Chapter 17 #2
As Blanche felt his fingers hastily slide over her corset and unfasten the straps of her cleavage, he stroked her full, turgid breasts.
And then, Heath cocked his head slightly to one side, breaking away from her for a moment to study her. His smile never faded as he stopped mid-step.
“I want you to say it, Wildcat.”
“Say… Say what?”
“Say you want me,” he said, cupping her breasts with one hand until she moaned. “Ask me not to stop, or I’ll pull away and never touch you again.”
Looking into Heath’s eyes, Blanche could see the dark, latent gleam that revealed how much he wanted to continue. But she also saw the certainty in his gaze that he would stop unless she asked him not to.
For a moment, she hesitated to oblige him, but then she realized that by refusing, she would be punishing herself more than him.
So her lips uttered the truth they both shared, which she had not dared to voice. “Please, Heath… I want more,” Blanche implored.
In response, Heath gave him the most exquisite and persuasive smile of all. “As you command.”
His fingers traced the path that his tongue slowly followed. Her heartbeat quickened as his warm mouth brushed against her breasts for the first time, touching her in a way that was new and exciting.
She had often woven such encounters into her stories, shaping them with vivid imagination—yet never had she envisioned herself within them.
They belonged to the protagonists of her tales, to characters crafted with purpose, not to her own reality. But tonight, as the world around her shifted, Blanche felt, for the first time, that she was no longer merely the reader, the observant.
She was the story. She felt beautiful, desired, and deeply aroused.
She craved Heath’s touch, grateful for every delicious caress he gave her. He clung to her body as if it might otherwise lose its connection to the earth, embracing her and drawing her against his warm, firm body while his tongue circled her marbled skin and finally reached for one of her nipples.
When he did, Heath bit down gently and firmly. He caught her nipple between his teeth and began tracing circles over it with his tongue, causing her to moan.
“Be careful, Wildcat, or you’ll arouse suspicion,” he teased, causing Blanche to bite her lip to stop herself from moaning as loudly as she wanted to.
However, the heat that was coursing through her was almost impossible to hide, and Blanche no longer wanted to pretend that she could contain it.
“How terribly delicious you are, Duchess.” Heath seemed to enjoy the heat rising in Blanche’s cheeks as she tried to maintain her composure.
She wanted to keep up with his usual witty banter, but Heath had the advantage at that moment, because the experience was new to her, but not to him.
“And how terribly pleased you look…”
“It must be because I have a wife who enjoys preludes,” Heath teased, slipping one of his hands under her dress and pushing aside the layers of fabric to slip between her legs.
She felt his sure, rhythmic touch running up and down her thighs, brushing her there, on the spot that remained hot and pulsing.
It was the part of her body that she was both curious about and nervous to think about.
Even when Heath found it with his fingers above the fabric, it felt right. His touch was like no other, caressing her intimately as if he knew exactly where to touch her to drive her wild.
Resisting the urge to encourage him by repeatedly uttering his name, Blanche sighed slowly and warmly. Sensing what his wife desired, Heath gently paced the rhythm of his fingers between her legs.
As he caressed her, his tongue explored her body, lingering deliciously on her breasts.
She knew that she could never touch or even look at herself again without thinking of Heath and his tongue caressing her in ways she had never imagined possible.
Blanche’s hands tangled in Heath’s thick, dark hair as he quickened his pace, his body beating like a second heart between her thighs. Her climax became more intense and, as Heath sent her soaring higher than she ever could on her own, she reached new heights of pleasure.
She hinted at his name just once, like a plea.
“Say it again,” Heath demanded. “Say you want me, Wildcat…”
“I want you, Heath. Please…” Blanche sighed just before Heath kissed her.
His tongue was fiery and possessive against hers, and the throbbing between her thighs quickened.
Finally, with her hands curled in Heath’s hair, she felt something incredible. It was like a pressure that tightened in her body and then released abruptly.
The tension released, and a moan burst from her lips. She whispered his name between kisses as she experienced pleasure unlike anything she had ever felt before.
“Looks like you had a climax, Blanche…” Heath joked, kissing Blanche chastely on the lips before pulling away.
Only then did he compose himself, combing his fingers through his hair, and helped Blanche, who was still dizzy and overwhelmed by her body’s explosion, to arrange her dress.
Meanwhile, Heath watched her with barely concealed pleasure as he took a seat opposite his wife, studying and analyzing her with delight.
She needed to calm down. She knew they would soon be going home, so she needed to regain her composure.
Because Heath was still there, watching her, filling the space between them with a presence far too potent to ignore.
Blanche inhaled sharply, casting her gaze toward the carriage window as though the darkness might provide some reprieve.
It did not. This is going to be a long night…