“So slowly you’ll think you’re going to die. But you won’t.”
“I won’t?” She felt as though she were floating. Or melting. Perhaps both. Lost in the heat his words were rousing.
“No, my little wildcat,” he said. “You won’t die. You’ll just come, screaming my name.”
Heat flared through her even brighter, and she swayed. “Merciful goddess.”
“Too late for mercy,” he said. “Now turn around. Put your hands around the bedpost.”
She managed to do as he asked. The wood was cool beneath her fingers, and she leaned forward to rest her forehead on it as well, helpless to fight the longing pulsing through her, the heat of it and the throb between her legs.
“Good girl,” he said softly. He pushed her hair forward so the length of it fell forward over her shoulders. “I was looking forward to taking this down,” he said. “To seeing it all around you. But I guess we’ll save that for next time.” His lips pressed against the nape of her neck, and he blew softly, the warm air brushing her neck, lighting her skin.
“Look at all these buttons,” he said, and she felt his fingers move to the first one. “I think this is going to take a very long time.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It did take a very long time.
He started with the sleeves, which had their own rows of tiny buttons. Between each button, Cam ran his fingers over her wrists, wherever the skin was bare, and followed the touch with kisses that became a slow kind of divine torture as each nerve his lips passed over flared to life. Then he straightened and reached for the next button whilst he whispered in her ear exactly what he wanted to do to her. Delicious, wicked-sounding things. Things she wasn’t even sure were truly things that men and women did together.
With each button the process grew slower because there was more skin to cover, more for his lips to worship. It took an eternity for him to finish each sleeve, and she was panting softly by the time he moved his fingers back to the button at the top of the scoop of fabric that cut across her back. She was suddenly devoutly thankful that the seamstress had insisted on converting the high-collared neckline her mother had worn to this more daring one front and back. That had to have cut out at least ten or fifteen buttons. But fewer buttons didn’t stop her from having to bite her lip to keep from begging him to just take her already by the time he’d worked his way down the length of her back. She’d never imagined that a man’s hands on her back could make her ache so. By the time he finally slid the dress off her shoulders and down onto the floor, she was trembling with need.
She managed—with a supreme effort and a death grip on the bedpost—to stay upright when she lifted each foot at his bidding so he could pull the dress free. She was fairly certain her knees would have given out on her without the bedpost to hold on to. She was almost sure they would give out on her if he took much longer.
She wore only a chemise and corset under the dress. The chemise was a mere whisper of lace and silk, scandalous in its transparency. Another reason to bless the seamstress. Cameron skimmed a hand down her side, and the silk might as well have not been there, the heat of his skin searing her. She thought she heard him swear softly as she moaned, but then he reached for her laces and began teasing her all over again.
“Please,” she said. She didn’t even know what she was asking for.
Cameron paused. He hadn’t even loosened the first lace. “Please, what?”
She turned her head. “I need—”
“So impatient.” He shook his head at her. Then his dimple flashed as he smiled. “Well, as to that, I guess there’s no reason why you can’t scream my name more than once. Turn around, then.”
She managed to obey. His eyes were dark and hungry in the firelight, the blue obscured to a nameless shade that seemed made of wanting.
“Now, there’s a pretty sight,” he said softly as he studied her. She glanced down. The chemise hid very little, and she was bare to his gaze except where the satin and bone corset still covered her, pushing her breasts up into a semblance of curves. “Very pretty,” he said, and ran his finger along the upper edge of the corset, tracing the skin across her breasts, slowing even more when his fingers touched the very edge of the skin surrounding her nipples. If she could have lifted her arms, she would have ripped the corset off with her bare hands so he could touch her bare flesh, but she couldn’t. Instead she just gasped and arched her back.
“I want you to know that this is hurting me more than it’s hurting you,” he said fervently, and then he dropped to his knees, pushed her legs apart, and buried his head in the thatch of hair between her legs. His tongue slid against her, two fingers slipped inside her, and she convulsed around him, gasping his name as he licked and stroked through the shudders until they quieted.
Then he climbed to his feet. “That’s once. Now turn around and we’ll do this damned corset.”
“I hate corsets,” she said, not sure she could move.
“I’d rather look at one than have to wear one,” he agreed cheerfully. “They do look very nice though. Especially pretty ones like this. Like a present all wrapped up to be undone. So turn around and let me open my present.”
Sophie leaned back against the bedpost. “If I move, I might just fall down.”
“I’ll catch you,” he said, and bent to kiss her. She could taste herself on his mouth, beneath the taste of Cameron and the faint woody smoke of the Iska he’d drunk. It was strangely intoxicating. Then he lifted her, turned her, and put her hands back around the bedpost.