Romancing Lady Cecily by Ashley March Page B

connecting door between their chambers, her note in his hand.
    He didn’t knock, but entered quietly, his body already hardening. Is this how she’d felt when he sent for her? Her blood thickening with arousal, her heart speeding in anticipation? No wonder she hadn’t been able to refuse him; simply the thought of her waiting for him, knowing she wanted him, was enough to tear away any pride that might have kept him from her side.
    Of course, where Cecily was concerned, he’d long ago surrendered his pride. With her there was only need.
    Although he made no noise as he entered her bedchamber, nothing to alert her of his presence, she was nowhere to be found. Not on the bed—the first place he looked—nor waiting for him before the fire.
    â€œCecily?”
    A soft, smooth hand touched the back of his neck. “Don’t turn around,” she ordered, her voice low, each of the four syllables spoken in the seductive tone of a temptress.
    Black cloth descended over his vision, and he felt her fingers brush in his hair as she tied the ends at the back of his head.
    He knew by the stirring of air that she moved to stand before him, by the silken strands of her hair sliding across his skin as he stretched out his hands that apparently she’d never meant to go downstairs to dinner.
    He took a deep breath, aware of his own impatience now, when he’d been eternally patient as the seducer.
    â€œHullo, kitten,” she said.
    August laughed, but the sound was uneven, uncertain. Even he could hear the need in his voice. “Perhaps you should try another name,” he suggested.
    â€œYou’re right, of course. Kitten is too tame for you.”
    Her fingers descended upon his shoulders, then dragged downward, pulling sensation from every pore hidden beneath his clothes. “Am I the tame one, my lord? Is that why you gave me that name?”
    His breath hissed out as she untucked his shirt from his trousers.
    â€œHardly tame. As I mentioned once before, even kittens have claws.”
    â€œHmm. I suppose they do, don’t they?” Her fingernails scraped low on his abdomen, scoring him lightly. They passed over the front of his trousers, little lines of pleasure pressing through the thick cloth.
    â€œIs this a proper seduction, my lord? Am I doing this correctly?” The placket of his trousers came undone, the waist loosening. She tugged them down.
    August reached out, needing to touch her, to feel her, but she calmly took his hands and returned them to his sides.
    â€œMy lord? You haven’t yet answered me.”
    She took him in hand.
    â€œYes.” He pushed into her touch, gritted his teeth as her palm moved over him. Had she also felt powerless like this, helpless as he’d determined each move to be made, as he’d dictated how much control he would give her?
    No, she could never have felt as helplessly thrilled as he did right now, unable to do anything but let her have her way with him.
    The moment her tongue touched his tip, he thought he would spill himself. Every muscle clenched as he sought restraint. And though he tried to keep his hands at his side as she wished, he couldn’t help it as his fingers sank into her hair in wordless encouragement.
    Then she drew away, her head tilting upward beneath his hands.
    â€œPerhaps I should stop,” she said.
    â€œNo—why?” he asked. God, but he was close to begging her. Behind the blindfold he closed his eyes, swallowed. She was silent, the only proof that she remained in the room the feel of her hair beneath his fingers.
    â€œPlease,” he said, careless that he begged, careless that the word came out hoarse and raw. How many times had he tortured her when she would have kept silent? He’d forced her to moan her acquiescence, forced her to plead in sighs and whimpers and wordless noises of pleasure. “Cecily.” He groaned her name.
    Her hand wrapped around him again, her