Page 65 of Sinfully Daring

With more urgency than grace, Sebastian tugged at the tie to his robe and shrugged out of it, tossing the banyan to one side. He froze as Rosamund gasped, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Too much?” he asked, watching her warily.

Rosamund’s gaze roved over him, part of her wanting to agree that he was most certainly too much, far more than she had ever imagined. He had broad shoulders and a powerful chest quilted with muscle and coarse dark hair that she had the strangest urge to rub herself against, to feel it brush over the softness of her breasts. That hair continued in a trail, leading her directly to that most masculine part of him, which, despite her mother’s warning that it was unlikely to resemble the Greek statues she’d seen, was still rather shocking. Hargreaves looked nothing like a Greek statue there.

“You’d never cover that with a fig leaf,” she said before she could think better of it, and then clapped a hand to her mouth.

Her husband stared at her in shock for a moment and then roared with laughter.

Rosamund bit her lip, uncertain whether laughter in the bedroom was a good thing or not, until he flopped down beside her, still chortling, with an arm slung over his eyes. “Oh, love. You are utterly perfect,” he said, the affection in his voice overriding any remaining qualms.

Reassured, Rosamund dared to reach out her hand and touch his chest, feeling the hair rasp beneath her fingers and his muscles flicker and leap as her hand drifted lower. Her gaze flicked to his as he moved his arm to watch her.

“Don’t stop,” he said, his chest rising and falling faster. “Touch me. Please, touch me.”

Rosamund heard the plea behind the words and remembered what he had told her, how his wife had reviled his touch, and realised that meant she would not have willingly touched him either. He had been without love, without affection, for such a long time, with no one to tell him—to show him—how wonderful he was. Overcome with tenderness for him, Rosamund leant down and pressed a kiss over his heart, intrigued by the soft warmth of his skin beneath the hair. As she leaned over him, her naked breasts brushed his chest, and the sensation was every bit as delicious as she had suspected. Delighted by her discovery, she smoothed her hands over him, stroking over his chest and belly, over his lean hips. She investigated his strong thighs, honed to pure muscle from years of horse riding, and then, inevitably, the thick thatch of dark hair and his arousal that twitched with anticipation as her hand grew closer.

He let out a low moan as she dared to stroke a finger down the length of him, startled by the intense heat and the silken texture. How strange it was to be here like this, with this man. He had been only her friend such a few short days ago, and yet it was not strange at all to know they could be more than that now, for beneath everything else he was still her friend. Being with him was the perfect mix of excitement and anticipation and discovery of the unknown, and the certain knowledge that she would find nothing to hurt or disappoint her.

Rosamund curled her fingers carefully around him and stroked, aware of the throbbing pulse that seemed to echo that insistent ache in her own body. She watched with fascination as she continued to caress him, slow and careful, up and down. Sebastian’s hips bucked and an urgent sound escaped him.

“I’ll come,” he bit out, shaking his head. “Best stop, love… I can’t… Please.”

Rosamund released him with regret, but she suspected he would allow her plenty of opportunity for further exploration at another time, if she wanted. And she certainly wanted.

“Can we take this off you?” he asked, gesturing to her nightgown.

Rosamund nodded eagerly, only too happy to be rid of it. She sat up and raised her arms as Sebastian tugged it over her head and flung it to the floor. His expression made her blush as he sat staring at her, the blatant desire in his eyes enough to make her body prickle all over with anticipation. His chest rose and fell faster now, and he let out a ragged breath.

“Is it foolish that I feel like I have endured everything that came before this so I might be worthy of this moment?” he asked, and she heard the tremble in his voice, the sincerity. “I know now how precious this is, Rosamund, this chance to try again.”

“I know,” she whispered, feeling the same overwhelming surge of emotion, of the beginning of something wonderful. “And it’s not the least bit foolish, it’s lovely. You’re lovely, Sebastian.”

He laughed, reaching for her. “I think I’m supposed to say that to you, and you are, you know. Quite extraordinarily lovely.”

He kissed her then, and Rosamund sighed as he lay her back down, enchanted by the heat of him, giddy with delight at the feel of his body against hers. He was an unexplored landscape of silken skin and coarse hair, of soft lips and hard muscle, and she revelled in her discovery of him, her hands roving over him and charting every sinew and curve. All the while he kissed her, with occasional diversions to trail his lips down her neck to her breasts and to kiss and lick and torment her tender nipples until she was squirming beneath him. Her sex was slick with desire now, his arousal sliding back and forth in the most beguiling way, sending little sparks of heat glittering through her blood until she was teetering on the edge of something explosive.

Rosamund opened her legs wider, tilting her hips harder against him, seeking more, needing relief. He stared down at her, colour cresting his cheeks and his breathing erratic.

“Shall I make love to you?” he asked, his voice oddly scratchy and uneven.

She nodded, staring up at him, knowing now that was what the clamouring, empty sensation meant, that was what she wanted.

“I need the words, Rosamund. Tell me,” he said again, firmer now. “Because if you need to wait—”

“No! I mean yes. Please. I want you to. I don’t want to wait,” she added, hoping that her garbled answer had been enough.

He let out a sigh of relief and reached between them, touching the place that was already so dreadfully sensitive with a delicate finger. Rosamund closed her eyes, her head thrown back as pleasure washed over her. Carefully, he circled the delicate nub of flesh until she was dizzy, gasping and clutching at the covers, and then he slid a finger inside her. Rosamund gasped, startled, and then he shifted lower down her body and ducked his head, gently sucking the taut little bud into his mouth as he slid another finger inside her.

Rosamund shattered, stars exploding behind her eyelids as the room whited out. Joy surged through her, stealing her breath, shutting out everything but the feel of his mouth upon her most private flesh, the intimate slide of his fingers, and the dazzling pleasure that stole her wits and left her languid and boneless as he teased the last, lingering ripples from her body.

When finally she found energy enough to raise her eyelids and remembered she was in bed with Sebastian, not floating in some distant galaxy, his expression arrested her. He was staring down at her with a mixture of smug male pride and such joy that his eyes sparkled a little too brightly.

“Oh, Sebastian,” she said, reaching for him, pulling him down to her. “That was… you are… wonderful. Thank you.”

He made a choked sound and sought her mouth, kissing her hard, so passionately that she knew he was overwhelmed. She wrapped herself around him, encouraging him to take his place, to join them as they both needed to be joined.

“I’ll be careful,” he whispered, breaking the kiss as he pressed the head of his arousal against her, but Rosamund shook her head.