Chapter Twelve
Evie could not think. She could only react, her heart racing, every inch of her pressing into Xander.
His hand in her hair felt like the sweetest form of possession.
His touch on her breast was foreign and new and the best thing she’d ever felt.
Her skin tingled and her feminine parts throbbed, begging for something more.
His roving hand cupped her breast, and her knees liquified. Worried she’d faint, she pulled free from his kiss, gasping for breath but careful not to pull the rest of her back.
Because that touch was everything. Fire raced through her, but she did not know what to ask for. The searing heat of his hand had her needing to strip her dress down, to feel his skin against hers, perhaps even his lips there.
She wanted to do the same to him and gauge his reaction.
Unable to form words, she stared at him.
He watched her, still leaning against the door, his hands still and his touch light.
He was asking for permission, she realized. Swallowing, she gazed down at his hand against her dress, then up at his face. Managing only one word, she said in a husky voice, “More.”
One side of his mouth curled into a half smile. Entranced, she wasn’t prepared for another hot lick of fire when his thumb swiped across her pebbled tip. She gasped again and arched into his hand.
“You say how much more. I’ll stop when you tell me.” His voice held gravel.
With that, he swept her up and carried her across the room. Putting her on her feet next to the settee, he spun her to untie the apron worn over her simple dress, yanking it away to drop to the floor. His hands pressed her onto the seat then again to urge her to lie down.
He came down over her, a knee between her legs with the other on the edge of the seat cushion, an elbow squeezing between her shoulder and the back of the sofa.
She reached for him, taking her cue from his earlier actions.
Threading her fingers through his hair, she reveled in the sheer amount of it.
Her fingers disappeared beneath the thick pelt.
He groaned, she hoped in pleasure. Her other hand slid up his chest to grasp his shoulder again.
When he canted his hips to rest on hers, the heat of him spread through her from everywhere they touched.
He made fast work of the top two buttons of her serviceable dress and pressed his lips to the opening.
Her nails dug into his scalp and muscle. The velvet of his lips sent a flaming arc through her that settled between her thighs where a rigid bar pressed.
He explored every inch of exposed flesh, his hand pressing the mound of her breast up to reach further under her dress with his lips and tongue. As he retraced the column of her neck to her mouth with his, his hand on her breast continued to build the fire he’d sparked.
Without conscious thought, she mimicked his movements. Her hands explored his arms, shoulders, and back. Lingering at his waist, she wished to feel that delicious, muscled arse that was shown off so well in his tighter aristocratic trousers. But she wasn’t quite that daring yet.
His hips pressed into hers, grinding that iron shaft against her.
She shifted, and a lightning bolt of pleasure shot through her when his thrusts hit a sensitive spot.
“Rutland—Xander!”
“There, eh?” He gentled his movements, making them smaller and faster.
“Oh!”
Rising over her on one arm, he tugged her skirts upward. They were caught between his knee and the settee, so he pushed up on his toes to yank at it.
Her mouth went dry as she caught sight of his arm muscles bulging against his shirt. She’d never been so glad for his informal dress.
He shifted to put both knees between hers and tunneled his hand under the skirt he’d freed.
Roughly calloused hands scraped along her inner thigh, shocking more nerves into awareness. She gasped. “What are you doing?”
“This will be even better without clothes, I promise.”
“But—but—”
He stilled. “I won’t hurt you. I promise. Or if you want me to stop, I will.”
Did she want him to stop?
“What about if you let me try, then I’ll stop and check in with you?”
Yes, that seemed like an excellent idea. She’d needed a minute to think or at least catch her breath, and he was offering that.
She nodded.
“Thank Christ.” He was straddling her leg now, his hand at the crease of her thigh, tugging on the coarse curls covering her most secret place.
A place that was quite wet. Before she could find embarrassment, his fingers threaded along her swollen folds, pressing them as though plumping and opening them.
“Damnation, you are so wet, sweetling. Is that all for me?” he said with a huge grin.
Well, then. Apparently, that was a good thing.
He parted her lips and pressed a finger against a spot that twisted pleasure and so much sensation it bordered on pain. She grabbed his forearm and breathed, “Xander.”
“I have you. Do you want me to stop?”
“It feels…scary? Overwhelming?”
“Not scary. I’ve got you. ’Twill be all right. It can be overwhelming in the nicest possible way. Have you never touched yourself here?”
She shook her head and shrugged. “In the bath.”
“Well, you can try it sometime as well, but it is usually more pleasurable with someone else involved. Now—” He crooked his finger the tiniest bit over that nub and she gasped again and clenched her hands on his arm. “—shall I check in with you every ten strokes?”
She nodded furiously, unsure if she was floating on waves of pleasure or on fire.
The settee below her had disappeared. The only thing she perceived was his fingers.
Right there. She saw only his exultant gaze as he watched her expressions and reactions.
His fingers shifted again, back and forth, circles, and her eyes closed, unable to use any senses except experiencing his touch.
Her hand still gripped his arm, but now it was as a lifeline rather than to stop him.
Pressure and pleasure built, the threat of pain falling away as she became accustomed to his caresses. Tendrils of sensation climbed from their point of contact like vines, up her torso to curl around her breasts and harden her nipples against her chemise.
Suddenly, it all stopped. His forefinger dropped to toy with her womanly opening and that created a budding ecstasy all its own. But that, too, stopped after a few prods.
“Xander,” she gasped, opening her eyes to plead with him. “Please.”
“More?”
Lord above, he’d said he’d check in every ten strokes. “More.”
His thumb slid against her nub, newly wetted with her moisture. Ah, gads, she was going to explode. If he stopped again before she understood where this was leading, she might kill him. Panting, she begged, “Don’t…stop…”
He didn’t; instead, he sped up.
Every muscle in her body clenched. Evie keened through teeth clamped together as her flesh quivered and imploded, those vines of sensation constricting her organs and limbs to squeeze out every ounce of pleasure.
Gasping for air, she tightened her legs around his hand as fire flashed through her and her nails dug into his arm through his shirt.
She didn’t know whether she wanted to keep him where he was or yank his arm away.
When it all became too much, he gentled his touch, slowed, and stilled.
“Magnificent, Evie. Thank you for allowing me the pleasure of giving you pleasure.”
Her eyes fluttered open in time to watch him tug his hand out of her clothes and raise it to his mouth to suck the fingers that had been on her most intimate parts. Another streak of fire flashed in her belly.
He smirked at her wide eyes then straightened her skirts. His hands took one last caress over her exposed breast and unbuttoned dress before he leaned back to allow her to right herself.
He’d thanked her, when she should be thanking him. How very undukelike. But exactly what she wanted in a husband.
Now that he’d taught her some pleasures of the marriage bed, she couldn’t think of a reason to delay indulging them. She’d worry about how to tell him who she was later.