Page 64 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

For the first time since meeting him, Genevieve felt his equal, and as if she had the power to undo him. She tangled her fingers in his impish waves. They were as silky as she’d imagined.

He lightly sucked her bottom lip. “So sweet,” he whispered. “Like oranges.”

On her indecent moan, his tongue swept into her mouth, which only elicited another unseemly sound from her. But she couldn’t care less what noises she was making since he was producing sensual sounds of his own. In the sweetest of caresses, he swirled the tip of his tongue around hers. To her delight, his swirling tongue tasted like citrus.

Kissing Jonathan had just become her new favorite thing. It didn’t require words, and it was more intimate than talking. The sensations brought on by spiraling tongues and searching lips were even better than the euphoria that washed over her when running and boxing. So romantic. Completely decadent. Unbelievably intimate. Entirely safe.

So, so safe.

After years of living in fear, she trusted someone other than her siblings. So much so that maybe, just maybe, her throat wouldn’t betray her.

“Jonathan,” she whispered, testing her theory.

He pulled back to stare into her eyes. “Gen?”

“Thank you for everything.” Although her voice sounded garbled, she wasn’t ashamed.

His half-lidded eyes widened. “’Tis’ my pleasure.” He slid his thumbs to her mouth and caressed her lips, as if trying to coax more words from them.

She could do this; she could ask for what she wanted, even if it was a whisper. “Can we kiss now and talk later?”

“Hell, yes!” His lips crashed against hers, and his body weight pinned her to the back of the settee.

How fortunate that she’d donned the low-cut, purple dress that exposed her skin because having her ear and neck tended to stoked a fire in her core. Lowering his head, he skimmed his mouth above the satin trim lining her decolletage. Unable to assuage the ache consuming her, she rubbed against him as if she were a kitten desperate for scratches. His breathing became labored, and his arousal pressed into her belly. The pulse between her thighs quickened.

Without warning, he tore his mouth from hers. “We need to stop,” he said while teetering on the edge of the seat.

How unfair. She didn’t want to stop, but since he looked as though he would leap from the settee if she reached for him, he wasn’t giving her much choice.

“Why?” she asked her words coming easier. “Truly, you don’t have to treat me as if I am made of porcelain.” Maybe when they’d first met, but not anymore.

His beautiful green eyes turned into smoldering flames, and his nostrils flared as if she’d awoken his demon. A well-bred lady should guard her innocence and flee, but Genevieve had invited Jonathan—no,beggedJonathan—to come out and play, and there was no way she’d run away now.

“Because, Gen, I want to do indecent things to you.”

Perfect.Because she wanted him to do indecent things to her. “Like what?” she asked, longing to revel in naughtiness and proud that her voice was less raspy.

His growl raised the hair on the back of her neck and sent a line of pleasurable gooseflesh across her shoulders.

“Gen,” he said, his voice deadly serious. “Would I be your first?”

She suspected he was asking if she was a virgin. “Yes,” she said, since he was her first everything. Cradling his cheeks, she stared into his eyes, silently giving him her heart and soul. “I trust you. I think this is why I can finally talk to you, and make no mistake, I want thosethingstoo.” Kissing, and touching, and exploring, and maybe his penis deep inside her—Yes, please.

“Trust.” He frowned. “I see.” Grasping her hands, he settled them on her lap as if her touch stung. “I don’t think you understand what these indecent things entail.”

Perhaps she didn’t entirely understand everything, since he had worldly experiences with temptresses and seductresses, and she was embarrassingly sheltered. But it didnotmean she couldn’t learn.

“Then tell me,” she said, both sounding and feeling rather desperate. “Or show me. I am ready.”

He combed his fingers through his already mussed hair, giving him the look of a man caught in a wicked windstorm. Apropos perhaps, even if said storm seemed to be a tornado of his own emotions.

“Gen, please go to your room and lock the door.”

Why was he punishing her? “Did I do something wrong?”

“Darling, you have done everythingright.” He lowered his gaze to the bulge in his trousers. “I don’t think I can control myself for much longer. I’m protecting your innocence from my debauchery.”

Oh, my!