managed—somehow—to undo them. He stroked the creamy vee of skin he
revealed with the first few. A thrill shot through him, straight to his balls,
when she quivered at his touch.
He was possessed, suddenly, of the urge to hold one side of
the garment in each fist and rip. But he didn’t. For one thing, that would end
this too quickly and he didn’t want to end this quickly. Instead, he satisfied
his roiling hunger by nibbling on the back of her neck, licking and sucking on
her nape as he blindly fumbled for the next button. And the next. When the gown
opened far enough, he turned her and, slowly, drawing his palms over her
shoulders, nudged the dress off. He swallowed as, bit by bit, her graceful
shoulders were revealed. Then her chest.
Damn. She wore a chemise.
But her breasts, swollen and pert, were visible through the
sheer material. Her nipples, puckered and fat, taunted him. Unable to resist,
he thumbed a taut peak. She moaned, which brought his gaze up to her face.
God. She was beautiful, her lashes fanning her cheeks like
sooty moons, her lips slightly parted and damp, her nostrils flared.
“Do you like that?” he whispered.
She colored. A red tide crept up her cheeks giving her a
rosy glow.
Had he ever thought her cold? How had he ever decided she
was reserved?
“Yes, Ethan.”
He could tell she was aroused. It was evident in her short,
hard gasps, the trembling in her form, the rising scent of lust. It nearly drove
him mad.
But he returned to his chair and sat, facing her once more.
A whole room away.
It nearly killed him.
Her eyes flew open at his withdrawal. He nodded curtly in
her direction. “There. You’re unbuttoned. Finish the job yourself.” Because,
God, he wanted to watch her undress. For him.
She swallowed and nodded and let the dress fall to the
floor.
He ground his teeth, bit his tongue, curled his hand in to a
fist around the arm of the chair. Anything to keep him from flying across the
room, taking her in his arms and planting himself inside her.
No. He sat there in the plush chair and watched as she
revealed herself to him. For once her dress fell, she lifted her chemise. His
heart thudded in his chest—in his cock—as her creamy belly, her abdomen and finally,
her breasts were bared.
God. She was beautiful.
She pulled the chemise all the way off and let it fall to
the floor. Let her gaze fall as well. She peeped up at him, standing there
utterly bare.
Dear. God.
At the sight of that silken triangle damp with dew, his
heart stuttered.
She was naked.
In his room.
Eleanor.
“Turn around.” As much as he wanted to inspect the lush
globes of her ass, he needed some time. Some time to retain his sanity, his
control. For if he looked at her much longer, stared into her witching eyes, he
would lose control. And while she was aroused, he knew she wasn’t ready. Not
ready enough. His cock was enormous, and as long as a pike.
An unused candelabrum sat on the table by his chair. He
plucked one candle from a branch and fingered it. Perfect.
“Ethan?” She had turned, wreathed in the light of the
licking fire in the hearth, and was watching him with a perplexed expression.
“Come here.”
She stepped toward him. Dainty shadows danced over her skin.
“Closer.”
When she stopped before him, he handed her the candle. It
was a fine creation, made of beeswax and scented with lemon. “What do you want
me to do with this?”
He shot her a hooded glance. “Don’t you know?”
Her brow rumpled and she shook her head, tipping the candle
this way and that.
“I want you to fuck yourself with it.”
The candle fell to the floor. “What?”
“Come now, Eleanor. Surely you’ve fucked yourself with a
candle?”
Her cheeks went red, her lips trembled and she shook her
head. “No.”
He didn’t know why he pursued this. He could tell the
prospect distressed her. Perhaps it was his deep need for revenge against
Ulster, or perhaps it was simply the desire to see her
revealed with the first few. A thrill shot through him, straight to his balls,
when she quivered at his touch.
He was possessed, suddenly, of the urge to hold one side of
the garment in each fist and rip. But he didn’t. For one thing, that would end
this too quickly and he didn’t want to end this quickly. Instead, he satisfied
his roiling hunger by nibbling on the back of her neck, licking and sucking on
her nape as he blindly fumbled for the next button. And the next. When the gown
opened far enough, he turned her and, slowly, drawing his palms over her
shoulders, nudged the dress off. He swallowed as, bit by bit, her graceful
shoulders were revealed. Then her chest.
Damn. She wore a chemise.
But her breasts, swollen and pert, were visible through the
sheer material. Her nipples, puckered and fat, taunted him. Unable to resist,
he thumbed a taut peak. She moaned, which brought his gaze up to her face.
God. She was beautiful, her lashes fanning her cheeks like
sooty moons, her lips slightly parted and damp, her nostrils flared.
“Do you like that?” he whispered.
She colored. A red tide crept up her cheeks giving her a
rosy glow.
Had he ever thought her cold? How had he ever decided she
was reserved?
“Yes, Ethan.”
He could tell she was aroused. It was evident in her short,
hard gasps, the trembling in her form, the rising scent of lust. It nearly drove
him mad.
But he returned to his chair and sat, facing her once more.
A whole room away.
It nearly killed him.
Her eyes flew open at his withdrawal. He nodded curtly in
her direction. “There. You’re unbuttoned. Finish the job yourself.” Because,
God, he wanted to watch her undress. For him.
She swallowed and nodded and let the dress fall to the
floor.
He ground his teeth, bit his tongue, curled his hand in to a
fist around the arm of the chair. Anything to keep him from flying across the
room, taking her in his arms and planting himself inside her.
No. He sat there in the plush chair and watched as she
revealed herself to him. For once her dress fell, she lifted her chemise. His
heart thudded in his chest—in his cock—as her creamy belly, her abdomen and finally,
her breasts were bared.
God. She was beautiful.
She pulled the chemise all the way off and let it fall to
the floor. Let her gaze fall as well. She peeped up at him, standing there
utterly bare.
Dear. God.
At the sight of that silken triangle damp with dew, his
heart stuttered.
She was naked.
In his room.
Eleanor.
“Turn around.” As much as he wanted to inspect the lush
globes of her ass, he needed some time. Some time to retain his sanity, his
control. For if he looked at her much longer, stared into her witching eyes, he
would lose control. And while she was aroused, he knew she wasn’t ready. Not
ready enough. His cock was enormous, and as long as a pike.
An unused candelabrum sat on the table by his chair. He
plucked one candle from a branch and fingered it. Perfect.
“Ethan?” She had turned, wreathed in the light of the
licking fire in the hearth, and was watching him with a perplexed expression.
“Come here.”
She stepped toward him. Dainty shadows danced over her skin.
“Closer.”
When she stopped before him, he handed her the candle. It
was a fine creation, made of beeswax and scented with lemon. “What do you want
me to do with this?”
He shot her a hooded glance. “Don’t you know?”
Her brow rumpled and she shook her head, tipping the candle
this way and that.
“I want you to fuck yourself with it.”
The candle fell to the floor. “What?”
“Come now, Eleanor. Surely you’ve fucked yourself with a
candle?”
Her cheeks went red, her lips trembled and she shook her
head. “No.”
He didn’t know why he pursued this. He could tell the
prospect distressed her. Perhaps it was his deep need for revenge against
Ulster, or perhaps it was simply the desire to see her
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