Thief of Shadows (Maiden Lane #4)(67)

He traced with gentle fingertips the curve of her breast, following it up to her armpit and over to her collarbone. Then he took her hand and pulled her arm over her head to stroke the underside of her upper arm.

She squirmed.

He darted a look at her. “It hurts?”

“No, of course not,” she gasped. “You’re tickling me!”

The corner of his mouth kicked up and his hand suddenly dove for the vulnerable skin just under her armpit.

“Oh!” She convulsed, giggling, and he flung himself on top of her to keep her from wriggling away.

“Lie still,” he said sternly, his mouth only inches from hers.

“Then stop tickling me,” she murmured. She watched his eyes, deep and mysterious, and felt the firm nudge of his erection on her belly.

His face grew grave again. He nodded and levered himself off her slowly, as if waiting to see if she’d flee.

She spread her arms wide on the hearthrug and smiled, though her lips trembled.

He watched her a moment and then backed, lowering his head to her belly.

She sucked in a breath.

“Tickles?” he murmured against her skin.

“No,” she whispered.

“Mmm.” His hum vibrated against her belly, making her toes flex.

He skimmed, openmouthed, around her belly button and then slowed as he explored her lower tummy with his tongue. When he got to her maiden hair, he paused.

“Your skin is so soft,” he rumbled. “Teach me. I don’t know what to do.”

His breath warmed her maiden hair and his knuckles skimmed her cleft, making quite explicit what he wanted her to teach him.

She widened her legs and took a steadying breath. “There is a little nubbin, hidden at the top of my slit.”

His fingers were there, parting, discovering. “Here?” He brushed gently against her.

She closed her eyes in reaction. “Yes. Just… touch me there.”

He stilled and she could almost hear him thinking. Had his fingers been anywhere else, she might’ve smiled, but at the moment… well, it was simply beyond her. She waited, breathing in, breathing out and listening to the gentle crackle of the fire. Strange. Men had touched her there before, but they’d never asked how. If they’d been skilled, she’d rejoiced; if they hadn’t, she’d directed them elsewhere. Male pride was such a delicate thing. Never had she thought to tell them how to touch her.

Tell them what she liked best.

Finally he moved, a tentative poke.

She bit her lip. “Could you… stroke?”

“Like this?”

She inhaled. “Softer.”

“This?”

She laughed, but the sound was frustrated. He was too high, hadn’t quite found the right place. Perhaps she should—

“Isabel,” he suddenly breathed by her ear. “I have all night. Surely by dawn I can learn this. Please show me.”

Well, that was quite frank. And oddly, he didn’t sound as if his male pride was hurt. He merely sounded… curious.

If he could speak of this frankly, then so could she. After all, she was supposed to be the more sophisticated, the more worldly. Surely that meant she was more open to sexual exploration than he.

Didn’t it?

Or perhaps there was an entire side to simple schoolmasters that she’d never seen.

She’d hesitated too long.

“Isabel.”

“Just…” She reached down and encountered his hand, large and capable. For a moment her fingers entangled with his. “It’s not very big, merely the size of a large pea, yet it’s quite sensitive and must be stroked on the right spot.”

She guided him. “There’s a little hood—like your foreskin, I suppose. Touching it produces the strongest sensation, but I don’t like to have it drawn back. If you’ll merely…” She moved his middle finger in a gentle circle—the touch she liked the best. The touch a man had never done for her.

“This?” he asked quietly. She felt his breath on her thigh.

“Yes, yes, that’s quite…” She gulped, for it really was a wonderful sensation, lying here, letting him pet her. But if he continued…“Perhaps we should move on now.”

“Fair is fair,” he said, and there was dark laughter in his voice. “I like watching you. I like smelling you.”

Dear Lord!

She felt him spread her thighs wider, felt his chest settle between them, felt his arms wrap around her legs. His face must be directly over her femininity, watching as she…

His mouth settled on her parted labia and she gasped, unable to draw breath. His finger still worked her and—

“Am I hurting you?”

“No!” She grasped his hair and pulled him down, uncaring of modesty, sophistication, worldliness.

And he was a quick learner. He licked her, his tongue swirling against his finger, parting her folds, kissing her deeply, until she was blown over by the storm, hard and fast, panting, gasping, losing all sense of herself and time. She arched under him, vaguely aware that he’d grasped her hips to keep from being dislodged, racing with the wind.

When at last she opened her eyes, he was lounging beside her, waiting patiently, his hand placed possessively on her belly.

She stretched out a hand, tracing the lines around his mouth wonderingly. “Come to me.”