A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(30)

“Do you like it?” he asked, slowly retracting the spoon from between her pursed lips. Did she? Bel licked her lips, considering. She couldn’t describe the sensation as wholly pleasant, but she knew one thing. “I want more.”

He gave a hoarse chuckle—a sound more throaty and raw than his usual laugh. As he lifted another bite to her lips, Bel watched his dark pupils widening with anticipation, his full lips parting in unison with hers. He seemed to experience the same sweet torture she did, as the burning cold flooded her mouth. Once again, he dragged the spoon from between her lips. And for some unknown, wicked reason, Bel found herself pursing them tighter in defiance. As if to tease.

She licked her lips again, slowly, taking joy in the way his gaze riveted to her mouth. Yes, she felt strong when he teased her, but teasing him back … this was power. The sensation rushed through the top of her head, like cold.

When he spoke, his voice was husky. “May I taste?”

“Yes,” she blurted out. How thoughtless she’d been, not to offer before he could ask. “Yes, of course.”

Instead of dipping the spoon again, however, Toby set the dish aside. And before Bel even knew what was happening, his hands were framing her jaw, angling her face to his. And then his body was flush against hers, his lips covering hers, and his tongue … His tongue was inside her mouth, teasing hers. Tasting.

Shocked, Bel closed her eyes. This felt so good, it had to be wrong. She ought to push this temptation away. She shouldn’t give in.

But she did.

And she discovered that her future husband tasted even better than chocolate. His mouth moved confidently over hers as his tongue swept between her lips, in and out. The effect was dizzying. Her breath rushed out in a little whimpering sigh. Toby’s hands relaxed where they clasped her face, and his lips paused against hers in a deceptively innocent kiss. He was offering her a chance to resist. An opportunity to pull away. But as with the ice, she wasn’t satisfied with one taste of him. Maybe that fever had done something to her. She knew it was wrong, but she wanted more.

Her hands flew around his neck, threading into the locks of his hair where it met his cravat. As he renewed the kiss, she allowed her fingers to explore. How long she’d been wanting to touch him like this! His hair felt every bit as sleek as it looked, and the muscles of his neck were delightfully solid. And his skin … When she slid one fingertip beneath his starched neckcloth, she discovered his skin to be smooth and hot and just a bit damp with perspiration. A new thrill went through her, to know that beneath his confident exterior, he was simply a man, raw and elemental. And she made him sweat.

“Isabel.”

He murmured the name against her mouth, sliding his hands down to her waist and pulling her close. When her br**sts met his chest, a little moan escaped them both. But this time, Toby offered her no gentleness, no chance to retreat. No, he had become a true man of purpose, pulling her tighter still and taking her mouth with a possessive hunger. His kiss tasted dark and desperate, and it was undeniably flattering, how much he seemed to want her. That no matter how much she offered him, he took more, and still more. His mouth moved again and again over hers, his tongue thrusting in and out as he clutched her waist with both hands. And then …

Oh, and then.

He began to slide one hand up. So slowly, so stealthily. His thumb lingered over each rib. With every inch his touch crept higher, Bel grew increasingly certain it would soon stop. It must stop.

But it didn’t stop, this insidious, tantalizing caress that traveled up and up. And within her some forbidden sensation, some need, began to mount as well. It was as if all her awareness converged in her belly, following the rippling heat of his touch. Her breath grew shallow, and her fingers tightened around his neck. Somewhere in her mind, a shrill voice clamored for virtue, but she couldn’t obey. The unbearable need climbed her from inside and out—his touch, this sensation—up and up … and up.

His thumb grazed the underside of her breast.

Oh. Oh, please.

Bel didn’t have the slightest idea what she was begging him for. But she was kissing him back now, arching her body and pouring that wordless plea into light motions of her lips and tentative sweeps of her tongue. He growled deep in his throat and rewarded her daring with another gentle caress up the side of her breast.

She clutched his neck tighter, kissed him harder. Telling him what she could never, ever bring herself to say in words.

Oh, please don’t stop. Please do it again.

Her br**sts ached. They were heavy, so heavy. She resented them, these useless, corsetstraining burdens she’d been carrying around since the age of fourteen. And now, at long last, they seemed awakened to some purpose. Her ni**les gathered to tight knots, straining against her bodice. Straining toward him. They hurt.

He could make it better. She knew he could.

Oh please. Oh please oh please oh please.

His hand cupped her breast. She nearly cried out with relief. His thumb found her nipple, and pleasure sang through her veins and curled between her thighs. So intense, she thought she might faint. With confident fingers, he stroked and kneaded, and Bel kissed him with every ounce of gratitude she possessed. They were heavy, so heavy—but now he had taken the weight in his own strong hand, bearing it for her. Soothing the ache. It was everything wrong. But it was everything she needed. She needed him, and he had come, armed with chocolate and kisses and that teasing, devilish grin.