The Study of Seduction (Sinful Suitors, #2)(65)

“It certainly is,” he said in a guttural voice.

He sucked and tongued her nipples in turn, then moved up to give her another hot, drugging kiss while his hand took over fondling her breast. When he tore free of her mouth, both of them were breathing hard, and she felt warm and melty inside.

With his eyes gleaming, he began to drag up her skirts. “I’ve imagined having you like this for ages.”

She tried not to tense up as his hand moved higher, though fear lay deep inside her like a snake waiting to strike. “For a week . . . you mean.”

“Years, I mean.”

She gaped at him. “What?”

“I told you before—I always desired you.” He gave her a rueful smile. “I just didn’t think it terribly wise.”

“It’s not,” she said. Though if he really had desired her all this time, it gave her hope for their future together.

“You let me be the judge of that.” Then he kissed her again, and her heart flipped over.

Suddenly she felt his hand inside her drawers, but before she could even get alarmed, his fingers were toying with her down there so lightly and carefully that her fear abated. Especially when he found that secret little spot that begged to be touched, the one she hadn’t even known existed until he came along.

As he’d done with his tongue in the carriage, he used his hand to excellent effect, arousing her deftly, thoroughly, until she was squirming and shimmying beneath his touch. She tore at his coat, wanting him to be as exposed as her, and he shrugged it off, then returned to caressing her. She unbuttoned his waistcoat and slid her hands inside his shirt to feel the broad, strong expanse of chest.

Heavens, he had a fine and manly chest. She found his nipples and teased them until he groaned and stroked her more firmly below. She didn’t mind. Especially when what he was doing made her want to vault up into the trees, to sing and shake and behave like a wild wanton. With him.

How could she have known Edwin could do these things? Who would have thought that being with a man could feel this pleasurable?

“You’re so hot and wet, minx,” he rasped against her lips. “You do want me.”

“Yes.” She did, she truly did.

Taking her hand, he pressed it to his trousers. “This is how badly I want you.”

He was thick and hard and bigger than she’d ever imagined. She swallowed the beginnings of alarm that rose in her throat. Determined to face her fears, she deliberately unbuttoned his trousers, then his drawers, and slid her hand inside to fondle him.

With a moan, he pushed into her hand. “God, yes, sweetheart. Touch me. Please.”

Please. How deliciously thrilling that she could make him beg! She rubbed and stroked him, reveling in the choked sounds he made, the way his breath quickened and his eyes slid shut. His skin was so silky, the flesh beneath it so firm.

She was enjoying arousing him when he brushed her hand away. “No more, my sweet, or I’ll embarrass myself. I can’t bear it any longer. I need to be inside you.”

“Yes.” She reminded herself that this was what she’d wanted, that this would make things better between them. So she forced a smile as he pushed up her skirts and slid between her legs. She could do this. She could.

But her body refused to listen. It clenched of its own accord, and when he braced his hands on either side of her, trapping her in, the panic took over and her heart began to pound and her vision to narrow until all she could see was Edwin’s taut jaw, vaguely like the Vile Seducer’s, and she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see . . .

“No . . . no . . . no . . .” she began, scarcely aware of what she was saying.

“Clarissa,” he murmured soothingly, “sweetheart . . .”

Shoving against his chest, she bucked up against him, trying to throw him off her. “No . . . stop . . . stop . . . Stop, damn you!”

The last words were screamed into the forest.

He froze, his face ashen, and rolled off her to lie on the blanket panting as he stared up into the trees. That and the whimpers she couldn’t seem to quell were the only sounds other than the warbling of the stream.

After a few moments, he gave a shuddering breath. “Clarissa,” he said hoarsely. “You must tell me what’s wrong.”

She wanted to. But how could she say that she didn’t know if she would ever be right with this? “N-nothing’s wrong. I was just startled.”

He swore under his breath. “You were not startled. Don’t lie to me.” When she said nothing to that, he added, “I can’t do this anymore. Not like this. One minute you want me, and the next—”

When he choked off the words, she felt a different kind of panic. “Please don’t say that. Just give me a moment, and I’ll try . . . we can try—”

“God, no.” He didn’t look at her. “You were terrified. I could see it in your eyes.”

“Not of you.”

“There’s no one else here.” Dragging in a harsh breath, he seemed to struggle to speak. “My mother’s eyes looked like yours once, when I burst in while my father’s closest friend was trying to force himself on her. I still remember her crying, the fear on her face. I never want to see that on any woman’s face again, but especially not on my own wife’s. Not because of me, for certain.”