Hello Stranger (The Ravenels #4)(34)

That was all he could stand before he had to pull his mouth away. She strained upward to kiss him, but he shook his head and held her off. He’d never been so aroused, his flesh so hard that every throb of his pulse hurt.

“I have to stop,” he said hoarsely. Now, while he still could.

Her arms crept around his neck. “Stay with me tonight.”

Filled with lust and yearning, Ethan nuzzled her flushed cheek. “Ah, darlin’,” he whispered, “you don’t want that. I wouldn’t be nice. I’d bring you to the edge of wanting, and keep you there ’til you were cursing and screaming your pleasure for all the neighbors to hear. And after I’d brought you to a long, hard come, I might turn you over my knee for being such a noisy lass. Is that what you want? To spend all night in bed with a big, mean bastard?”

Her voice was muffled against his shoulder. “Yes.”

A laugh stirred in his throat.

Her legs dangled from her seated position on the table. White cotton stockings, sensible walking boots. The way she sat with her thighs parted should have made her appear wanton, but instead the posture reminded him of a young tomboy. He couldn’t believe she would make herself so vulnerable to him.

He leaned forward, his mouth finding hers. She quivered and opened for him, letting him taste her. The finely wrought muscles of her leg tensed as she realized his hand had stolen beneath her skirts and was working up her thigh.

Even the most demurely styled ladies’ drawers were constructed with a long slit at the crotch. While the garments were perfectly modest when a woman was in a standing position, they opened completely when she was seated. Reaching the seamed edge of the gap, he let his thumb rest gently against the delicate skin of her inner thigh.

Garrett pulled her mouth from his and buried her face in his throat.

Ethan tightened his arm around her back, while his thumb slid higher, circling into the edge of a silky-rough patch of hair. He skimmed the tops of the curls, stirring the hairs with teasing strokes that awakened vague echoes of sensation at the roots.

Gently he murmured in the hollow space just behind her earlobe, guessing at what might excite or intrigue her. “In India, before a man marries, he’s taught how to please his wife according to ancient texts on the erotic arts. He learns about the embraces, kisses, strokes, and bites that bring fulfillment.”

“Bites?” she asked dazedly.

“Love bites, darlin’. Nothing that would hurt you.” To demonstrate, he bent to her neck and nibbled softly. She made an agitated sound and arched toward him. “’Tis said the joining of two who are well-matched is a high union,” he whispered. “And if they become so intoxicated by love as to leave faint marks on the skin, their passion for each other will not be lessened even in one hundred years.”

Garrett’s voice was wobbly. “Did you learn any of those erotic arts?”

His lips curved against her skin. “Aye, but I’m still a novice. I only know one hundred and twenty positions.”

“A hundred and . . .” She broke off as he let two fingers slide gently between the soft lips of her sex, teasing back and forth. After a convulsive swallow, she managed to say, “I doubt that’s anatomically possible.”

His lips grazed the edge of her jaw. “You’re the medical expert,” he mocked gently. “Who am I to argue?”

She squirmed as one of his fingertips wriggled through soft curls and came to rest on an acutely sensitive place. “Who taught you?” she managed to ask.

“A woman in Calcutta. I’d never met her before. For the first two nights, there was no physical contact at all. We sat on bamboo mats on the floor and talked.”

“About what?” She stared at him with dilated eyes, her flush deepening as he continued to fondle the silky, intricate shape of her.

“The first night she explained about Kama . . . a word for desire and longing. But it also refers to the well-being of the soul and senses . . . the appreciation of beauty, art, nature. The second night we talked about pleasures of the body. She said if a man was a true male, he would use the rule of his will to cherish the woman, and fulfill her so thoroughly she would have no desire left for another.”

On the third night, she had undressed him and pulled his hand to her body, whispering, “Women, being of a tender nature, want tender beginnings.”

That had been the most difficult part for Ethan, showing tenderness to her. To anyone. He’d always feared any kind of weakness in himself. But there had been no choice—he had been committed to doing whatever was necessary to become what Jenkyn had intended him to be.

This was different. This woman owned the sum of him, his tenderness and violence, everything good or bad.

His head lowered over hers, and he kissed her for long, luxurious minutes, learning what made her tremble and her breath come fast. All the while, he let his fingers tickle and play between her thighs. With his thumb and forefinger, he rubbed each fragile inner lip as if releasing perfume from flower petals. She whimpered, her sex nudging upward into his palm. He traced around the swollen bud, close but not touching, and massaged the plump hood just above it.

“Oh please,” Garrett gasped, writhing at the slow torture.

He made the circles smaller, his touch spiraling inward until he reached her clitoris and feathered it with a few light strokes. She moaned, her legs closing on his hips. As her pelvis lifted and froze at the brink of release, he withdrew his touch. She clutched his neck almost angrily, trying to haul him closer.