Chapter 23
Heaven help me.
A quiet moan punctuated the first graze of the kiss Selina had craved since their stolen moment behind the bushes. It was risky, it was dangerous, with guests not so far away on the lawns, but she couldn’t help herself.
She needed him. Wanted him. Couldn’t hope to stay away from him, regardless of what common sense dictated.
“I love it when you moan for me,” Philip purred, holding her tighter, his kiss hungrier.
A blush warmed her skin, though that might have had more to do with the way his hand smoothed up the curve of her spine until he touched the bare skin at the nape of her neck.
She shivered, another moan catching in her throat as his other hand roved over the swell of her backside, partaking in a light squeeze of soft, supple flesh. The pressure pushed her hips closer to him, feeling that mysterious, intoxicating hardness once more.
Since the gardens, she had discreetly searched his library for any information about a gentleman’s ‘manhood’. The anatomy books had confused her even more, certainly in terms of the mechanics, while the fiction was as steeped in metaphor as the other books she had devoured. No help at all.
She supposed she could have asked Melody what she knew about such things, but every time she had considered broaching the subject, embarrassment had stayed her tongue.
Struck with a sudden boldness, she let her hand slip between them, her palm exploring that bewildering appendage. At least the shape of it through the front of his trousers.
A growl rumbled in the back of his throat as she touched him. How could flesh become so hard? And why did it make her desire rise, a faint pulse throbbing between her thighs? It was satisfying to feel, yet it answered no questions.
“This isn’t about my pleasure,” he told her in a thick voice.
He caught hold of her inquisitive hand and walked her backward until her shoulders bumped against the nearest wall. There, with a wicked smirk on his lips, he lifted her hands and pinned them above her.
“This is about yours,” he said, dipping his head to kiss her harder.
She bucked away from the wall, playfully indignant at having her hands denied the opportunity to explore, and kissed him back with everything she possessed. Hot and frantic and desperate, their tongues dancing, his body pressed close to hers, letting her feel what she couldn’t touch.
It was infuriating in the best possible way, her body straining to be nearer, to feel more.
“If I let you go, do you promise not to touch?” he teased, his lips tracing a feverish line down the curve of her neck.
She nodded, her eyes closed, delirious with want.
“Say it,” he whispered.
“I promise.”
He slowly released her hands. As it turned out, not to necessarily stop her from touching him, but so that he had both of his hands to touch her as he pleased.
His palms skimmed the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips, and the rise of her bosom, his fingertips hooking into the hem of her neckline and tugging it down.
She almost cried out, forgetting about the guests on the lawn, as his mouth closed over her nipple, freed from the constraints of her stays and her dress. He sucked gently, enough to make her hips buck, her body on fire.
Mercy, what am I going to do about this?
She wanted him as she had never wanted anything else in her life, but to make a mistake before the wedding? No, she had to be better than that, had to be more disciplined than that. Even if it was a strange form of torture.
Just then, he swept her up into his arms and carried her to his desk. Instinctively, her legs wrapped around his waist, bringing the heat of her closer to that hard length.
His hand pushed aside papers and ledgers, and he set her down. She moaned at the pressure of his hips tilting forward, uncertain if she had the discipline not to go too far.
As his mouth sought hers in an urgent crush, she clung to him, kissing him back with equal fervor. A distraction from the ache between her thighs that wanted so much more of him. All of him, in truth, whatever that meant.
Slowly, he pressed her back against the desk, and his mouth strayed away from hers. His lips fluttered down the column of her throat and over the swell of her breasts, his tongue flicking against her pert nipple to make her gasp.
“Oh, Philip… Oh!” she gasped, half-wishing he was close enough to kiss, half-wishing he would continue downward.
He granted the latter wish as he sank into his chair, like he was about to conduct some very serious work. But instead of writing correspondence or frowning at ledgers that wouldn’t balance, he pushed her skirts up to her hips, his fingertips brushing her sensitive, trembling flesh.
His mouth brushed the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, and then his tongue, powerful as a lightning bolt, flicked against that sweet spot of hers.
“Oh… oh my!” she gasped, distantly conscious of the guests playing out on the lawns.
She couldn’t be too loud, even if she wanted to scream her ecstasy at the top of her lungs.
He tasted her again in a slow, savoring stroke that made it clear just how hard it was going to be to stay somewhat quiet.
What delicious torment is this?
She clamped her hand over her mouth as he curled his tongue and sucked, her legs shaking, her back arching up off the desk. And though she couldn’t be sure, she thought she felt him smile. He was enjoying the fact that she couldn’t unleash the full volume of her pleasure.
The roll of his tongue settled into a rousing rhythm, stoking the fires of a conclusion that was all but guaranteed.
A few moments later, she felt his fingertips at her entrance, and her breath caught. She tried to imagine that hard length in place of his fingertips, and her entire body shivered at once, the heat between her thighs becoming a roaring, pulsing inferno.
How would it feel? How different would it be? How much longer until our wedding night?
She stifled a cry of bliss as he eased his fingers inside her, curling them slightly to apply exquisite pressure.
In slow thrusts, he poured fuel on the fire of her ecstasy until her lungs were ablaze, her muscles taut with anticipation, her head swimming, her hips moving to the rhythm of his touch.
Needing to feel as much of that extraordinary euphoria as possible.
All at once, the rush overwhelmed her. It took her last shred of willpower not to call his name in a satisfied scream, biting into her forearm instead so she wouldn’t bring disgrace upon them before their wedding day.
“Yes… Yes, Philip… Please…” she whimpered against her skin, her entire body seized by ecstasy.
Her thighs tensed, her stomach tightened, her back arched, the pressure making her head pound while her eyes scrunched shut and that wave of pure pleasure roared through her veins.
It was a feeling she would never tire of, and a feeling she wished to explore to its very limits. She was almost cross that the guests outside had dared to be there, wishing they would just vanish temporarily so she could enjoy her betrothed completely.
You must behave.
She hated her cautious mind for the reminder as she tingled from head to toe, so alive that she felt as if anything was possible.
For years, she had lost herself in books of romance and seduction, hiding her secret passion for fear of what people—her family, mostly—might say.
It was unseemly for polite young ladies to indulge in such things, but now she was living it.
She was the protagonist in her own story at long last, and it thrilled her to her core.
To think that it had all begun with a letter that she had not written… It was a wondrous, baffling, undoubtedly troublesome twist of fate, and she could not have been happier that it had altered the course of her life.
The pleasure began to ebb, and her back lowered to the surface of the desk, the tremors in her limbs subsiding, the tension in her muscles easing, the breath coming more easily back into her lungs.
It was her one complaint that a climax could not last longer. Then again, if it did, she supposed no one would ever get anything done.
Carefully, Philip eased his fingers out of her, and with one last, slow taste of her, he turned his head to kiss her thighs. He took his time, his lips grazing the dips below her hips, the slight rounding of her stomach, before he kissed his way back up to her lips.
She was so relaxed that she could have melted right off the desk, a delirious grin fixed on her face. Considering she had started out not wanting this marriage at all, the wedding day really couldn’t come soon enough.
“I would call that a satisfying victory,” Philip murmured, his lips tracing a tingling line down the curve of her neck.
“For whom?” She chuckled.
He caught her mouth in a slow, sensual kiss. “A mutual win.” A deep laugh rumbled in the back of his throat. “I get you. You get endless pleasure, as much as you can take.”
“Once we are married,” she insisted.
Then again, if he were to lead her to his chambers at that moment and strip her bare, she wasn’t sure she would have the self-discipline to refuse.
“It won’t be much longer,” he replied with a smirk as he dipped his head to kiss her once more.
His lips had barely touched hers when the sound of voices made them freeze.
Selina scrambled to get out from underneath Philip, pulling up her neckline and smoothing down her skirts. He perched on the desk and smiled at her, amusement glinting in his eyes.
“I can’t wait for our wedding night, my bride,” he said. “No more judgment, no more gossip, and no more guests to rudely interrupt us.”
Cheeks ablaze, Selina went straight to the doors that led onto the terrace. “You behave until then.”
“I make no promises.”
With a playful roll of her eyes, she slipped back out into the gardens… and ran directly into the Dowager Duchess.
“Oh!” they yelped in unison, Selina’s heart racing.
Surely, the Dowager Duchess would not comment on any flushed appearance or on what Selina might have been up to in Philip’s study.
The older woman ran an assessing eye over her. “I was looking for you.”
“You were?” Selina struggled to steady her breathing.
“Indeed. The modiste has sent some dresses for you to try for the wedding.” The Dowager Duchess took her by the arm. “I daresay we ought to choose one as soon as possible.”
Selina blushed harder, unable to squeak out a single word as the old woman led her away.