A Lady by Midnight (Spindle Cove #3)(80)

“Samuel,” she said at length, “you have my express permission to dream about me however and whenever you like.” She sat tall, straddling his torso, and jabbed one fingertip into his breastbone. “With one condition—you must tell me all about it when you wake up, so I can make the fantasies real.”

“Don’t say that. You’ve no idea the depravities a man’s imagination can supply.”

“Then enlighten me.”

She braced her hands on either side of his body and leaned on them. Her slight br**sts swung forward, taunting him, and the downy curls between her thighs brushed against his belly. His c**k arched and strained upward, seeking her softness and heat. With one brisk tug on her hips, he could have her sex cradling his. Then sinking down to sheathe him, so very tight.

He groaned a little. But he kept his hands firmly pinned beneath his head.

“Tell me.” Her voice was a smoky whisper. “Tell me your every last depraved, wicked, carnal desire.”

“We’d be here a week.”

A coy smile tipped her mouth. “I wouldn’t mind.”

He shook his head. No matter how smugly pleased she looked with herself, he knew she was just a few hours past the first blush of innocence.

She sat up straight, tossing her hair back over her shoulders and looking down at him. “I’m serious, Samuel. I won’t have you treating me like some untouchable, delicate lady. Saving your truest, deepest cravings for dreams that feature someone else. I’m jealous. I don’t want to merely appear in your dreams. I want to be the only woman in them, from this day forward.”

He stared up at her, fingers woven behind his head. He’d never considered the matter that way.

If she was truly that determined to learn something of his darkest desires . . . he supposed he could oblige her. But he would keep to the fantasies that didn’t put her in any sort of risk.

Ones that placed her in control.

He unhooked his hands from behind his head. Beginning at her shoulders, he skimmed a touch down her arms until he clasped her hands in his. He took and lifted them to the level of her torso, then fitted her palms over her own pale, smooth br**sts.

“Hold these for me,” he said.

Then he reclined to the pillow, once again lacing his hands beneath his head.

She gave him a quizzical look. Then she turned that quizzical expression on her own br**sts, plumping them lightly in her hands. “What am I to do with them?”

“Whatever feels good.”

“And you’re just going to lie there and watch?”

He nodded.

Her brow wrinkled. “Truly. This is something men fantasize about?”

“With regularity.”

She laughed and blushed a little, as women did when they were embarrassed. He simply lay there, waiting, and offered no excuse.

Eventually, she shrugged. “As you wish, then.”

With her palms, she gently lifted and shaped the modest swells of creamy flesh. She ran her fingertips around the circumference of each breast. And then she balanced them carefully, like two weights on either side of a scale, and pressed her thumbs to her hardened ni**les.

“Like this?” she asked. “Am I doing it right?”

He nodded, unable to answer aloud. His tongue had plastered itself to the roof of his mouth.

As she rolled her own ni**les beneath her thumbs, a wash of pink spread across her chest and worked its way up her throat. Her lips fell apart, swollen and red, and she moistened them with her tongue.

“Pinch them,” he scraped out.

She gasped faintly as she obeyed, catching the puckered, berry-red nubs between her thumbs and forefingers. As she pinched and plucked, she closed her eyes and arched her back, thrusting those luscious br**sts forward for his view. Her pelvis rocked against his tensed abdomen.

She was already so wet. He was painfully hard.

“I did this once,” she whispered, opening her eyes. Her gaze was dark and glittering, and a shy smile played about her lips. “That night after the outing to Wilmington. I touched myself just like this and tried to imagine your mouth on me.”

Holy God. He’d never heard anything so arousing in his life. His fingers curled like talons, biting into his scalp, but he didn’t move. He didn’t dare reach for her—or before she could whisper a word of caution, he’d be ballocks-deep in her tender flesh, rutting like a beast.

Still, he couldn’t resist wanting more.

“Bring them here,” he said. “Bring them to me. Let me taste.”

She smiled. “Yes, Corporal.”

Her pert response made him wild. Normally, Thorne didn’t care for those power games in the bedchamber. He hated any implication that he would trade on his rank for pleasure.

But she wasn’t ceding to his will. She was poking fun at him for resorting to a stern, military tone. She knew he was desperate. She knew she’d made him that way, and she was already learning to relish her sensual power.

Damn, but she was a quick study. A clever, clever girl.

And he was a lucky, lucky man.

With one hand, she gripped the headboard for balance and support. She cupped her breast with the other, leaning forward until her taut nipple hovered an inch above his lips. The scent and warmth of her skin were palpable, intoxicating. She was teasing again, waiting for him to stretch and bridge that last distance.