Surrender of a Siren (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #2)(85)

Leaning forward, he bent her at the waist and parted her legs with his thigh. Cool air licked over her inner thighs as he worked his trousers loose, and then his hard length sprang up to wedge snugly in her cleft. He rocked forward, rubbing slowly along the moist, swollen folds of her sex, drawing out the contact in one sweet, torturous, endless caress. She cried out with relief when the tip of him finally grazed that most sensitive bit of her flesh. With his free hand, he swept her skirts up and away from her legs.

“Look,” he demanded, nudging her forward so her chin bent to her chest.

“Look.”

She obeyed, looking down to where the ruddy, swollen head of his arousal peeked out from her thatch of tight curls. The sight of their bodies locked together excited her beyond reason.

“It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To look at it, touch it, feel it grinding against you. To satisfy all those schoolgirl curiosities about a man’s body and how it fits with yours. To live out all the depraved little fantasies in that book of yours. This is what you’ve wanted all along, isn’t it?” He pulled back, dragging his hard shaft through her softness until Sophia shuddered with pleasure. He thrust forward again. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she gasped softly. Then louder, “Yes.”

Something like a groan escaped him. “Well,” he breathed against her ear,

“I happen to have a few depraved fantasies of my own.”

The words hummed in her ear, sending electric jolts of arousal straight to her core. She whispered, “Tell me.”

Gray’s heart thumped wildly in his chest, each beat matched by a pulse in his groin. Damn, but she was so hot, so wet. He dragged against her again, the friction of their bodies producing a liquid sound that was unspeakably erotic.

He’d meant to stop this here. Or, truthfully, a little ways back. He intended to make her admit that all she’d wanted from him was pleasure, a chance to explore her wanton fantasies. And then he’d planned to walk away, to tell her to find some other man to deceive and discard.

But he’d forgotten how she felt so good. How she felt so right.

“Tell me,” she repeated, her voice husky. When he still hesitated, she added, “Show me.”

And he found refusal was no longer within his power. This was what she wanted, he told himself. She wanted to explore passion and pleasure. Why should he deny her, deny himself?

He released her hand where it lay splayed on the crate. She remained in place, leaning forward at the waist. He settled both hands on her hips, lifting her up and firmly against him, and then he slid his hands up her ribcage, counting one slender rib for every narrow stripe of that damned button-less, hook-less, lacing-free, impenetrable muslin frock.

“My fantasies,” he said hoarsely, hooking his index fingers under the neckline at the midpoint of her back, “start here.”

He gripped the fabric and rent it to her waist in one swift motion. The striped muslin fell away, revealing her stays and a gauzy chemise beneath. He had her laces undone in the space of a breath. Ripping the chemise was the work of an instant, and then her back was exposed to him, elegant planes and graceful ridges and smooth, creamy skin. He ran his fingers over that silky expanse, watching her flesh quiver beneath his touch.

“And they continue here,” he said, sliding his hands beneath the torn edges of the frock and around her ribcage. Easing her loosened stays aside, he took her bared br**sts into his hands. Her breath was a sharp hiss as the soft, warm mounds filled his palms. He groped hungrily, thumbing her hard ni**les as he nuzzled the curve of her neck. She worked back and forth against him, stroking her moist, inviting heat over his aching erection. “And then?”

He pinched her ni**les, rolling them between his thumbs and forefingers. She shivered as he swept his tongue over her neck and down between her shoulder blades. Oh, she tasted so good, both salty and sweet. “Then you moan my name.”

“Gray.” The word was a throaty plea. His loins answered with a throb.

“You tell me you want me.”

“I want you.”

“Me, and no other.”

“Only you, Gray, only you.”

He slid his hands from her br**sts to her hips and lifted, positioning himself at her entrance. “You tell me—”

He stopped himself, struck by the idiocy of what he’d nearly said: You tellme you love me. What a damn fool thought to entertain. This wasn’t love to her, it was just fantasy and lewd imaginings. A chance to satisfy her youthful lust and curiosity. He’d been twenty once. He remembered what it was to chase pleasure, and he certainly hadn’t confused it with love. He’d never contemplated love at all.

Until now.

She rocked backward, taking him into her. Beautiful, searing bliss enveloped him. She was all sweetness and heat and molten sighs, gripping him so tightly he could almost believe, for this moment, that she would never let him go.

He clutched at her hips, pulling her closer until they were fully joined. God,

he was losing himself inside her, and it was too late to pull away. There was nothing he could do. Nothing but take the pleasure she offered and give it in return, and make this so damn good that so long as she lived, no matter how far she went from him, she would never, ever forget. He took her in smooth, powerful strokes that had no end and no beginning, but built on one another—surely, steadily, relentlessly. He reached one hand around to cup her sex, part her gently, and strum the sensitive bud hidden there.