Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Alice knew she was playing with fire. Justifying her decision by accepting that she didn’t have to like him to let him touch her. To enjoy it. She could hate him and want him—the two things were not mutually exclusive.
The problem was, of course, that she did not think she hated him any longer.
When she thought about him, when she saw him, she thought more often about the way he had kissed her when he had. The things he had done for her. The press of his fingers against her skin. She did not think of how much she despised him, but rather how much she yearned for him.
Desire had changed her. She had thought, when she discovered he wanted her, that she could tease him and deny him—but it transpired she could deny him nothing, for she wanted too much.
Alice, the girl who wanted too much.
She did not think she would ever stop wanting this.
His mouth was hot, lips moving against hers as she forced his mouth open and plunged her tongue inside. She needed him to show her the way on this mysterious journey into intimacy, but she refused to let him be the one to hold the reins.
In this, in everything they did, she needed to have control.
“Alice…” he groaned against her as she dug her fingers into his hair and fisted them, holding him in place as she licked along his bottom lip, then into his mouth.
The first wet slide of his tongue against hers made heat erupt between her legs.
The desire inside her turned hollow, and she ached, she ached, she ached.
Her leg, too, ached. When he’d carried her, she’d been so ready to dismiss it as a careless act designed to seduce her, but it would have been difficult for her to navigate the stairs, as tired as she was.
Not only had he noticed, but he had addressed the problem in a way that made her feel desirable instead of pitied. Every step of the way, he had never made her feel lesser because of her physical limitations.
And now, as he rested the heavy, muscular weight of his body against hers, she felt the hard press of his arousal against her thigh.
His hands traveled down her sides, into her hair, fingers skimming the sides of her breasts—never quite venturing there.
Her nipples pinched, and she inhaled sharply as he almost came close enough to touch them.
Almost. Not quite. She drowned in the almosts.
He broke the kiss and stroked her hair back.
So much tenderness there in that single gesture.
The angry, bitter part of her chest burned in resentment that he thought he could treat her in such a way after he had hurt her so badly, but another part of her—the part cultivated by his sweetness—rejoiced.
“I haven’t forgotten about your leg,” he murmured, kissing her neck, her collarbone, then the soft swell of her breasts.
Alice shivered. “What leg? I don’t think I have legs. Ignore it.”
He chuckled, hands sliding down her arms to her hips.
He climbed down her body, and despite the impressive bulge at his breeches, he reached for her leg, drawing her skirts up past her knees and exposing her stockings.
After tossing her shoes aside, he rolled her stockings down and placed her leg in his lap.
He showed no signs of disgust, merely stroking his hand up and down the gentle curve of her calf.
“Frederick, you don’t—”
“Much as I like it when you say my name,” he whispered, a small smile curving his mouth, “I can feel how tight this is.” He dug his fingers into a knot she didn’t even realize she had, and a gasp left her throat.
He closed his eyes, fingers still working her.
“And I particularly like it when you do that,” he grinned devilishly.
Having his hands on her like that felt so good, even though this particular touch wasn’t sexual.
At least, it wasn’t directly so. He took her foot and rolled it in every direction, his fingers gentle, easing, listening for her reactions to know if he caused her pain. Somehow, she knew all this about him.
At first, she might have thought this all came from guilt, but guilt did not induce a man to dedicate such time to making her feel this good. This was not guilt alone, though she didn’t doubt for a second that he did feel guilty.
Her foot brushed against the bulge in his breeches. He paused for a fraction of a second, his face going blank as he staved off whatever reaction that brought around. And, instead, continued his massage, shifting her leg back slightly so it wasn’t in danger of happening again.
But Alice discovered she liked when he had to fight for control, and when it was so obvious that he was enjoying doing this to her—well, she wanted to encourage that enjoyment. So she pushed her foot back, moving it slowly against his length.
A gentle pressure, that was all she could handle.
Yet still, his nostrils flared and he grunted in the back of his throat. He twitched against her, an unconscious encouragement of her treatment.
Well, who was she to deny him? She did it again, and his gaze found hers.
“Alice…” he rasped.
The sound of his torment unlocked something inside her, and she unraveled, the heat in her core rising until she could feel it liquid and messy between her legs. She throbbed with need, just as she had before, but this time—this time, it would be different.
He would show her everything. She would not allow him to do anything else.
“Come here,” she murmured, opening her arms again.
To her surprise, he lifted her leg, pressing a kiss to her calf before placing it down again and crawling over her. This time, however, he hovered over her, looking down into her face as though searching for something.
“What are you waiting for?” she demanded, her patience stretched thin.
He grinned, as though moments ago he had not been groaning at the slightest brush against his erection. “Just appreciating the moment.”
“Well, appreciate it faster!”
He chuckled and bent his head to graze his nose across her cheek. “Impatient, my sweet?”
“Toy with me, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”
“Mm, will you ruin me?” He kissed her other cheek, and even though she itched with impatience, she also loved the anticipation building in her stomach.
“I’ll make you wish you never married me…”
Air from his snort brushed her hair, and he skated his fingers down to the dip of her decolletage, just teasing the well of her breasts. Her breathing stuttered.
“Impossible,” he said, and bit the curve of her shoulder. She gasped, arching into him, and she felt the press of his smile against her skin.
“Frederick…” she breathed, reaching for him and tugging at his cravat.
“Yes, dearest?”
His fingers came to help hers, freeing the cravat from around his neck and tossing it aside.
But he made no attempt to help her as she fumbled with the buttons of his waistcoat.
All he did was help her ease it over his shoulders.
Then there was his shirt, and she tugged at it, raising it so she could make out his torso.
Muscles. She had never seen a naked man before, but she had seen plenty of Greek statues, and she knew that they depicted men’s abdominal muscles.
But even with her limited knowledge of male anatomy, she knew that the average man did not resemble the statues.
They were too soft around the middle, too short, or too broad, or too slender.
Frederick, however…
She traced the muscles with something approaching awe. Once or twice, when no one had been looking, she’d touched the statues, but they had nothing on a real, flesh-and-blood man. Soft, velvety skin, the hard ridge of muscle that lay underneath.
What a dichotomy.
The statues hadn’t had hair, either, and she blinked at it, the line that went from the base of his chest down to the waistband of his trousers.
She found hipbones, the muscle-sculpting around them, and had the unaccountable urge to bite them. She wanted her lips, her teeth, her tongue, against every part of him. Her hands trembled as they ran across the V pointing, rather directly, to the bulge in his breeches like an arrow.
Frederick ripped his shirt all the way off, and her gaze traveled over him, taking in his broad chest, the defined pectorals, the rounded caps to the end of his shoulders.
He was a study in male perfection.
How had she not noticed this about him before?
Surely it ought to have been obvious with the way he had carried her so effortlessly; she had been carried often enough before, but it had never been done with quite so much ease.
His breath turned ragged, and he caught her chin, fingers almost rough as he turned her face to his. “Alice,” he muttered, that gravel back in his voice again, so rough it whispered delightfully over her skin. “If you keep looking at me like that—”
“What will you do?” She licked her lips, intrigued by the answer.
“I can’t be held responsible for my actions...”
“Do you wish to ravish me?”
A primal light lit in his eyes. His jaw flexed. “Yes,” he uttered, and it felt as though the word had been dragged from him unwillingly. “I would like to do unspeakable things to you.”
All this while, she had intended to take the reins of control into her own hands. Ensure that she led the way, even as he taught her what pleasure could be.
But now… now she wondered if it would be more pleasing for her to grant him permission to do some of these things. It was a wonder to be looked at in this way, as though he would set fire to the world around them in order to preserve this moment.
Perhaps she ought to let him have his way with her. She could trust him to do what he needed—be gentle with her. To guide her right.
“If I find your tastes too depraved, you will stop?” she whispered.
“Without hesitation,” he nodded immediately, some of the ardor in his gaze vanishing. “I would never force anything on you that you did not enjoy.”
She mused for a moment. “Then you may choose one item on your list of unspeakable things, and let us discover if I enjoy them.”