tossed it aside. Lacking his discipline, she flattened her palms against his chest, smiled. “You’re beautiful, too.”
She raised her gaze to his. “I want to see all of you.”
“It’s only fair I suppose.”
He unfastened his trousers, lowered them, straightened. Her mouth went dry as she stared at his proudly jutting member. “You have a magnificent cock.”
Laughing, he picked her up, tossed her onto the bed, and joined her there, stretched out along her side, raised up on an elbow. His eyes on hers, he trailed his finger along her chin. “Did Venus tell you to say that?”
“She said some were magnificent. Yours is much nicer than the other one I saw. Can I touch it?”
“Ah, Christ.” He pressed his forehead to hers, nodded.
Reaching down, she wrapped her fingers around the hot, hard shaft. Covering her hand with his, he guided it up and down. “I like the way it feels,” she whispered.
“Oh, I like the way it feels, too. Explore all you wish.”
They explored each other, touching, caressing, stroking. She squeezed his buttocks, scraped her fingers up his side.
He cradled her breast, kneading it gently, flicking his tongue over her nipple until it peaked, then lowering his mouth to it. She might have been embarrassed by her moan if he hadn’t groaned. He shifted until he was nestled between her thighs, his stomach pressed against the most intimate part of her.
