In the Arms of a Marquess(30)

He grasped her arms and pressed his cheek to hers. His chest moved hard against her breasts, his body rigid as though with hard-fought control.

“I will call upon your uncle in the morning.” His voice was rough. His hand slipped up to her neck, sinking into her hair to cradle her head, and it seemed that his fingers trembled, but she shook so hard it must be her. “May I?”

“Yes. Oh, yes.” Her heart slammed against her ribs like it would break through. “But don’t go yet.” She twined her arms about his neck and went onto her toes, sliding her body along his and feeling him everywhere, taut, sleek muscle against her thighs and hips and the sensitive tips of her breasts. He gripped her hard beneath the arms, pulled her against his chest and covered her mouth.

He kissed her deep, then deeper with each stroke of his tongue inside her. His hands sought and her body shivered, pleasure in each caress. Somewhere in the recesses of her awareness she knew she should not be doing this, but his touch generated a craving in her young body as wonderful as it was alarming, and she could not stop. She wanted more. More of his hands on her waist and hips, more of the heat of his mouth, more of his big, hard maleness against her.

“Shalabha,” he said against her neck, his voice husky, perfect. “Let me touch you.”

She didn’t know what he meant. He was already touching her in places no man ever had, not even her dancing master who had once showed her the rudimentary maneuvers of the waltz. But she wanted him to continue doing it, as he was now, caressing the sensitive skin of her throat with his wonderful mouth, the sensation echoing between her legs where she was indescribably warm.

“Yes,” she uttered. “Touch me more.”

His hand slid between them and over her breast. Tavy thought she would die, the pleasure that assailed her was so intense. If this was what men and women did together in private, she finally understood the focused stares and whispered comments of the adults she had spied on for years. Ben cupped her breast, squeezed gently, and she ached so deep inside it took her breath. It hurt, but good, a throbbing pain that seemed to call for relief. His fingertips slipped along her skin above her bodice, skittering warmth across her bare flesh, then his thumb stole beneath the fabric.

She gasped into his mouth. He caressed her gently, then more firmly, and Tavy’s world exploded in a shimmering cascade of desire. It had to be desire. He touched her and she wanted to be inside him, perfectly fused. But she wanted him to continue touching her too. She sank her fingers into his hair and welcomed his tongue exploring her mouth as his hand made her squirm. Her nipple was so tight it felt as though it would burst. A sound came from her throat, a moan of pleasure, surprising her. His other hand pressed into the small of her back, trapping her hips against his.

He groaned and it seemed like frustration and pleasure mingled, and his mouth moved to her throat, hot and wet, his fingers caressing harder. Tavy arched her neck. It felt so good, almost like relief to press against him, their bellies flat against one another, and at the same time it heightened her ache. His thigh came between hers and a sharp tug jerked inside her, delicious and shocking.

She breathed his name. He kissed her shoulder, drawing her sleeve down, then caressing above her bodice along the line of her gown. “Kiss me,” she uttered, not really knowing her own words, thought gone in the torrent of sensations, of heat and him and aching need. “Kiss me.”

With alarmingly agile fingers he unfastened the hooks of her gown and drew down the bodice, sliding the fabric off her shoulders and along her arms. In a haze she let him do it, and to loosen the laces of her petticoat and corset until they sagged forward. The hard tips of her breasts stood out beneath her thin silk shift, damp from the heat and sticking to her skin. Her heavy breaths strained the fabric.

“Please,” she whispered, seeking his eyes, so dark they looked entirely black. She was dizzy from lack of breath and his gaze upon her body. “Please, kiss me.”

He put his mouth on hers, sucked her tongue into him and covered her breasts with his hands. In a moment her shift was open and his palms covered her, hot, smooth, holding her perfectly. She moaned, his thumbs passing over her nipples so lightly she wanted to die. But heaven could not be any better, this deluge of longing satisfied and still growing stronger with each caress.

He bent and licked her breast.

“Unh—” A gasp swallowed her ecstatic utterance. She gripped his shoulders as he teased her nipple with his lips, circling and caressing, then biting lightly on the peak. He sank her in pleasure and she held him close. The pressure of his kiss was enormous and she wanted it to go on forever. She struggled to breathe, moving herself against his thigh, the feelings in her body more than she could bear, her actions out of her control.

He kissed between her breasts and her neck, her lips again. She met him fervently, hungry for his mouth that had touched her so intimately.

“You are beautiful.” His hands slid over her hips, gathering her skirts and shifting over her behind. He stilled. His palms curved over her, his breathing hard.

Earlier, dusk had sweltered and Tavy had not donned stockings or drawers, as she often did not. Aunt Imene never noticed, and her gown was perfectly demure without either. Now there was nothing between Ben’s hands and the skin of her thigh and buttock. He shifted his hold, smoothing over her flesh, and she nearly swooned.

“Oh,” she whispered, barely a sound, and clutched at his waistcoat.