“And yet you do not move away from me.”
She might have moved away then, but as soon as the words were spoken, he leaned forward and nuzzled her neck. Small tendrils of pleasure curled through her. She sighed and put her hands on his shoulders, feeling the heat of him all but pulsing under her fingertips.
“Do you know why you don’t move away?” he asked, his breath hot on her skin.
“Why?” she murmured, angling her head to give him better access to that one spot just below her earlobe. She would end this in a moment. She would tell him to cease and mean it.
“Because you like this. Because all day, you take care of everyone else, and right now, you have a moment to yourself, and you deserve pleasure. You need pleasure.”
It was true. It had been so long since she had done anything for herself—read a book, taken a walk, lain abed and slept all day. Her life was all duty and responsibility—to the children, to her father, to the board. Wraxall’s mouth moved over her skin so lightly and with such skill that she could not stop the shivers racing down her spine. She could have given herself to his lips all day. She needed nothing but the feel of his stubble tickling her skin and the brush of his mouth tantalizing her flesh.
“The children,” she murmured.
“Are with Mrs. Dunwitty.” His hands moved up her back, pulling her closer until she was pressed against the warm skin of his bare chest.
“And if she releases them?”
“We’ll hear them.” His mouth traced her jaw. “They are louder than a cavalry regiment.” His mouth took hers in a long, lazy kiss. Her breasts felt heavy and ached for his touch. She pushed them harder against his chest, but her need went unfulfilled.
“I should see to the noon meal.”
“Let me see to you, and Mrs. Koch will see to the kitchen.”
Before she could protest—not that she intended to—his hands cupped her face, and he kissed her with such a thoroughness she could think of nothing but lips, and tongues, and teeth. Her hands explored the long, lean planes of his back, holding on tightly when she feared she had grown so light-headed she might fall.
“Juliana,” he murmured between kisses.
“I like the way you say my name,” she said. “You make it sound so exotic.” She’d always preferred Julia to Juliana, which sounded so formal. But when Wraxall said her name, it sounded soft and sensual.
“Let me show you pleasure, Juliana.”
Yes. That was what she wanted. More of this. More of him. More of those heart-stopping, head-lightening kisses that made her forget empty larders and leaky roofs and scheming crime lords. “Just for a moment,” she told him, but she knew she was his for as long as he continued this persuasive assault.
He pulled her even closer, and she felt the bulge of his erection pressing deliciously against the juncture of her thighs. Her skirts and his trousers were between them, but the feel of the material separating them did nothing to diminish the knowledge that he desired her. He wanted her, even after seeing her at her worst. His mouth continued to worship hers, and she wriggled on his lap, trying to relieve the ache growing between her legs.
He groaned, and she stilled. “Did I hurt you?”
“It’s an exquisite pain,” he said through clenched teeth. “I find that an apt descriptor.”
“Exquisite pain. What does that mean?”
“I’ll show you.” His hands circled around her ribs, coming to rest just beneath her too heavy breasts. With a slowness that made her catch her breath, his fingers skated upward until they caressed the dark-green ribbon that lay just beneath her bosom. His hands traced her curves, stroking and cupping her, until her breathing had grown from quick to panting.
“Please,” she said. Her eyes widened. “I did not mean—”
He put a finger to her lips. “Yes, you did. And I know what you want.” His hand went back where she wanted him and then his thumbs moved toward the center of the orbs, brushing lightly over her nipples. She jumped as sensation flashed through her. His fingers caressed the hard pebbles again, circling them until they grew harder.
“More?” he asked.
Of course there was more. She knew there was more. It was simply that she had never allowed any man to go any further than this. To do so now, with this man who made her feel what no other man had ever made her feel, was surely madness. And yet she would be mad to tell him to stop.
She was beginning to understand what he meant by exquisite pain. She yearned and ached, but she never wanted that sensation to cease.
“Trust me,” he said. His hand moved to where she’d pinned her bodice, and he slowly removed first one pin then another. He stuck them into the coverlet on the side of the bed, where they would not be lost, and he moved to unpin the other side of her bodice.
She couldn’t trust him. She couldn’t trust any man. She knew what they were. She knew they were selfish creatures who cared only for their own pleasures, but as this man lowered her bodice, she watched his gaze turn reverent. His fingers brushed lightly over the swell of her breasts at the edge of chemise and stays.
“Your skin is as beautiful as it is soft,” he murmured. “Let me see you.”
No man had ever seen her. She’d never imagined she would allow a man that liberty. After all, why give a man that privilege, satisfy his selfish desire? But this did not feel selfish at all. This felt altogether different. He was not using her to satisfy himself, but worshipping her, giving her pleasure.
One hand swept into the valley of her breasts and tugged at the knot keeping her stays tightly laced. Since she had no one to help her dress, she had to lace them in front, and now he loosened them easily and pushed them down and out of his way.
“You are exquisite,” he said, his gaze going to her face and then back to her all-but-translucent chemise. She looked down and could see the pink of her aureoles and nipples through the fine fabric. He bent his head, pressing his warm mouth against one breast. His breath was hot, and the shot of pleasure went straight to her core. Wet heat dampened her sex as his tongue darted out to dampen the linen on her shift. He took her nipple through the fabric, sucking it and rubbing it with his tongue. The feel of the fabric scraping against her already-turgid flesh was more than she could resist. She moaned softly, and he stilled.
She opened her eyes—belatedly realizing she’d closed them—and looked at him to find his lovely eyes focused on her face. “I want to hear you do that again. Before we’re through here, you’ll moan my name, Juliana.”
His mouth took her other nipple, and she closed her eyes. “Wraxall,” she moaned.
“Neil,” he said, his mouth still on her. And then she felt the knot of her chemise loosen and the cool air on wet skin. He parted the fabric, and his bare hands touched her bare flesh. She trembled, and the hard points of her nipples seemed to grow even fuller. She needed his mouth on her there, though she knew it would not give her the relief she sought.
This was what he had meant by exquisite pain. She wanted more, burned for more, and when he gave it to her, her need simply grew.
His mouth pressed on the slope of one breast while his hand cupped the other. When he ran a thumb over that nipple, the rough pad of his finger on that tender bud, she moaned without restraint. His mouth moved lower, heat making a fiery path to the place she wanted him. “Please,” she whispered. “Yes,” she said when his mouth brushed over the stiff, throbbing point. His hand plucked at her flesh as his mouth teased her, and then he closed his hot lips over her, and she bucked at the pleasure. Her back arched, and she knew she had surrendered to him completely.