First Comes Scandal (Rokesbys #4)(72)

He felt like a god.

“I didn’t know they were so sensitive,” Georgie said.

This surprised him. “You’ve never touched them?”

She shook her head.

“You should.” Nicholas nearly came right then, just thinking about her touching herself.

“Is it the same way for you?” she asked.

It took him a moment to realize what she was asking, but once he caught her meaning, he sat up and whipped his nightshirt off so quickly he was stunned it did not tear.

“Touch me,” he said.

Or he might have begged it.

She reached up and touched her fingertips to his chest, starting at the center before trailing lightly to his nipple. He shuddered, and she snatched her hand away.

“No,” he said, barely recognizing his voice. “I liked it.”

Her eyes met his.

“I want it,” he said.

She reached up again, and this time her touch was more sure. It wasn’t that she suddenly knew what she was doing—he had a feeling neither of them did—but she was secure in the knowledge—bold, even—that she was bringing him pleasure.

It was a mighty aphrodisiac, that. He knew it, too. Every time she moaned with delight, his own body burned in response.

“Can I kiss you?” she asked.

“Please.”

She sat up, her head tilting as she regarded him. The curiosity in her eyes was mesmerizing; she seemed to be studying every line and plane of his chest. It was odd to be the object of such intense scrutiny, but he could not fault her for it; he wanted to do the same. And if it made her more comfortable in their marriage bed, he would stay there for hours.

She could explore him at will.

Honestly, he could not imagine a lovelier torture.

He held his breath as she leaned forward and touched her lips to him. His muscles jumped beneath his skin, but he held still. His heart was pounding, and it felt as if his soul was straining against his body. He wanted to grab her, push her down against the mattress. He wanted to lay his body atop hers, make her feel the heat of him, the weight.

He wanted her to understand what she did to him, to know that in this moment he was hers to command.

And at the same time he wanted to dominate her.

He drew a shaky breath, the sound of it rushing past his lips like a gasp, and she looked up.

“Am I doing it right?” she asked.

He nodded. “Too right.”

“Is that possible?”

“You’re killing me, Georgie.”

“But in a good way?” she murmured. It was barely a question; she was clearly growing confident in her feminine prowess.

He nodded again, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. “I want to see you,” he said.

She didn’t say anything, but her eyes flared, and a pale blush washed across her cheeks.

“Will you let me?” he whispered.

She nodded, but she didn’t move. She needed him to remove the nightgown for her, he realized. She was not yet so bold.

He bunched some of the thin cotton in his fingers, never taking his eyes off hers as he slowly lifted the gown over her head. Her lower body was still concealed by the bedsheets, but the rest of her was bared to him.

Gloriously.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said.

She blushed. Everywhere. But she didn’t try to cover herself.

He wanted to touch her breasts, to cup them in his hands, but even more he wanted to feel them pressed against his bare skin, so he gathered her in his arms and kissed her again.

And again.

And again, holding her tight as he lowered her to the bed. He pressed his pelvis against her, his blood jumping in his veins as he asked, “Do you feel what you do to me?”

She nodded, but she looked unsure, so he said, “It changes when aroused. Gets bigger. Harder.”

She nodded again, but again, her eyes held questions, so he touched her cheek and said, “Do you know what happens between a man and a woman?”

“Yes,” she said. “My mother told me, and then Billie did.”

For some reason this made him smile. “And how did their accounts compare?”

“My sister was far more frank.”

“And encouraging, I hope.”

Georgie’s mouth curved into a tiny smirk. “Very much so. Although she said—” She cut herself off with a little shake of her head.

“Tell me.”

“No.” She shook her head, but she was smiling as she did so. “I can’t.”

“What did she say?”

“I can’t. I just can’t.”

Nicholas brought his mouth to her ear. “I can get it out of you, you know. I have my ways.”

And while she was twisting to get a look at his face again, he brought his fingers to her ribs and gave a little tickle.

She shrieked.

“I thought I remembered that you were ticklish,” he said.

“Stop. Oh, please stop.”

“Tell me what Billie said.”

“Oh my—Nicholas, stop.”

“Tell me …”

“All right, all right.”

He stopped tickling, but he didn’t move his hand.

She looked pointedly down.

“Not removing the threat just yet,” he murmured.