Chapter Twenty-Three #2
She shook her head quickly. “No. Only…different.”
A low sound of satisfaction rumbled against her skin. “Good.”
His fingers continued their maddening course, circling with steady precision. Each pass sent a sharper current through her, gathering every scattered spark of pleasure into one brilliant point. She clutched at his shoulders, unable to remain still beneath the relentless sweetness of it.
“You are so soft here,” he murmured against her cheek. “So warm. Poppy, you are wet for me.”
A small sound escaped her.
His fingers stilled. “Did I shock you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you wish me to stop?”
Her hand closed around his wrist. “No.”
His smile was brief and wicked enough to send another tremor through her. “Then I shall endeavor to shock you again.”
He resumed the circling motion, firmer now, his rhythm growing more certain with every quickened breath she drew. Poppy turned her face toward the pillow, but he kissed her cheek and murmured her name until she looked at him.
“Let me see you,” he whispered. “I want to watch what my hands do to you.”
The words sent heat sweeping through her.
She had thought the pleasure he had given her in the drawing room astonishing.
This rose faster and struck deeper, leaving her no room to retreat from it.
The pressure wound tighter, each circle carrying her higher until her body seemed to belong entirely to his hand.
“Gabriel, I—”
The climax seized her before she could finish. Her back arched, and a cry tore from her as pleasure broke through her with such force that she could scarcely breathe. Wave after wave moved through her, stronger than anything she had known before, until she was trembling helplessly beneath him.
Gabriel held her through every shudder, his mouth against hers and his free arm firm around her. Only when the last tremor eased did his touch gentle.
For several moments, Poppy could do nothing but breathe.
Gabriel pressed his face into her hair, his own body taut with restraint.
“Oh,” Poppy said at last.
His laugh was uneven. “Yes.”
“That was…” She blinked, still dazed. “Good heavens.”
“I shall accept that as praise.”
“You should.”
His mouth curved. Then her gaze moved lower, and curiosity overcame the last of her shyness. She reached for the fastening of his trousers.
Gabriel caught her hand. “Careful.”
“With what?”
“With me.”
The words sent another pulse of heat through her.
“Are you so fragile?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then why careful?”
“Because if you put your hand on me now, I may disgrace myself with the speed of Mr. Loxley abandoning mortality when cake arrives.”
Poppy burst out laughing.
Gabriel closed his eyes. “That was a regrettable comparison.”
“It was extremely clarifying.”
His smile was brief and devastating. Then he kissed her again, and the laughter faded into want.
He undressed fully while Poppy watched. The sight of him—aroused, powerful, no longer perfectly controlled—made her throat go dry.
He returned to the bed, but he did not come over her at once. Instead, he kissed his way down her body, over her ribs, her stomach, the sensitive dip beside her hip.
Poppy pushed herself up on her elbows. “Gabriel?”
He looked up at her from between her thighs, and the sight alone nearly undid her.
“I want my mouth on you,” he said.
Her entire body went hot. “There?”
“Yes.” His hands moved over her knees, parting them with maddening care. “Here. Unless you tell me no.”
She swallowed. “Is that…something people do?”
His mouth curved against the inside of her thigh. “People with any sense.”
That startled a laugh out of her, but the laugh broke when he kissed lower.
“Lie back,” he said softly. “Let me please you.”
Poppy obeyed.
His mouth touched her where his fingers had been, and she nearly came off the bed. A cry tore from her before she could swallow it. Gabriel’s hands held her hips, firm and reassuring.
“There,” he murmured. “That is the sound I wanted.”
“Gabriel.”
“I know.” His breath moved over her, hot and intimate. “You taste sweet. You feel even sweeter when you tremble.”
The words were indecent. The pleasure was worse. Better. Impossible.
His tongue moved slowly at first, then with more certainty when she began to shake.
He kissed her there with the same careful devotion he had given her mouth, only this felt more wicked, more consuming, more unbearably intimate.
Poppy twisted her hands in the sheets, helpless beneath the slow stroke of his tongue.
“Do not hide from me,” he said, lifting his head just enough to speak. “I want every sound.”
“I cannot—”
“You can.”
Then his mouth returned to her, and the words dissolved into a cry. Pleasure gathered quickly this time, sharpened by the sight of his head between her thighs, by the steady pressure of his hands, by the impossible knowledge that controlled, proper Gabriel Ashby was taking her apart with his mouth.
Her release broke hard and fast. She gasped his name, her body tightening beneath his hands while he stayed with her through every helpless wave.
When he came back over her, his mouth was glistening and his restraint visibly frayed.
Poppy touched his face. “You looked pleased with yourself.”
“I am trying very hard not to look unbearably smug.”
“You are failing.”
“Good.” He kissed her, and she tasted herself on him. The shock of it sent heat through her all over again. “I want you to know what you do to me.”
She felt him against her thigh, hard and hot, and understood at once.
He rested beside her, his hand moving slowly along her hip. “You have never been with a man?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Of course.” Tenderness moved through his expression, followed by a care that made her throat tighten. “Then we will go slowly.”
She touched his jaw. “I trust you.”
The words affected him visibly. His eyes closed, and for one quiet beat he seemed to take them in somewhere deeper than thought.
When he opened them, he kissed her gently. Then he positioned himself above her.
Poppy felt the broad pressure at the entrance to her body and drew in a breath.
He moved slowly.
Even prepared as she was, the first stretch startled her. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders.
Gabriel stopped at once. “Poppy?”
“Wait.”
He held himself still, every line of him trembling with restraint.
Poppy breathed through the brief sting and the strange fullness of him. The discomfort eased by degrees. She lifted her hips experimentally.
Gabriel’s eyes closed. “Do not do that unless you want me to move.”
“I want you to move.”
His gaze returned to hers. “Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
He pressed deeper.
The last resistance gave way in a sharp little ache that made Poppy gasp. Gabriel went still again, kissing her forehead, her cheek, her mouth.
“I have you,” he whispered. “I will never take more than you give me.”
The words steadied her. Poppy relaxed beneath him, and after a few breaths, the discomfort softened into a new awareness. His body filled hers completely, joining them with an intimacy so profound she could hardly comprehend it.
She moved her hips slightly.
Gabriel’s breath broke.
“Again,” she whispered.
He began slowly.
Each measured thrust carried tenderness beneath the desire. Poppy felt him everywhere: the weight of him above her, the movement of his body within hers, the brush of his chest against her breasts, the roughened sound of her name against her throat.
The unfamiliar ache faded, and pleasure took its place.
It gathered gradually, then with increasing urgency. Her body learned the rhythm and rose to meet him. Her hands slid down his back. Her legs drew him nearer.
Gabriel groaned and buried his face against her neck. “Poppy.”
She loved the sound of her name in his voice. Loved that she could undo him. Loved that, for once, she was managing nothing at all.
Lists, bills, and the effort to appear cheerful while the world tipped sideways around her all fell away.
Only Gabriel remained, his body in hers, his breath breaking, his restraint ruined by wanting her.
“You feel perfect,” he said, the words rough against her skin. “Do you know that? Do you know what it is to be inside you after trying so long to do the honorable thing?”
Poppy clung to him. “Tell me.”
His rhythm faltered.
“Tell me,” she whispered again, bolder now because he had made her bold.
He lifted his head, his eyes dark and undone. “It is agony. It is relief. It is every sensible part of me burning down at once.”
Pleasure tightened inside her.
“And you like that?” she asked.
His mouth found hers in a hard kiss. “I love it.”
His hand slipped between their bodies and found the place that had already yielded so sweetly to his touch.
Poppy gasped. “Gabriel.”
“I know.” His fingers moved with devastating precision. “Come for me again. I want to feel it this time.”