Chapter 23 #2
He released her throat and rounded to her front, the emerald of his eyes so dark they were almost black.
“Lesson number four? Are you certain you want me to teach you how to kiss, so that you can please another man?” The toe of his Hessian slid beneath the hem of her dress, and he rested his palm lightly on her waist. Even through her shawl, the heat of him branded her.
He smelled of soap and leather, and she breathed in deeply.
“Yes.”
The thumb of his other hand smoothed between her brows. “Why the frown, Sunshine?”
“No reason,” she said brightly, even as her skin tingled at the intimate contact. She could not remember the last time a man had touched her face.
He began to withdraw. “Let us not—”
“No!” She snatched his wrist, and his eyebrow lifted in challenge, as if he were not used to being told what to do. “I am not frowning because I am unready. It is that I cannot help worrying that it will be like the other times after all.”
His expression darkened, and his hand returned to cup the back of her neck, his long fingers delving into her hair and subsequently loosening the locks from their pins.
She almost purred. He tilted her head so that she was looking up at him.
“Why are you afraid kissing me will be like the other times?”
“They were unpleasant kisses.”
“Why is that?” His thumb traveled across her jawbone, and she swallowed hard. Her heart was pounding like a bird trying to free itself from a cage.
“I am beginning to think it was because I did not desire them.”
“And now?”
“Now I do not think that will be an issue.”
Satisfaction burned in his gaze, and he bent his head.
Ivy caught her breath, waiting for the most intense kiss of her life, and was disappointed when he only ghosted his lips across hers.
Even though it was the barest touch, it still put her other kisses to shame.
His lips were warm and smooth in contrast to the roughness of his unshaven face.
His breath smelled of mint and tea, and she clung to his good shoulder, wishing she could taste more of him.
She got her wish when he did it again, this time lingering slightly at the corner of her mouth and pressing a dry kiss to it.
He drifted to the other corner and left another kiss.
“This smiling mouth is a gift,” he murmured with something that sounded like regret as he began to pull away. “I should not sully it.”
Ivy acted on instinct. She threw her arms around his neck and pulled his head down, planting her lips squarely on his. She did not really know what to do once she had mashed her mouth to his, so she held him there, hoping he would take over.
The wait felt interminable even though it was probably only half a moment.
He did not react at first, his mouth partially parted beneath hers in surprise, and then it was as if a flame had been set to tinder.
All of his reverent hesitance vanished in an instant.
His hand in her hair tightened while the other came to the side of her neck. He angled her mouth and he kissed her.
Really kissed her.
Plundered, even.
His lips moved over hers with such surety and skill that she parted her own instinctually.
He took immediate and full advantage, sliding his tongue into her mouth and curling it in a way that sent a flush racing across her skin.
He pulled her closer, until she could feel every line of his broad chest, and continued to devour her, licking, sucking, and nipping until her entire body was trembling and she ached with need.
She pushed her hips against him, instinctively seeking something more.
He rumbled in her mouth and shifted so that his thigh pressed between her legs, providing pressure she had not even known she desired.
It was entirely wicked, and yet she could not bring herself to put distance between them.
The best kiss of her life had rapidly turned into something very illicit.
She was supposed to slap a man who took such liberties.
She was supposed to shove him away and remind him that she was a proper woman and must not be compromised.
Ivy did none of those things. She moaned as her fingers twined with his curly hair, and it felt like silk on her fingertips.
He broke contact, both of them breathing heavily, his mouth hovering over hers as he continued to cradle her head in his large hands. “We need to stop.”
“Lesson number five. Teach me lesson number five.”
“What is lesson number five?”
“I… I do not know,” she admitted, frustrated by her ignorance, but there had to be more to learn.
When it came to men and their desires, she knew more than most women simply from overhearing her brothers talk.
But although she had heard crass jokes and rude references, she had heard very little about the woman’s part in it all.
Owen had been in the process of extracting his thigh, but at her frustrated admission he paused, visibly warring with himself as both desire and reluctance battled on his face.
Then he pressed his leg back between hers, and she melted into him.
“Lesson number five is that a woman’s pleasure enhances a man’s. ”
“I have not heard that before. Do all men know that?”
“No.”
“Women are not taught it, either.”
“Hence lesson number five.”
Ivy’s fingers slid down the sides of his face, brushing against the rough growth of beard. “Teach me.”
His wide hands grasped her hips. With aching care, so that she could stop him if she wished, he tugged her closer, until his thigh was fully between hers, wrapped in her skirt as he pushed upward and nudged her center down with his hands.
Ivy’s cheeks heated, and a soft gasp escaped her lips.
“Tell me to stop.”
“No.”
He manually shifted her hips, grinding her against him, and Ivy’s fingers clutched his shoulders hard enough that later she would marvel that he had not flinched from the pressure on his sore side.
How was this possible? She had never guessed that a woman could feel like this with a man.
Whatever he was doing to her was sinful and wrong, and she would scream if anyone stopped him.
Owen leaned forward, his lips at her ear as he lifted his thigh and simultaneously pushed on her hips.
A noise escaped Ivy that should have embarrassed her, but she was drowning in sensation and did not care.
“What you need, Sunshine, is for pressure to build between your legs. That empty achiness you feel right now can be partially sated with just the right amount of friction. Help me. Grind down on me.”
Ivy rocked her hips, and he groaned with approval. “Good lass. Have you touched yourself in this way before? Lying in bed at night?”
Writhing against him, knowing that she should feel ashamed and yet finding it impossible to do so when he was tempting her on with his strong hands and filthy words, Ivy nodded.
He ran his nose down the side of her neck. “Did you find release?”
She shook her head no. She did not know what he meant.
“I will show you how to find it. After today, when you touch yourself, I want you to think of this moment and know that you have the power to take yourself to the crescendo. Do not ever feel guilty about finding your own pleasure.” He shifted, doing something that made her forehead fall to his shoulder.
“And when you are recovering, satisfied and tingling, I want you to know that I am pleased with you.”
She barely knew what he was saying anymore. Her skin felt too tight, her lungs unable to fully expand, and something deep in her core was heating and heating until it felt like she might burst.
His voice lowered to an impossible level.
“Women who walk around like rays of sunshine deserve to see rainbows.” On the word “rainbows” he ground her hard against him while simultaneously biting the junction between her neck and shoulder.
Ivy cried out against his hair as she experienced a stunning climax of pleasure, sparks of color indeed flashing behind her eyelids.
She clung to him, trembling and confused and oh, so sated, until at last she felt as if the bones in her body were liquefying. He held her tight, supporting her when she did not know if she could stand on her own two legs.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, stroking one hand down her back while the other kept her upright. “So perfect.”
Ivy did not know what to think, much less say. She knew she should probably be embarrassed or ashamed, but he was still lavishing her with praise so she could not find it within her to self-flagellate.
“What just happened is normal, Ivy. It is how men feel when they copulate, and it is how a woman should feel, too. A woman’s pleasure enhances a man’s, and if it does not, then he is not worthy. Lesson number five is that your pleasure should become your lover’s pleasure.”
Ivy could have happily snuggled into his chest for the next hour, listening to him calmly and factually state information about culturally taboo topics, but at that moment she heard the far-off call of Barnes shouting her name.
She lifted her head, the satisfied flush on her cheeks draining with horror.
“Owen, if he catches us alone together—” She did not have to finish the statement.
A normal brother would insist Owen marry her after coming across the compromising situation, which would be bad enough, but Barnes was not normal.
If he saw her mussed and alone with Owen, his hatred for Owen would have him recklessly calling for a duel, no matter how illegal.
Owen’s fingers flexed on her arms, and he stared down at her with a dark expression she could not decipher. Then he nudged her away, releasing her to the cold autumn wind. “Go,” he ordered. “I shall ride toward him. Take the roundabout way to the house.”
She nodded and snatched fistfuls of her skirt, about to run, when he said, “Ivy, we are not finished. We need to talk about this.”
Ivy waved him off with a flick of her wrist, far more concerned with her brother catching her than with the heavy promise in Owen’s voice.