Say Yes to the Marquess (Castles Ever After #2)(43)
Author: Tessa Dare

She sucked in her breath. “You would what?”

He leaned forward, and his voice was dark. “Take you in my arms, at first. Hold your heart close to mine and try to let that be enough. But it wouldn’t be enough. I’d start to want more. I’d want to make you want more.”

Oh, she already wanted more. Clio reclined against the bedpost to steady herself.

Don’t stop. Please, go on.

“I’d take down this lovely hair and let it fall through my fingers. I’d run my hands over your arms, your back. And all your tender, softest parts . . . that’s where I’d use my mouth. And then . . .” He bent his head, until his words scalded her ear. “And then I’d slide my hand beneath your shift and touch you. Right where we both want it most.”

The room blurred in her vision. A dull, aching pulse began to throb between her thighs.

“Do it,” he said, releasing one of her hands. “Do it for me.”

She startled, but his free hand went to her waist, holding her still.

“There’s no one,” he said. “No one will know. No one will see. Do what I can’t. Just this once.”

Her heart climbed into her throat. She didn’t know if she could do that. Not like this. Not in front of him.

His temple pressed to hers. “Christ, Clio. I think I’ll die of wanting you. If there’s any chance you feel it, too . . . Let me know I’m not alone.”

This was madness.

But she did want this. And she never wanted him to feel alone.

With trembling fingers, she twisted her petticoat until she could loosen the fastenings—just a touch—and slide her hand inside. The fabric of her chemise still came between her fingertips and her belly, but it was so thin as to be inconsequential.

As she swept her touch lower, she bit her lip.

“Yes, that’s it,” he murmured. “Yes. That’s where you want it, isn’t it? And where I want it, too. You’re so lovely there. Lovely and pink and warm.”

She nodded.

“And wet. You’re so wet for me, aren’t you?”

Clio’s pulse raced at the crudeness of his words, but she couldn’t deny the truth. As she pushed her fingers between her thighs, the linen softened and grew damp.

“Here,” he said.

Where his hand covered hers on the bedpost, he drew one fingertip between her second and third fingers, slowly tracing the seam as if he were parting her legs. Or the folds of her sex.

Then his touch settled right in the sensitive crook where they joined.

“Touch yourself here,” he whispered, moving his fingertip in tight, steady circles that she felt everywhere. “Just like this.”

She was beyond any sense of shame or propriety, and his words had caught her in some sort of trance.

When her fingers slid into just the right place, her breath caught in a startled gasp.

“That’s it.” He kissed her ear. “That’s a good girl.”

The words made her smile. For once, she wasn’t being a good girl. She was being a wicked, wicked thing, and she loved it.

He loved it, too.

The edge of his restraint seemed to be fraying. He traced the shape of her ear with his tongue, then nibbled on her earlobe. Her senses hummed when he gave a husky groan.

And then his hand—the one that had settled on her waist—began to move. Just a little, at first. His thumb stroked back and forth in a coaxing arc. And then his entire hand began to sweep up and down in a gentle caress. With every pass, his fingertips brushed a bit lower on her hip, and his thumb grazed a fraction closer to the underside of her breast.

Please.

She wanted to encourage him somehow, but she was afraid to say or do anything too bold, for fear he might stop altogether.

There was a border they were fast approaching. A point of no return.

At last—with a muttered oath, he tipped them over the edge. His hand slid upward, cupping her breast. When his thumb found her nipple, she went faint with pleasure and relief.

“Come.” His whisper was hot and rough. He ran his tongue down her neck. He lifted and shaped her breast through the softened linen, rolling her nipple under the pad of his thumb. “If it damns my soul, I need to hear you come. And I want it to be for me.”

She touched herself, and he touched her, and the bliss gathered and built, until it loomed before her like a devastating wave.

She trembled. “Rafe . . .”

“I’m here. I have you. Just let it happen.”

His mouth captured hers, giving her the shelter she needed. When the bliss crashed through her, she moaned and sobbed and sighed it all into his kiss. Where she was safe.

And long after it was over, he kissed her still. So sweetly.

He released her arm from the bedpost, and they held each other close. She sifted her fingers through his hair. He touched her cheek. So lightly, using only the backs of his fingers.

It was the closest she’d ever felt to being treasured.

But the look on his face when he broke their kiss . . . Oh, it was like a dagger to her heart. Guilt etched furrows on his brow, and the green of his eyes was the shade of regret. As if he’d robbed her of something, instead of giving her the most beautiful, sensual experience of her life.

“Rafe, that was—”

“Clio, we can’t—”

“Miss Whitmore?” A knock sounded at the door. “Miss Whitmore, did you need help with your gown?”

Anna.

“Drat drat drat,” she muttered.

Rafe’s choice of words was decidedly less genteel.

“Just a moment,” Clio called out. She shimmied, then stepped out of the pool of gown and petticoats at her feet. She took Rafe by the hand. “Quickly. This way.”

He resisted. “You can’t mean to hide me. I’m too big. I won’t fit in the wardrobe or behind the drapes.”

“You’ll fit here.” She found a little notch in the paneled wall and slid it open. “This way. Hurry.”

He stepped into the secret room, looking around its single slice of window and kneeling bench. “What is this?”

“It’s an oratory. A private chapel for the mistress of the house to withdraw and reflect.” She nodded at the other side. “There’s a similar door that leads into my sitting room.”

“You’d never know it was even here.” He tilted his head to admire the ceiling. “This castle truly is something.”

“I told you as much.” Smiling, she moved to slide the panel shut.

“Wait.” He put his hand in the gap, holding the panel open. “So are you, Clio. You’re truly something. Never doubt it.”