Chapter Eighteen
They shouldn’t be doing this. The thought snaked through Griffin’s mind, but he ignored it and deepened the kiss instead, gripping Olivia’s delectable hips as he swept his tongue into her mouth.
He’d hated watching her dance with other men tonight, hated even more hearing her with Paxton, knowing the fool had kissed her, touched her, and she had welcomed it. Even now he could still feel the knot of jealousy deep in his gut. It should be his mouth on hers, his hands on her body. He wanted to taste her everywhere, he wanted to own her, use her, surrender to her.
God, he must be losing his mind.
Olivia whimpered, her lips meeting his in desperate strokes, the eager slide of her tongue stiffening his cock until the ache was almost unbearable.
He widened his stance and slid his hands down to her arse, urging her closer until hips met hips and her breasts were flattened against his chest. There. He could feel her everywhere now, soft and warm and so bloody good he never wanted to let go.
Her arms looped around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair as she whispered his name.
Satisfaction flowed through him, a warm balm loosening the knot of jealousy in his belly. She’d allowed Paxton to kiss her, but she hadn’t asked for more. She hadn’t wanted more.
She wanted more from him, though, didn’t she?
“Come,” he whispered, easing her toward the bench. “Come with me.”
Her eyes met his, nearly black and drenched in desire, and Griffin’s breath caught in his throat. Olivia aroused was without a doubt the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.
He pulled her down onto the bench until they were both sitting, with her straddling his lap. Their mouths met again, in hungry, wet kisses that seemed to heat the very air around them. Her sent invaded, an intoxicating blend of jasmine and lemonade and lust.
His hands found her hips and he tugged, a guttural groan rumbling in his throat as the heat of her settled directly, deliciously onto his straining cock. He kissed her harder, his lips ravenous as he filled his hands with her, squeezing her hips, shaping her waist, her back, her thighs.
Her breasts, plump and creamy, tantalized above the neckline of her gown, and he eased his mouth from hers so he could see her better.
“Christ, you’re lovely,” he said, brushing the pads of his thumbs along the swell of her breasts. “Your body...” He swallowed. “I hunger for it. I hunger for you.”
Heart thudding in his chest, he held her gaze as he hooked his thumbs beneath the edge of her bodice and tugged. Her breasts beckoned, her nipples pebbling beneath the thin cotton chemise, and he bent his head to take one in his mouth.
She hissed in a breath, her fingers threading in his hair as she arched into him, unintentionally bearing down on the hard ridge of his erection. He thrust against her warmth, drawing her nipple deeper into his mouth, his hands gripping her arse.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, yes...” She began to move her hips, grinding her wet heat against his cock in slow, rhythmic circles, her buttocks clenching beneath his palms with every thrust.
Griffin eased his head back to watch her.
“Yes, petal,” he urged, his gaze locked on her face, his hands gripping her hips. “Ride me. Ride my cock. Let me feel your pleasure.”
Her head fell back, and her lips parted, and he pressed his lips to her throat, tasting her, nipping her skin with his teeth. A gasp caught on a groan and then she stiffened, her hands clutching his shoulders as tremors wracked her body.
Her eyelids fluttered open a moment later and she lowered her head, meeting his gaze.
“Oh, my,” she whispered, her throat working as she swallowed. “That was...unexpected.”
He smiled and brushed his mouth over her heated cheek. “Will you admit now that my kiss is your best?”
She pressed her lips together, considering her answer. “Would you believe me if I said it wasn’t?”
“Not after that, no.”
She huffed out a laugh. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” Her gaze dipped to his throat, and he could almost hear her thoughts, the self-recrimination, the doubt. She was only seconds away from regretting what she’d done.
“Don’t,” he said softly. “Don’t be embarrassed.” He reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his body still thrumming, his erection still throbbing against her core. He ignored it.
“I can’t help it,” she said. “I seem to lose all sense of decorum with you. I…forget myself.”
Griffin trailed his thumb along her jaw and over her lips, cresting the tiny cleft in her chin. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her. “You make me forget myself, too,” he said softly. “When I take myself in hand, it is you I think of.”
Her gaze flew to his, wide with surprise.
“I imagine it’s your hand around my cock instead of my own.”
“You do?” Her voice was faint, incredulous, and her cheeks had flushed a gorgeous shade of pink.
“And sometimes,” he said, “I imagine it’s your mouth instead of your hand.”
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and Griff couldn’t tell if she was scandalized or aroused by his admission. He fervently hoped it was the latter.
“I had no idea you thought of me doing those things,” she said softly. “Or at all.”
God, if she only knew.
Her gaze fell to his trousers, and her hands went to his falls, her knuckles brushing against his erection. His breath caught in his throat, and pleasure, sweet and intense, shot through him, as if he were an untried lad in the throes of his first sexual experience.
“Touch me, Olivia.” His voice was hoarse, pleading. He swallowed. “Let me feel your hands on me.”
Her gaze met his, dark and unwavering, as she began to remove her gloves, her movements deliberate and unhurried.
She set her gloves on the bench and a moment later his falls slackened, and his cock sprang free. His breath hissed through his teeth as her fingers closed around his thick length. She stroked him gently, tentatively, her hand soft and warm, and Griffin’s eyes fell closed.
“Like this?” she whispered. “Am I doing it right?”
“Yes, petal,” he said roughly. “Just like that. Exactly like that.”
God, her touch.The pleasure she wrought on his body…
It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced—beyond anything he’d ever experienced—and he was desperate for more. Insatiable. Ruined.
“You’re so hot,” she mused, her brow furrowed as she stroked him. “So soft yet so hard.”
“That’s you,” he said through gritted teeth. “That is what your touch does to me.”
His hips jerked, his body begging for release as she worked him over, the pleasure beginning to build, and he watched her face as she pumped her sweet little hand down his cock. Working so hard to please him. God, how she undid him.
He was moments away from spending in her hand. It was too late to stop it—he was too weak to stop it—and somehow he had the foresight to tug his handkerchief from his coat pocket.
He wrapped his hand around hers and stroked hard, once, twice, a third time, and with a rough, guttural groan, spent his seed into the handkerchief.
A long, fraught moment passed with only the sound of their labored breathing between them. Griffin’s head tipped back, and he swallowed, his heart thudding in his throat.
“Christ above, Olivia,” he muttered, his voice an uneven rasp. “I—”
He broke off and his head shot up, his shoulders tensing. Voices. They were no longer alone.
Olivia’s breath caught and her eyes widened in alarm as she turned to look in the direction of the house. With frantic movements, she scrambled off his lap and brushed hurried hands over her dress. Griffin reached out to help, but she shied from his touch and before he could utter another word, she was gone, dashing toward the house.
He watched her leave, her retreating form barely visible beneath the moonlight, and only when she’d disappeared from sight did he relax. The voices he’d heard only moments ago were silent now, and he hoped that meant they’d returned to the ballroom. He did not wish to share the garden with anyone, not like this, with his breathing still ragged and his mind reeling in the aftermath of Olivia’s touch.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, and went to rake his fingers through his hair, only then realizing he still held his soiled handkerchief. He thrust the linen into his trouser pocket then refastened his falls and tucked his shirt into his waistband.
With a sigh, he rose and ambled over to the nearest pillar, leaning his arm against the smooth wood. He turned his gaze up to the night sky and sighed again, seeing none of it. Pleasure still thrummed through him, his skin prickling with the memory of her soft hands, his body hungry for more of her. He wanted her, more than he had before, though how that was possible he did not know.
All he knew was every taste of her lips, every touch of her hands only seemed to intensify his yearning for her.
He muttered another curse and scrubbed a hand down his face. What was this effect she had on him? Why could he not stay away from her?
Olivia was not his to desire, and yet, desire her he did, even though he knew he shouldn’t. Even though she was practically promised to another man.
What in bloody blazes was wrong with him?