she asked.
So she wanted the details, did she? He smiled and obliged her, shifting his lips so they touched her ear. ‘She pressed close against me as I held her, to make sure that I could feel her breasts against my own body. She opened her mouth at the first touch of my lips, and took my tongue into it as though she could not get enough of me.’
Under his hands, he could feel the slight hitch in her breath as she listened. It had nothing to do with hisses of disapproval, and everything to do with salacious curiosity.
‘But she is a blonde. And fair-haired women are not to my taste.’ And he stroked up over her ribs and took her breasts in his hands.
She started. ‘That is not the area which was affected by riding.’
He stilled, but did not remove them. ‘One cannot treat one area of the body without seeing to the others, any more than one grooms just one leg of a horse.’ It was a most unromantic analogy, but she was not a particularly romantic female.
Her shoulders pressed into his chest and then relaxed. ‘I suppose that makes sense.’
‘You will find it quite satisfying, I promise.’
‘Well, then,’ she said again, ‘carry on with your story.’
‘Of course, Lady Drusilla.’ He stopped to wet his lips, allowing the tip of his tongue to accidentally stroke the shell of her ear and felt her hips settle against his in reward. She could feel him now, he was sure, for she was pressing herself against the growing desire he had for her. But she did not pull away from him, so he continued their game. ‘I meant to be gentle with her. Just a light touch of the lips and then I would be gone. But when a woman is willing, it is hard to resist.’
And the woman in his arms was giving her evidence of that, right enough. Her hands reached behind her to steady herself and gripped his thighs, sending another surge of desire through him.
‘So I held her firmly and thrust my tongue deep into her mouth over and over, until she was quite weak with it.’
And it had felt nothing like this. Drusilla was heavy in his hands, warm and round, and he thanked God to his very soul for the wonder of her, massaging gently, and then more vigorously until the nipples stood out hard against his palms. He pinched them easily between his fingers and felt her gasp in pleasure at his touch.
‘Oh.’ The word was little better than a moan, as she writhed against his body, and a cue that he must stop before things got out of hand.
‘Are you feeling better?’ he asked.
‘Somewhat.’ Her head was lolling back, now, against his shoulder. ‘But I do not wish you to stop, just yet.’ She turned enough so he could see her eyes half-closed in the moonlight and her lips relaxed and parted. ‘It was very wrong of Char to behave in that way,’ she said, pursing her lips and wetting them with her tongue.
He threw caution to the winds. ‘Perhaps you had best show me how a proper girl ought to react,’ he offered.
‘I do not know—if that is wise …’ she said, slowly and deliberately, as though she had over-imbibed and were trying to remember why it was that she should not agree. But even as she said it, she turned in his arms and lifted her face for a kiss.
‘For the purposes of edification, if nothing else,’ he whispered, and gathered her close to him, one hand around her waist, the other sinking his fingers into her hair. It was heavy, as he’d imagined it to be, still smelling faintly of soap, even after three days on the road. Her lips, when he touched them, were perfect. As soft and full as her breasts and with that same pucker to them.
If he stopped to look at them, they might seem to be set in disapproval. But on closer inspection, they were open slightly, ready and waiting, as the other girl’s had been. More hopeful than demanding, his Drusilla wanted a kiss as much as he longed to give her one.
And so he did, brushing her lips with his, and then licking deep into her mouth, settling there, as though he had a right to possess her. In response, her hands came up to touch his shoulders and she brought her body close to his, brushing her breasts against his chest as though she was not sure that she was doing it correctly.
He struggled to hold himself still, to allow her to grow used to the feeling of his mouth on hers. And to enjoy the feel of her kissing him back: the gentle touch of her tongue on his and the soft movements of her lips as they parted with his, to touch the line of his jaw.
When they reached his ear, she whispered, ‘You make me feel most unusual, Mr Hendricks.’
He could feel, in her sweet and uneven breaths against his hair, that she desired him, just as he did her. ‘The way you feel is the most natural thing in the world and nothing to be concerned about.’
‘The fact that something is natural does not mean there is no cause for concern,’ she said.
‘Very logical of you, Lady Drusilla,’ he answered and laughed to himself that she would even try to think at a moment like this. But it was very her, and very appealing, and it only made him want to touch her all the more. ‘Does it frighten you?’
He had found his question aright if he wanted to urge more passion from her—he ought to know by now that there was nothing that frightened this woman. At least nothing that she might admit to. ‘Certainly not. I only wonder if it is a wise course of action.’
‘Probably not,’ he admitted.
‘But it is …’ she wet her lips and touched them to his earlobe ‘… quite pleasant. And I suppose, as long as we are still standing and not lying down together …’
‘Which we will not,’ he assured her.
‘And we are both fully dressed …’
‘Which we will remain,’ he added, swearing to himself that it was true and realising that she must understand very little of what he could accomplish without breaking either of her restrictions.
‘Then it cannot be so very bad.’ She then smiled against his skin.
‘That is good. For I am not ready to let you go.’ He kissed her again, dragging his lips along the curve of her jaw, to her throat and shoulder, and back up again, until his lips were resting beside her ear and he could whisper back to her, ‘May I touch you again?’
‘Please do.’
Then he let his hands go where they wished, exploring every inch of her that he could reach. Firm breasts. Tiny waist. Flat belly. He let his thumb sink into the dent that was her navel and imagined joining with her. Round bottom. Soft lush thighs. He pushed his hand between them and imagined those thighs wrapped around his waist. Then he cupped her womanhood, pressing his palm upwards, squeezing it possessively, feeling the heat of her in his hand and envisioning how she would look if he undid the drop of his breeches. ‘Does this do anything to ease your suffering?’ For it was increasing his, sure enough.
He waited for her to struggle free of his grasp, but instead her hands reached out to grasp his biceps to steady herself and she pushed back against his palm, groaning at the increased sensation. ‘That is the spot, exactly,’ she said, clearly amazed that he had guessed. And then added, ‘Perhaps, a little less gently.’
‘Very well,
