Chapter 3 #2
For a moment, he was perfectly still, as if she'd shocked him. Then his control shattered. His arms came around her, pulling her against him as he deepened the kiss. It was nothing like the chaste pecks she'd received from suitors; this was fire and demand and a hunger that matched her own.
His hands tangled in her hair, angling her head to better plunder her mouth. She gasped, and he took advantage, his tongue sliding against hers in a way that made her knees weak. She clung to him, fingers gripping his waistcoat, trying to anchor herself against the tide of sensation.
"Heavens, Catherine," he groaned against her mouth. "You have no idea what you do to me."
"Show me," she challenged, drunk on brandy and desire and the freedom of being someone else for just one night.
He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers. "You're an innocent."
It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway. "Does it matter?"
"It should." His thumb traced her lower lip, swollen from his kisses. "I should be noble. Send you back to your room with your virtue intact."
"I don't want noble. I want you."
He made a sound that was part laugh, part groan. "You'll be the death of me." But his hands were already moving, one sliding down to her waist, the other cupping her face with surprising gentleness. "If we do this, we do it my way."
"Your way?"
"I won't hurt you," he said softly. "But I won't treat you like glass either. You're stronger than that. You deserve better than fumbling in the dark."
"Then what do you propose?"
Instead of answering, he kissed her again, slower this time, deeper.
His hands moved with purpose now, one firm at the small of her back, keeping her pressed against him, the other tangling in her hair, controlling the angle of the kiss.
It was dominant without being forceful, commanding without being cruel.
"Trust me," he murmured against her lips. "Can you do that? Can you trust me to take care of you?"
The rational part of her brain screamed that trusting strange men in coaching inns was exactly how young ladies ended up ruined. But something in his eyes, in the careful way he held her, as if she was precious but not fragile, made her nod.
"Words, sweetheart. I need words."
The endearment made her shiver. "Yes. I trust you."
"Good girl."
Those two words shouldn't have affected her the way they did, sending heat pooling low in her abdomen. He noticed and smiled, a wicked thing that transformed his face from handsome to devastating.
"You like that," he observed. "Being told you're good."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Liar." He nipped at her lower lip, soothing it with his tongue. "Your whole body just melted against mine. There's no shame in it, Catherine. In wanting to please, to be praised. It's rather perfect, actually."
"Why?"
"Because I very much enjoy being pleased."
She should have been offended by his arrogance. Instead, she found herself intrigued. "And if I please you?"
"Then I reward you," he said simply. "With pleasure you've never imagined."
"That's rather confident."
"It's a promise." He stepped back suddenly, leaving her bereft. "But first, you need to be certain. No brandy clouding your judgment, no heat of the moment. Look at me, Catherine."
She did, meeting those storm-grey eyes.
"If you come to my room—my bed—there's no going back. Tomorrow you'll leave here no longer a maiden. Your future husband, whoever he might be, will know. Can you live with that?"
Catherine thought of Sir Reginald, with his sweaty hands and butterfly lectures. Of a lifetime of duty and disappointment. Of never knowing passion or choice or freedom.
"My future husband," she said clearly, "...curse my future husband. Along with my mother's expectations and society's rules and every other chain they've tried to wrap around me. For once in my life, I want to choose. And I choose you."
Something fierce flashed in his eyes. "Then come here."
She went without hesitation, and this time when he kissed her, there was nothing held back. His hands roamed her body through the silk of her wrapper, learning her curves, making her gasp and arch against him. When his mouth moved to her throat, she thought she might die from the pleasure of it.
"So responsive," he murmured against her skin. "So perfect. Do you have any idea how much I wanted this? From the moment you walked into this inn, dripping wet and furious, all I could think about was how you'd look spread across my bed."
"James," she gasped, scandalized and aroused in equal measure.
"Shocking you, am I?" His teeth grazed her pulse point. "Just wait, sweetheart. I'm going to do things to you that would make you blush just to hear described."
"Tell me."
He pulled back to look at her, one eyebrow raised. "Eager little thing, aren't you?"
"You said you liked eager."
"I did. I do." His hands went to the tie of her wrapper. "May I?"
She nodded, watching his face as he slowly pulled the silk loose. The wrapper fell open, revealing her nightgown beneath—white cotton, modest, nothing like the silk nightgowns married women wore. But from the heat in his eyes, she might have been wearing nothing at all.
"Beautiful," he breathed, his hands skimming over her shoulders, pushing the wrapper off entirely. It pooled at her feet in a whisper of silk. "Absolutely beautiful."
"It's just a nightgown."
"It's you in a nightgown. That makes all the difference." His hands went to her waist, pulling her back against him. "Can you feel what you do to me?"
She could. Even through the layers of clothing, she could feel the hard press of his arousal against her stomach. It should have frightened her—she knew enough about the marriage act to understand what that meant. Instead, it thrilled her.
"I want to see you too," she said, surprising herself with her boldness.
"Do you now?" He smiled, stepping back. "Then undress me."
Her hands shook slightly as she reached for his waistcoat buttons. "I don't... I've never..."
"I know." His voice gentled. "Take your time. We have all night."
She focused on the buttons, trying not to think too hard about what she was doing. The waistcoat came off, revealing the white shirt beneath. She could see the shadow of chest hair through the fine linen, the broad expanse of his chest rising and falling with each breath.
"Now the shirt," he instructed, his voice rough.
She pulled it from his trousers, her fingers brushing against the warm skin of his stomach.
He hissed in a breath, muscles tensing under her touch.
Emboldened, she let her hands explore as she pushed the shirt up—the ridges of his abdomen, the light dusting of hair, the scars that spoke of his military past.
"Catherine." Her name was a warning.
"I'm just following instructions," she said innocently.
"Minx." He pulled the shirt off himself, tossing it aside. "My turn."
Before she could ask what he meant, his hands were at the ties of her nightgown. "Still trust me?"
"Yes."
"Good. Because I'm about to see all of you, and then I'm going to touch every inch I see, and then I'm going to taste every inch I touch. Any objections?"
Her mouth went dry. "No."
"No, what?"
"No... sir?"
He groaned. "You're going to be the death of me, saying things like that." The nightgown loosened, sliding off one shoulder. "Say it again."
"No objections, sir."
"Perfect girl." The praise washed over her like warm honey as he slowly, torturously slowly, pushed the nightgown down. "Look at me. Don't hide."
She forced herself to meet his eyes as the cotton pooled at her feet, leaving her completely bare. The cool air made her shiver, but it was nothing compared to the heat in his gaze as he studied her.
"Exquisite," he said roughly. "Absolutely exquisite. Come here."
She stepped forward, gasping as her bare skin met his. The hair on his chest abraded her sensitive breasts, making her whimper. His hands splayed across her back, holding her steady.
"Too much?"
"No. No, it's... I don't have words."
"Then don't talk." He lifted her suddenly, making her squeal. "Wrap your legs around me."
"James!"
"Trust, remember?" He carried her to his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them. The fire here was burning brighter, casting the room in golden light. The bed looked enormous, intimidating.
He set her down gently beside it, keeping one arm around her waist. "Second thoughts?"
"No. Just... nervous."
"Good."
"Good?"
"It means you understand this matters. This isn't nothing, Catherine. Not for either of us." He cupped her face in both hands. "I'm going to take such good care of you. But I need you to talk to me. Tell me if something doesn't feel right, if you need me to stop or slow down. Can you do that?"
"Yes."
"And if you're very, very good," he murmured, backing her toward the bed, "if you do exactly as I say, I'll make you feel things you've only dreamed about."
The back of her knees hit the mattress. "I don't dream about... that."
"No?" He pressed gently, making her sit. "Never touched yourself in the dark? Never wondered what it would feel like?"
Her face flamed. "Ladies don't..."
"Ladies do. They just don't admit it." He knelt before her, his hands on her knees. "Open for me."
"What?"
"Your legs. Open them."
"James, I don't think..."
"That's right. Don't think. Just feel." His hands pressed gently, inexorably, spreading her thighs apart. "That's it. Good girl."
She was completely exposed to his gaze, more vulnerable than she'd ever been in her life. She wanted to close her legs, cover herself, but his hands held her steady.
"Beautiful," he breathed, and then his mouth was on her inner thigh, pressing hot kisses to the sensitive skin.
"Oh Heavens," she gasped, her hands flying to his hair.
"It is just me." He nipped at her thigh, soothing it with his tongue. "And we're just getting started."
His mouth moved higher, and higher still, until...
"James!" She tried to close her legs, shocked. "You can't..."