Page 64 of Sinfully Daring

“It’s rather fast,” she noted, looking at him.

“Because you’re close to me. When you are near, I cannot think of anything else. Since you allowed me to kiss you, I can think of nothing but doing it again.”

“I’d like that,” she offered.

He held her gaze, his eyes darkening in a way that made her heart race far faster than his.

“Come to me, then,” he said, opening his arms to her.

Wriggling closer, she fitted herself against him, her breath catching as he moved, keeping her in his arms but easing her onto her back.

“Nothing you don’t want,” he murmured, leaning down to brush his mouth over hers. “Just a word from you and I’ll stop, and I won’t be cross, I promise.”

Rosamund’s breathing became increasingly erratic as he kissed her again and again, soft little presses of his mouth against hers. He encouraged her to join in, to ask for what she wanted, to demand more. Emboldened, she sought his mouth, darting her tongue along the seam of his lips as he had taught her to do. He gave her what she asked for at once, opening to her and teasing her further, encouraging her to grow bolder with the tantalising slide of his tongue against hers.

Her limbs grew heavier, languid, though there was a strange tension coiling inside her. Her breasts tingled, her nipples aching as a distracting pulsing sensation began between her thighs. Restlessly, she moved within his embrace, trying to press closer, to ease the maddening sensations.

“Hargreaves,” she said, struck by the breathless quality of her own voice.

“Sebastian,” he corrected with a chuckle. “Yes, love. Is it too much? Should I stop and let you catch your breath?”

“No!” she replied at once.

“What, then?” he asked, infinitely patient. “Tell me.”

Oh! Why must she always explain herself? Why couldn’t he just get on and… but that was foolish. Why was obvious, and he had already told her he needed her honesty. He was relying on her to tell him how she felt, no matter how mortifying it was.

She swallowed, trying to put the rather exasperating sensations into words. “I… I feel… impatient,” she managed, surprised when he looked delighted by her admission.

“You want more?” he asked, stroking a finger down her throat. Even that slight contact made her shiver, a flood of damp heat pooling between her legs. Sebastian watched her and moved his hand to her waist, then slowly higher to cup her breast.

Rosamund arched into his touch as pleasure rippled through her.

“Good?” he asked, to which she had no reply beyond a nod.

This must have been enough, though, for he continued, gently squeezing her breast and then her nipple, not pinching hard enough to hurt but certainly enough to send a shaft of pleasure arrowing directly to the place between her thighs. Rosamund gasped, pressing her legs tight together, desperate for relief from the increasingly demanding throb that only grew louder as he continued.

She watched, a little hazy now, as Sebastian reached for the ribbons holding the front of her nightdress closed and tugged each one undone. With infinite care, he drew the simple cotton to one side to expose first one breast, then the other.

“So lovely,” he said, his voice growing low and husky, which only worsened the insistent pulsing that craved more, that craved something—him.

Fascinated by the change in him, she watched, bemused, as he lowered his mouth to her breast and suckled, the sensation so shocking her reaction almost catapulted her off the bed.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, gasping for breath.

He teased, licked, and kissed her breast quite thoroughly before turning his attention to her other nipple and starting all over again. By the time he raised his head to judge her reaction, she had lost all possibility of coherent thought.

“Have I shocked you?” he asked, studying her expression with concern.

Rosamund only shook her head. “N-Not yet,” she managed. “Please keep trying, though.”

He gave a startled laugh, his expression one of pure delight. “My God, I love you,” he said, and then stilled, realising what he’d said. “You don’t mind? I know it’s too soon, but it’s true and I can’t pretend otherwise. I don’t expect you to say it in return, but it’s bursting inside me and—”

Rosamund reached for him, dragging him down on top of her, bringing his mouth to hers. She kissed him, purposefully and with no ambiguity, and she pressed her body against his, seeking the friction, the weight of him she needed so badly.

“Take it off,” she urged, though she was uncertain if she meant her nightgown or his robe.

All she knew was that she wanted them both gone, now. Anything that kept her skin from his was wrong and needed to go at once.