“Yes, but—”
“While you’re here …” He left the room, glancing back in a manner that invited her to follow. “I want your opinion on some wall coverings.”
He mounted the stairs, and Penny followed. She hated trailing after him like a pup, but she wasn’t going to let him get away. “According to the paper, you’ve sent invitations already. Perhaps mine was lost in the post?”
“Hammond likes the periwinkle blue,” he went on. “But I don’t trust his opinion on current fashions. Not for a lady’s suite.”
Penny growled behind clenched teeth. Wasn’t he paying attention to her at all? Apparently not, or else she would have warned him that this ball scheme was a terrible idea.
He led her into a mostly empty bedchamber. The few pieces of furniture had been pushed to the center of the room and draped with Holland cloths, and the walls were stretches of blank plaster. Three strips of silk damask had been tacked to one wall, each a different shade of blue.
“You’ve seen my house. I don’t know anything about current fashions in wall coverings. Mr. Hammond’s opinion is surely—”
He shut the door and pushed her up against it, crushing his mouth to hers in a possessive kiss. As his tongue found hers, a needy sigh rose in the back of her throat. The newspaper slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor. She couldn’t recall why she’d been holding it in the first place. It didn’t matter.
All she wanted to hold was Gabriel.
She took his face in her hands, sanding her palms on the delicious scruff of his whiskers before twining her fingers into his hair and holding tight. His hands roamed her body, claiming handfuls of her hips and skimming over her breasts.
“I need you,” he murmured between kisses. “It’s been ages.”
“It’s been”—she thought on it—“seventeen hours.”
“Like I said. Ages.” He bent to kiss her neck.
“We can’t,” she gasped. “Not here. There’s no bed.”
He grinned wickedly. “Love, we don’t need a bed.”
“Oh.”
One of his hands caught the hem of her frock and hiked it above her knee, bunching her petticoats between their bodies. He swept his palm up her thigh, and pleasure rippled in the wake of his touch. While he nuzzled at her neck and licked at her breasts where they overflowed her bodice, his touch explored her intimate places. Her breathing quickened. Her nipples pulled to hard, aching peaks.
He slid a finger inside her. She melted against the door, her knees gone soft. She clutched his shoulders, clinging to him for strength as he stoked her desire with expert caresses.
“You don’t understand what you’ve done to me,” he whispered. “I don’t understand what you’ve done to me.”
“Whatever it is, you’ve done the same to me.” She gasped as he pushed a second finger inside her, and she caught him in a breathless, grappling kiss. They tugged at each other’s clothing.
“I wanted you from the first,” he said.
“I wanted you, too.”
“Every time I closed my eyes, I saw you in my bed.”
“I couldn’t stop picturing you naked and wet.”
“If you knew the things you’ve done in my imagination …”
“I touched myself while thinking of you.”
He groaned against her lips. “Jesus Christ, that’s one of them.”
She whimpered in protest as his fingers withdrew from her body. He slid his hands to her bottom and lifted her off her feet, carrying her across the room, to where a floor-length mirror in a thick gilded frame stood propped against the wall. It must have been too heavy to move.
He spun her to face it, positioning himself behind her. Their gazes locked in the mirrored reflection. His eyes were dark, fierce, demanding.
“Show me.” He yanked her skirts to her waist—frock, petticoat, chemise, and all—exposing her completely. “Show me how you touched yourself.”
Penny’s heartbeat stalled. The gruff command both scandalized and excited her.
With a rough flex of his arms, he hauled her to him. His erection throbbed against the small of her back.
“Show me.”
Penny stared into the mirror. A bolder, naughtier version of herself gazed back. She placed a hand on her belly and eased it downward, until her fingertips disappeared into a thatch of amber curls. She hesitated, holding her breath.
“More,” he demanded. “I want to see you.”
His gruffness aroused her, but she wasn’t intimidated. With him, she knew she was safe.
She raised her free arm above her head, clasping his neck for balance and resting her head against his chest. He wrapped his arm about her torso, holding her tight and pinning her lifted skirts at the waist. Her joints softened, and her thighs fell slightly apart.
“That’s it. Spread yourself for me. Let me see.”
The woman in the mirror did as she was told, sending her fingers downward to part the pink, swollen folds of her sex. A single fingertip settled over the sensitive bud at the crest, circling gently.
His ragged breath warmed her ear. “God, you’re beautiful.”
She stared at the reflection, transfixed by the eroticism of the image within. She felt like a woman in a boudoir painting, flushed with desire and unashamed of her body’s curves and shadows. Aware of the power she held, even in her vulnerable, naked state.
As her excitement mounted, she strummed faster. She was panting, arching her back.
Suddenly, he worked his free hand between them, levering for space. His fingers made quick work of his buttons, and he pushed his trousers down over his hips. His freed erection pulsed between their bodies, so thick and hot and so very, very hard.
Yes. Take me.
He teased her instead, pushing against her cleft and gliding back and forth, spreading her slickness along his full length. Then he lifted and tilted her by the hips, thrusting inside. Deep, and then deeper, all the way to her core, giving her the fullness she craved.
He took her in long, steady strokes. His hardness was an anchor, balancing against the dizzying pleasure as she worked the hidden bud with her fingertips.
“Come.” His voice was strained, but he held himself to a slow, devastating rhythm. “I need to see you come.”
She held his gaze in the mirror for as long as she could, until the bliss overwhelmed her. She bit her lip, sealing in a cry as the climax broke. For a time, she was weightless
