Chapter Twenty-One #2
He felt her legs shift, her body arch, her breath catch in his ear…
And God help him, he wanted her. All of her. Completely.
He lifted his head, chest heaving, his mouth swollen from her skin. She was a beautiful mess—flushed, lips parted, bodice askew, hair tumbling like loosened silk.
Gorgeous.
He kissed her again instantly, deeply, instinctively. She tasted like defiance and an admission she’d never speak aloud.
His mouth angled over hers, teasing, then claiming, slow enough to tempt, deep enough to undo. She arched into him, fingers sinking into his shoulders as though she’d forgotten she ever meant to resist him.
She shivered beneath him.
“Bea,” he murmured.
She opened her eyes, dazed, lips parted.
He brought her hand to his chest—right over the frantic beat of his heart—and held it there. “Feel what you do to me,” he said softly.
Her fingers curled, unthinking, drawn to the warmth of him. He watched her realization bloom—slow, startled, hungry.
Then, still holding her hand, he guided it lower…enough that she felt his gasp as she touched first along the line of his waistcoat, and then beneath it, where desire and restraint collided in the smallest, sharpest tremor of his abdomen.
Her lips parted in a soft, startled sound as he moved her hand to his throbbing cock, starkly outlined beneath his breeches.
“That,” he murmured, “is how you affect me.”
Her knee pressed lightly against his thigh, unbidden.
He felt the delicate tremble of her whole body.
She didn’t pull away.
He let his hand drift down to the hem of her skirts—slow, deliberate, warm—urging her subtly closer, showing her the rhythm of how bodies leaned, how want drew two people together without force or command.
Her breath broke on a sigh.
“Bea,” he said again, voice thickened now, more plea than tease, “do you touch yourself? Do you know how it feels to…”
Her fingers tightened on his shoulders. But he could tell from the hint of confusion between her brows that she didn’t know what he meant.
He gently pulled up her skirts. Then he took her hand and carefully led it down between her legs.
With all the delicate attention in the world, he showed her exactly where to find the nub of pleasure between her thighs.
Her body softened under him, melting into the curve of his arm.
He rubbed her in small circles, teaching her, as her head fell back and throaty moans escaped her lips.
He lowered his mouth to her throat—just barely, reverently—letting his lips brush skin in a way that was almost too gentle.
Her back arched instinctively, a soft gasp escaping her. Her eyes flared with surprise as if he’d revealed something entirely unknown.
He smiled, slow, wicked, adoring. Then he moved his hand away and let her continue with the small circles of pleasure. “You see?” he whispered. “You do know how.”
She trembled helplessly, biting her lower lip.
His hand slid lower, cupping the back of her thigh, urging her even closer, letting her feel how intimately their bodies aligned when she did. She made a sound…soft and shaken.
Nicholas’s breath faltered.
He murmured her name like a vow. Then he drew two fingers into his own mouth, eyes never leaving hers, before leaning down and sliding one inside her—slowly, steadily—until she trembled beneath him.
“Nicholas—” Her mouth fell open, a nearly pained expression on her face. But she wasn’t in pain. Far from it. She was panting, and a soft “oh” fell from her lips as he crooked his finger inside her.
He watched her face as she drew closer and closer to her pleasure. Moving his finger on the exact spot he knew she needed, while he whispered encouraging words in her ear. “That’s right. Feel it. Enjoy it. Don’t stop.”
She groaned.
“That’s it. Just like that. You learn quickly.”
She made a gasping sound that made his cock even harder.
“I knew you would,” he continued.
He pressed his mouth to her ear. “Do you know what you are doing to me, watching you touch yourself like this?”
She whimpered, the sound small and helpless, her breath shuddering as the tension inside her drew tighter and tighter.
“You have no idea,” he murmured, his voice rough with want. “Every sound you make tells me exactly what you need. Exactly what you want.”
“Nicholas—” she breathed, her lip caught between her teeth, eyes squeezed shut as though the feeling were too much to bear and not nearly enough all at once.
“I have you,” he whispered against her ear. “Don’t stop. Let it happen.”
Bea’s breath was gone. Her body felt as if were foreign to her.
The sensation building between her legs was unbearable.
The world narrowed to that sensation…to heat and pressure and the unbearable sweetness of release hovering with something wonderful just out of reach.
Her breath fractured, her body tensing as if bracing for impact… and then she broke.
Not quietly. Not gently.
The pleasure swept through her in a rush so powerful it stole the strength from her limbs, a soft, broken cry escaping her as the wave crested and carried her with it. She arched toward Nicholas, caught in the moment, utterly unguarded, the feeling unlike anything she’d felt before.
Nicholas watched her, transfixed. Her face was flushed, radiant, filled with astonishment.
Pride surged through him, fierce and humbling all at once—not ownership, not triumph, but the knowledge that she had trusted him with this.
That he had been the one to guide her there.
That whatever this was between them, it was real.
And he would never forget the look on her face when she let go.
He withdrew his hand from beneath her skirts, slowly and deliberately. She moved both her hands back up to his shoulders.
He stilled instantly.
Her eyes—still hazy with pleasure, still stormy with want—cleared with sudden alarm.
“Nicholas,” she whispered. “We—I—what was that?”
The air between them shifted, rushing in where heat had been.
He forced himself to stillness, to patience. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.
“I think so.” She shook her head, a breathless, disbelieving laugh catching in her throat. “No. I just—this—we shouldn’t…” Her voice faltered.
“Please don’t tell me you regret it,” he said gently, searching her face, preparing himself to hear the answer even if it undid him.
She looked up at him through lashes still damp and dark. “No,” she admitted, worrying her lower lip. “It was…astonishing. But—”
He nodded once, slow and measured, and shifted back to sit beside her…just enough to give her space. Her skirts rustled softly as she smoothed them with unsteady hands.
Nicholas braced his arms on the seat beside her, close but no longer touching, aware of her warmth, her presence, the fragile line between what had been and what must not go further.
“It was only meant to be kissing,” she whispered, as though trying to restore order by naming it. “Just kissing. That’s all.”
Nicholas looked at her—truly looked—and something inside him eased and tightened all at once.
“I don’t think it ever could be just kissing between us,” he said quietly.
Her breath caught, not with fear, but with recognition. With truth.
And she did not tell him he was wrong.