One hand wrapped around her, holding her steady, holding her sex against the hard length of him, while his mouth teased and tantalized. The more his mouth worshipped her, the more she wanted. She could not stop her moans and pants of pleasure, and if that behavior was not indignity enough, her hands fisted in his hair and all but pushed him into her chest.
And then his hands grasped her hips, and he groaned her name. “I shall embarrass myself if you keep this up.”
For a long moment she did not know what he meant. The panting? The hands in his hair? And then she realized he held her hips—hips that wanted desperately to move. Good Lord, she had been grinding against him. She was little better than a dog in heat.
“No,” he said, his hand cupping her chin and forcing her to look at him. “You’ve done nothing wrong. Your movements are perfectly natural. Let me give you what you want.”
She nodded because she wanted so much, and he—he seemed to know exactly what it was her body yearned for. He lifted her, hands under her bottom, then laid her on the bed gently, on the side away from the pins. She looked up at him, feeling suddenly more exposed as she lay on the bed with her bodice open. Which was ridiculous. She had been just as exposed on his lap.
He sat on the bed beside her and one warm hand came to rest between her breasts. She might have turned into that touch if she hadn’t felt his other hand on her ankle. That hand moved upward inch by provocative inch, exposing her ankle. She opened her mouth to protest, and his large hand closed over one breast. And then he bent over her, his mouth on the other. Her hands gripped the bedclothes as his hot breath made her quiver and his hand on her calf made her itch to move, to squirm, to…something.
And then his hand was on her knee, and she knew she must stop him. He sucked her nipple into his mouth, the pressure harder than before and that much more exquisite. At the same time, he pushed her knees open.
And she allowed it. She did not want him to stop. She wanted his hand on her thigh and higher—in that private place only she had ever touched. His hand slid upward, tickling the inside of her thigh. He raised his head, his eyes as blue as the sea when he looked at her.
“Are you wet for me?”
“Yes,” she said, too aroused to be embarrassed.
“Will you let me touch you? I want to feel how wet you are.”
“I can’t,” she said, the words so filled with regret she all but cried them. “I cannot risk a child, a pregnancy.”
He shook his head. “You misunderstand. I won’t take you—not like that. I won’t touch you with anything but fingers.” His fingers moved higher, and she widened her legs, despite knowing she should end this. The children could be through with their lessons. She had lost control. There was a midday meal to consider.
“And hands.” He shifted on the bed, his hands pushing her skirts up until she was exposed to him. She almost grabbed them, to lower them again, but his hands slid over her pelvis and across her sex until they rested between her legs, those skilled fingers teasing her by inching higher and retreating over and again.
“You see? Only fingers.” His finger brushed against her and she gasped. “And hands.” He cupped her, and God help her, she pressed against his hand. “And perhaps my mouth.”
She froze. Her gaze darted to his, and he gave her a wicked grin. “If you want me to stop, all you need do is ask.” His palm pressed against her again, giving her the pressure she wanted just as one finger delved down and parted her flesh. “You are wet,” he said. “But I want you dripping.”
His finger entered her then, and she stiffened with surprise and pleasure. He stroked in and out, all the while his palm pressing where she most needed him. Her hips wanted to move, and she closed her eyes and arched them so they rubbed against his palm. He made a sound of approval, and then he entered her again, this time with two fingers.
“Oh yes,” she moaned. Then “No!” when he moved his palm and slid his fingers out.
“Impatient, aren’t you?”
One of his fingers caressed her as it moved upward to part her flesh and then circle the small bud of pleasure hiding in her folds. The world went black for a moment as she caught her breath at the unfathomable sensation. She had never felt pleasure like this, and yet she knew there was more. That finger continued to spread wetness over the sensitive bud, circling it and tapping it. Pleasure built. Heat built. Need built. Julia opened her eyes. Her breasts were bare, her skirts hiked to her waist, her legs spread. Neil Wraxall straddled one of her legs, his eyes seeing her more intimately than anyone else ever had.
And she did not care. She only cared that he never stop.
“Let go,” he murmured, his intense gaze on her face. “I want to see you come.”
She didn’t know what he meant, but she knew that was the aim of the tension she felt. His gaze touched her breasts, making her nipples pebble with yearning. And then he gazed at the place where his finger touched her, and the look of desire she saw in his eyes undid her.
A wave of pulsing sensation flooded through her. She gasped and pressed hard against his hand, then fell back with a shuddering breath as a delicious warmth spread through her. He was correct. This was what she had needed. The tightness in her temples and shoulders had eased, and she felt relaxed for the first time in recent memory.
And then he leaned over her, and the warmth of the pleasure ebbed away. He kissed her lips, exploring her mouth. She had been kissed enough to judge, and he was an excellent kisser. But she could not enjoy the kiss. She knew what would come next. Men were selfish and calculating. She knew it, and she should not have allowed this interlude with Neil—Wraxall, rather—to go as far as it had. He would want to take his pleasure. She was a virgin and intended to remain so. Even if the thought of lying with him thrilled her, she had to think of the children and her responsibilities here. She could not risk a pregnancy or being found alone with him.
His mouth slanted over hers in a long, lovely kiss, but she forced herself to push him back. “You should dress and go.”
A look she could only describe as shock crossed his face. He recovered quickly, raising one brow in amusement. “Am I to be so summarily dismissed?”
She threw her skirts down over her legs and pulled her bodice up, holding it with both hands. “I should never have allowed the events of this afternoon to progress as far as they did. I know you have expectations, and I am sorry to have to disappoint you.”
She pushed to the edge of the bed, but before she could rise, he slid his arm over her, effectively blocking her and holding her in place. “How do you know my expectations?”
She risked a look at him and immediately wished she hadn’t. He was so incredibly handsome, with his dark hair falling over his forehead and amazingly blue eyes bright against his bronze skin. She would have loved to trace his face with her fingers, to run her hands through his silky hair, to kiss his full lips. But she could not afford to dally with a lover. She had an orphanage to manage and children who needed her. “You are a man,” she said. “Any girl who has been to a half dozen balls or an equal number of theatrical productions knows what men want from women.”
“I see,” he said, but he didn’t move his arm. “So my plan is to debauch you. To have my way with you. To… What’s another polite term? Ah! Ruin you.”
“I did not say that was your plan, but now that you have given me pleasure, I assume you expect to be repaid in kind.”
“Repaid? Do you think I view what just happened as a business transaction?”
Had she offended him? Should she apologize? Perhaps that was also part of his plan to seduce her. “I—” she stuttered. “Very well, then. How do you view our…liaison?”
He leaned closer until his mouth brushed her ear. She tried not to shiver. “As something I have wanted to do since almost the moment I met you.”
“And how does that not prove my point?” she asked, her voice breathy.