All About Seduction(63)

“You are eager,” he murmured, nuzzling her ear.

She jerked away from the tickle of his breath. He put his hand on the side of her head and held her steady as he lightly blew into the canal and then bit the lobe. Prickles traveled down her body and she couldn’t decide if she loathed the sensation or merely despised it.

“I thought of you all night,” she whispered.

A clap of thunder made her jerk as if God had intended to smite her down for lying. A sob broke from her lips.

She covered her mouth.

“Ahh, pet, don’t be frightened of the storm. Think of me. I will make you forget all about it.”

She’d never been frightened of storms, but she managed to bite back her protest. Pulling his hand to the open buttons, she tried not to tense as it dipped inside her bodice. “Yes, make me forget.”

He cupped her breast and then tilted her head back so he could kiss her. She closed her eyes and fought to stay relaxed and pretend she enjoyed his touch—then thought of Jack and how he had almost kissed her. Her breath caught. His touch had been so gentle and not at all urgent.

Mr. Berkley took the hitch in her breath as encouragement. He roughly turned her in his arms and pressed the entire length of his body against hers. This time she would succeed in seducing a guest. She wrapped her arms around him and tried not to mind that his shoulders were bony and that he seemed to have his hands everywhere.

Then he dipped down and, as he had the night before, freed her breasts and mouthed them. She clenched her eyes shut and tried to let her mind go away, but her thoughts went back to Jack. She wished he were the one touching her, because surely he’d be more respectful.

Mr. Berkley backed away. She bit her lip and opened her eyes. He fumbled with the front of his pants, and she reached down to help him. It would all be over soon, she told herself.

She took a step toward the sofa, but Mr. Berkley had other ideas. He grabbed her hand and wrapped it around his exposed member. Never in all her years had she touched Mr. Broadhurst’s male appendage with her bare hand.

“Stroke me,” Mr. Berkley commanded.

Would Jack’s member feel like this? Firm yet covered with skin with the texture of a rose petal. Hell’s bells, why was she thinking of Jack?

She ran her fingers down the length of Mr. Berkley’s rod. It was the giver of life, and if she brought him pleasure he might in return give her a baby. And she couldn’t let any hint of repulsion show as she had with Lord Tremont.

“Harder,” demanded Mr. Berkley. He squeezed her nipple.

She whimpered at the burst of sensation, part pain, part something else.

He fought with her skirts and pulled them up.

“The sof—”

His fingers pushed into the slit of her pantalets and touched her privates. She gasped. It wouldn’t be long now.

He began to rub at the apex of her slit, and the roughness of his touch made her long to twist away, push his hand from her body. Closing her eyes, she focused her thoughts on Jack. Would his fingers be so cruel? The motion shifted to a less sensitive place, and her body responded in a way that frightened her. Her eyes popped open and reality intruded. It wasn’t Jack.

She shoved away the thoughts of Jack. He was an affianced man.

Mr. Berkley clamped his hand around hers, circling his member, and pumped their hands up and down on his shaft. He returned his attention to her nipples, nipping and tugging hard, first one and then the other. The hint of pleasure died with a new wash of discomfort. He covered her mouth with his and she tried to match his movements and when her lips parted, his tongue probed inside. With his hand in her pantalets, he nudged her legs farther apart. Surely he didn’t mean to perform standing.

His moans suggested he was nearing that frenzied convulsion she’d witnessed with Mr. Broadhurst. The flesh under her fingers and palm felt fuller, harder.

She wanted him to finish the deed.

He broke from the kiss, looked down at where their hands were wrapped around his member and stroked faster. She put her thumb against the tip and brushed over it. He groaned, “So close.”

She tried to tug him toward the sofa, but he was having none of it. He yanked his hand out from under her skirts and pushed her shoulder so roughly she dropped to a knee.

“Use your mouth,” he grunted.

His hand fisted in her hair, bringing her lips against the bobbing head. His hand was moving her hand so quickly she feared he would smack her mouth.

“Now.”

She pursed her lips against the red flesh, wanting to pull away, not understanding if this was a game she didn’t know.