Page 77 of A Most Forgettable Girl

When she let her hand fall away, James caught and held it fast, before lifting it slowly back to his lips, pressing a kiss to her fingers. Gunnilde stared at him.

“I said you weren’t just a flaunting siren. I still think of you that way,” he confessed. “I think of it a lot. Especially when we are here together.”

“In our bedchamber?” she queried croakily.

He nodded. “Sometimes it takes me a long time before I can get to sleep, knowing you’re lying next to me in the dark and feeling your warmth stealing over me. I feel like I’ll never be truly cold again,” he said on a shaky outward breath

Gunnilde gazed at him. “James...” she whispered, feeling quite overcome. He swallowed, and when he would not meet her eyes with his, she reached out to touch his face and turn it toward her own. He did not resist, and when their gazes met, Gunnilde was stunned by the expression in the depths of his own.

Feeling almost mesmerized, she closed the distance between them. “Kiss me, James,” she uttered huskily, and their lips met in a gentle, lingering kiss which almost had Gunnilde swooning. If Arthur Conway had ever kissed her thus, she would surely have demanded he married her on the spot!

Her arms twining about James’s neck, she melted against him with a blissful sigh, as they continued sipping sweetly at each other’s lips. James’s hands roamed over her back, clasping her to him with increasing urgency. Wanting more, Gunnilde parted her lips over his but he did not seemingly take the hint.

She would wait in vain for him to deepen the kiss, she realized. There had been the merest suggestion of tongue in their previous forays, and she was his first kiss. Screwing her courage to the sticking place, she touched the tip of her tongue to his bottom lip and teased him there. James went very still.

She was not sure whether the hammering heart she could feel was her own, or his or the both of theirs combined, for her breasts were pressed up against his chest and she could feel his every breath as though it were her own. The shocking intimacy of breathing so closely to one another’s faces made her head swim.

She tried to draw back to ascertain whether he liked it or not, but his hand slid into her hair and held her in place with a firm grip. Guessing he must not hate it, she did it again, this time dragging her tongue fully across the fullness of his bottom lip. James gasped and boldly, she took the opportunity to slip her tongue inside his mouth to seek out his own.

James went wild. The next thing Gunnilde knew she was lying flat on her back, and he was fully atop her, their tongues tangling along with their limbs. She was acutely aware of his muscled thighs straining against hers, along with something else which pressed into her belly and thighs with increasing brazenness.

“Gunnilde,” he gasped raggedly against her mouth, his eyes glazed, one hand still gripping her hair tight. He threw his head back to drag some air into his lungs. Gunnilde caressed his shoulders while he caught his breath; they were such nice shoulders, she thought dreamily. Gods, he was the most beautiful man. She could scarcely believe he was gazing down at her with such mingled reverence and, well, lust.

Absently, she ran her hand down to rub his chest. He did not have much by way of chest hair, just a light sprinkling of coppery swirls. She petted it absently, twitching it with her fingers. He gave a stifled groan. “May I...?” He was staring at her breasts, she realized, and small wonder for her shift was so pulled about and twisted that it gave precious little by way of coverage.

Impulsively she flung her arms above her head. “Help me to take this off,” she murmured. Nothing loath, James seized hold of the filmy fabric and dragged it up and over her head, leaving her entirely naked beneath him. “You can touch me if you like,” she offered a trifle shyly when he remained where he was staring down at her.

“If I like?” he repeated hoarsely. His breathing was very labored.

Gunnilde glanced down at her breasts. “You want to touch me here?” she suggested, remembering his words about “buxom women.” He favored them apparently. She was still reeling from that confession, but it gave her confidence.

She smiled at him reassuringly, and he trailed one hand down her neck, down to her breasts, so slowly and carefully that Gunnilde found she was holding her breath. His gaze remained on her face until he reached the swell of her breasts and then transferred to her full bosom.

“Gods,” he groaned, kneading first on one breast and then the other. “I knew they were bountiful but this...this is almost too much. They’re so soft.”

“Too much?” Gunnilde faltered. Was he saying they were too big?

“I doubt I could even fit them in my hands,” he whispered. “Let me try.”

Gunnilde squinted up at him. To her surprise, she found both breasts cupped firmly in his hands and squeezed with somewhat less reverence than she had expected. He groaned again. “I can scarcely contain them,” he whispered. “They’re spilling over.” She regarded him with bemusement, but he was wholly caught up in his endeavor. “Let me try that again,” he said thickly, adjusting his grasp.

This time his hands caught her nipples between his fingers, giving them a light pinch as he squeezed. Oh! To her surprise Gunnilde felt a corresponding pinch between her legs. She moved against him, restlessly rubbing her body against his.

“James,” she gasped.

“Hmmm?”

Too shy to put it into words, she reached up to catch his fingers there, pressing them closer together so they repeated the pinch. She gave a soft moan and bit her lip.

Again, he went very still. “You like that?” he asked. “Like this?” Experimentally he deliberately squeezed a rosy nipple between finger and thumb.

“Oh!” Gunnilde exclaimed, arching her back. James hissed his breath through his teeth as their bodies shifted and he slid between her hips. Gunnilde’s heart thudded against her breast. At least, she thought it was her heart. It could have been his, so closely were their bodies aligned.

She drew her legs up to hold him more firmly in place where she wanted his weight. Where she wanted him. “James,” she said tentatively. “Would you like to—to—”

“I’d like to kiss your breasts,” he interrupted her throatily. “May I?”

“Oh.” She had not anticipated this request. “Of course, if you like.” She opened her mouth to reassure him further, but he had already lowered his head, and was greedily engulfing one nipple, making her gasp.