Chapter Twenty
Janelle had been dying to kiss him. From the first moment he’d spoken to her, her irrational mind had insisted on bringing him up in the middle of the night.
She’d lay in bed furious with him for one reason or another only to wonder what it would be like to kiss him.
She set it down as a waking nightmare that she could not stop, regardless of how hard she tried.
Sometime around a week ago, she gave up fighting the urge. Rather than force herself to think of new diapering styles or some secret elixir, she allowed herself to indulge in fantasy. It was just a dream, right? No one had to know.
No one, that is, except her. She nightly tortured herself with fantasies of how he might touch her, of what his lips would feel like, of any of a million scandalous things.
Then tonight, he had taken care of her, helped with Suz’s delivery, and now shared wine and cheese as if they were old friends.
She could hardly sit still for the desire burning inside her and so she twisted and fidgeted on the floor, when all she wanted to do was fling herself into his arms. What would it be like to be cherished by a man as sexy as him?
And now she had maneuvered herself into a kiss.
Would he press his lips to her in a perfunctory manner or sweep her off her feet as he had done to Suz a few hours ago?
She never thought she’d be jealous of a laboring woman, but at that moment, she’d seen his muscles bulge and felt her insides tremble.
His kiss came slowly, like a fine brandy when she should absolutely not be tasting such a thing.
The heat of his breath against her lips made her tremble.
He held her chin where he wanted, pressuring slightly to get her to tilt, and then extending his fingers in a long caress of her neck.
She ached to press her mouth to his, but she knew better than to rush. This was a kiss she wanted to savor.
That seemed to be his wish as well. He touched the barest outline of his lips to hers, moving slightly while her flesh swelled to meet his.
She was on her knees, stretching forward toward him.
He met her easily, opening his hand so that her head was cradled in his palm.
And in this position, he began to tease her lips.
Tiny nips that made her smile. The slight scrape of teeth across her lower lip. And then he did something that made her gasp.
He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth.
What a sensation! She gasped as she arched in reaction.
He teased his tongue along the inner seam of her lip, and she met him then, tongue to tongue.
Ah, the glory of touching him in such an intimate way.
They stroked each other, twisted around, and then he won the battle.
He thrust inside her mouth, and she stretched forward such that he could plunder her however he wanted.
He still cradled her head, but now she set her arm across his thigh before sliding her hand up his back. All too soon, she was stretched across his lap, still supported by his one hand, while she gloried in his kiss.
She knew the details of copulations. She knew that his tongue mimicked the thrust his organ would make between her thighs.
And while he stroked every part of her mouth, she felt as if he were already delving below.
Her belly heated, her inner core tightened with a wonderous kind of ache.
The sensations were everywhere, and she wanted more.
She clutched at his back, trying to draw herself closer to him.
He allowed it for mere moments before pulling back.
It became a game of inching forward and back, of teasing thrust and parry.
His other hand crept up to her face, caressing her cheek and neck.
She was in her ballgown with a bodice that she’d once thought indecently low. Now she was grateful for it.
He stroked down her neck and then caressed the tops of her breasts.
Back and forth, back and forth, each time a bit lower.
And then, his smallest finger pressed beneath the fabric.
She wanted him to rip it. She wanted her dress gone.
But she didn’t want to interrupt the steady progress of whatever he planned.
He eased off his kiss while her breath caught and held. She was pressing her chest forward into his stroke. Would he go lower? Please, go lower!
He dropped his forehead to hers, speaking in a low rasp. “I said only one kiss.”
“So don’t kiss me again.”
He chuckled but there was a groan in it as well. “How much do you know?”
“I deliver babies, Gabriel. I know.” She did know the basics, but she had never experienced any of it. Nothing like this.
“Say my name again.” He rolled his mouth to the shell of her ear. “Slowly.”
“Gabrrrielll,” she whispered. “Gabrrrriellll,” she moaned.
He adjusted her in his arms, moving her head to his shoulder while supporting her from the back. Or not supporting her because his fingers eased the topmost buttons of her gown. Her bodice softened. And in front, he tugged at the ribbons that held her stays.
She breathed in, feeling the restraints fall away.
She didn’t care how scandalous this was.
She wanted to feel it. And so she sat up, twisting her hands behind her back to pull open all the buttons on her gown.
The action thrust her breasts forwards to his view, and she liked the way his gaze seemed to burn as he watched her movements.
She saw him swallow, knew he fought with his conscience, but she also knew he was weakening. Was it cruel of her to challenge his honor so? She didn’t care. She wanted to see him overcome by the same kind of hunger that filled her.
Her gown opened down to her waist, then slipped the sleeves off her arms.
“Janelle,” he groaned. “We cannot.”
“We won’t,” she said as she pulled at the restriction of her stays.
Two sharp tugs later, she threw aside her stays. All that remained to cover her was a thin shift. It was nearly sheer. The dark shadows of her nipples were clear through the fabric.
“Wait,” he said, and so she did. She sat there before him while he looked at her breasts. Then he groaned low and slow as he reached for her. She saw what he was doing, knew that he fought his desire, and nearly cried aloud when he held himself back.
“No man has ever touched me here,” she said. “I want it to be you. Please be you.”
“Why me?” His gaze broke from her breasts to search her face.
“Because you’re you!” How did she express that her future was already determined? That Lord Benedict was never her choice nor whatever marriage he decreed. But at this moment now, she picked the man she wanted. “I dream at night about you,” she confessed. “I touch myself and I think about you.”
She blushed when she said those words. Heat suffused her, concentrating in her cheeks, and that seemed to change something in him.
His lips curved and his eyes grew wicked.
“Touch yourself how?” he asked. “I have been commanded to see to your desires fulfilled. Tell me, Janelle. Tell me what you have thought about.”
Images flashed through her mind. Hungers that she never acknowledged, even as she fantasized them. The thoughts were in her mind, the words on her tongue, but how could she voice them?
“You must tell me,” he commanded. “Else I am fulfilling my desires, not yours.”
“Touch my nipples.” The words fell out in a rush. She wanted his hands not just on her breasts, but on the hard points that ached for rough treatment.
He did exactly as she asked. He used both his hands to pinch her nipples. Just them through the fabric of her shift. He squeezed them and tugged while lightning burst through her body. She cried out. More importantly, she thrust her breasts forward.
“More.”
He gave her what she demanded. He twisted her nipples, tugged at them with the nail of his thumb. And she grew more frustrated with the fabric of her shift.
So she pulled it off.
She had to straighten off her knees to do so.
It was beneath her gown, held fast by her bottom, but she got it off and away.
And when she faced him again, her gown was draped loosely around her hips.
Indeed, she knew that if he looked just the right way, he would see her lower curls.
He would know she was wet with desire. He would… He could…
He had no words. Never had she seen a man look with such hunger. Certainly not at her. It made her feel powerful. It made her feel feminine. And it made her feel as if she would never, ever regret what they were about to do.
“What do you want to do?” she asked.
He looked at her breasts then slowly raised his gaze. “We are playing with fire.”
“I like this burn.”
He chuckled, though the sound had a note of self-mockery in it. “Everyone does, Janelle, if they are introduced to it correctly.”
“Teach me,” she said.
“That is a husband’s job.”
It was and her promises to her fiancé made her pause. “Do you think he knows how to do it properly? Do you think he has the skill or the will to take the time? Because I don’t.”
“No,” he admitted. “No, he will not. Not like you deserve.”
“Then we are agreed.” She took his hand in hers and pulled it to her right breast. She did not need to prompt him to lift or shape her. He did it exactly as she wanted, stroking her such that she sighed in delight. “Yes,” she whispered.
His other hand joined the first, and soon she was arching back, her weight on the palms of her hands while she gloried in the feel of his on her skin.
“You know this pleasure,” he said. “You touch yourself.”
And she thought of him. “It’s different with you.” She opened her heavy eyelids to look at him. “It feels better with you.”
He held her gaze and she saw a universe of thoughts whirling right behind his eyes. “You have never done this with another man?” he asked.
“Never.” Then she smiled. “Just you. Late at night. In my dreams.”