The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6)(42)

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I do.” She touched his jaw gently. “I want us to part as friends.”

When she tried to withdraw her hand, he covered it with his own, trapping it there.

“Why?” he said intently.

“Because...” I care what you think. Your opinion of me matters… too much.

“There’s no need for us to be enemies,” she finished lamely.

“Not that. I meant why me. Why do you want me to be the man who beds you, Primrose?”

Her heart grew wings, beating frantically against its cage. The easy words surfaced, hovering on her lips. But he deserved more, and she fought to give him the truth.

“I feel safe with you,” she said. “When I’m in your arms, I know it’s where I’m meant to be.”

The throbbing in her ears was echoed by the ticking muscle beneath her palm.

Then the world spun, and, swept off her feet, she just managed to hold on, her arms wrapping around his neck as his lips claimed hers. His kiss roiled with hunger, and she kissed him back with equal ferocity. She didn’t have to hide her passion for him, this man who didn’t judge or condemn her—and the freedom was intoxicating.

When he set her down by the sofa, her legs wobbled. He held her securely as he suckled her earlobe, pleasure spreading through her like a fever. The tips of her breasts tightened into tingling points, a viscous warmth gathering in her belly. The sensations intensified as his lips glided along her jaw and down her neck, his skillful hands peeling off her layers.

When her chemise floated to the floor, leaving her in nothing but black garters and stockings, her wits suddenly returned. What must she look like sans her proper accoutrements? Was her coiffure mussed? Her panic flared as he sat on the sofa, pulling her onto his lap. She was acutely aware that she was in a disarray whilst he remained impeccably dressed.

Feeling exposed, she tried to cover herself.

He caught her chin, held her to his gaze. “Don’t hide your loveliness. You never have to hide anything from me.”

“But I’m not properly—”

“You’re perfect as you are. Beautiful beyond compare,” he said huskily. “No woman has ever affected me the way you do.”

He sounded earnest. Even if she doubted the words, there was no denying the physical evidence supporting his claim: beneath her bottom, his arousal was a hard and heavy bar.

Her anxiety subsiding, she whispered achingly, “Make love to me, Andrew.”

His eyes darkened, and he leaned in to kiss her. The gentle brushes of his mouth swept aside her worries, need spiraling through her. His hand closed over her breast, and this was nothing like Daltry’s groping in the dark. Andrew cupped and molded her achy mounds, pinching the throbbing tips, and she moaned against his lips.

“You’re so pretty here.” His voice matched the brushed velvet of his eyes. “Pink and ripe like a berry. Do you taste as good as you look, I wonder?”

“Taste?” She blinked at him.

The slow, sensual curving of his lips made her belly flutter. He took one of her hands, bringing it to his mouth. Separating the index finger from the rest, he licked the tip, the wet swirl setting off a wild pulse between her legs. He guided her moistened fingertip to her nipple.

“Imagine me kissing you here,” he murmured, using the damp point to simulate what he was describing. “Would you like that?”

Bold and brazen as she was, she couldn’t bring herself to answer him. Her body, however, had no such reservations. To her mortification, moisture trickled from her womanly place, and she could feel it dampening the fabric of his trousers.

Out of nowhere, Daltry’s voice assailed her: You’re a shameless doxy.

She tried to get away, but Andrew kept her caged against him.

“Your response is lovely,” he said, “just like you are.”

“But I made your trousers…” Cheeks aflame, she couldn’t finish.

“I want you wet for me. The wetter the better.” His words were shocking, his eyes warm and steady. “It’s your body’s way of telling me you want me.”

Once again, she felt a rush of gratitude for his experience and honesty. Relaxing, she allowed him to lay her back against the cushions while he knelt on the floor next to the sofa. Her respiration quickened as he kissed the slope of her breast. His lips explored, circling but not touching the straining peak.

She began to squirm, and, when she couldn’t stand it any longer, she slid her hands into his thick bronze hair, urging him to go where she wanted him. Needed him. He laughed softly, and then his lips captured her nipple, bathing it in heat and wetness. Bliss.

Her legs moved restlessly, the throbbing between them nigh unbearable as he lavished attention upon her breasts. Licking, flicking, driving her mad with wanting. She didn’t know how to ask for what she needed; she didn’t have to. His hand coasted over her rib cage, down the quivering valley of her belly, landing where her desire for him swelled, humid and pulsing.

“Your pussy is drenched, love.” His nostrils flared, his eyes smoldering. “Do you know how much that arouses me?”

Shyly, she said, “How much?”

“I feel as needful as a lad with his first wench.”

“Me too,” she whispered. “Like a wench with her first lad, that is.”