Seven Nights Of Sin: Seven Sensuous Stories by Bestselling Historical Romance Authors(7)

“I shall do my best to make sure you are ready.”

“Ready?”

“Yes.” He took her hand in his and edged closer. “And I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, Tildy. You say stop, at any time, and I will. Do you believe me?”

She gazed at him for a long while—too long for the sake of his ego. But then she said, “Yes.”

“Not every man will make that offer, you understand. Likely those who told you stories of pain had a partner like that. One who was quick and selfish.”

Her brow rumpled. “Selfish?”

He nodded. “There is pleasure enough for both if both are willing.” He cleared his throat. “Are you willing?”

“I suppose.” It was a lowering lack of enthusiasm. He took it as a challenge.

“Excellent. Shall we begin?”

She stilled. Her features went taut. Her throat worked. “Already?”

“We shall begin with something familiar, shall we? Did you enjoy the kiss we shared in the coach?”

Her curls bobbed as she nodded. “Very much.”

“Excellent. Shall we try it again?”

In response she leaned over the table between their chairs, closed her eyes and pursed her lips. When he did not leap upon her, she cracked open one lid. “Well?” she said through her pucker.

“I don’t remember us being so far away from each other,” he said, and when her brow quirked, he patted his lap.

“Surely you don’t expect me to—”

“Surely I do. If we are to make love, Tildy, we need to become familiar with each other, don’t you think? I would like you to be comfortable in my presence.”

“I am perfectly comfortable in your presence.”

“Then come here.” Another pat.

She rolled her eyes—actually rolled her eyes—blew out a huff and levered herself from the chair, coming to stand before him. He took her hand and laced his fingers in hers. And tugged.

It was awkward at first, settling her on his lap, because she was stiff as a board and tried diligently not to touch as much of him as she could. She perched on his thigh, sitting bolt upright.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked.

“Perfectly.” A complete lie.

He laughed and tugged her against him. How it was possible, he didn’t know, but she stiffened even more.

“Tildy?”

It took a while for her to meet his eyes. And he was struck again by how beautiful she was. “Yes?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” It nearly killed him to ask, because, damn, she felt divine in his lap, an armful of curves and froth. “You don’t have to, you know. I’m sure there is another way to break off a betrothal.”

She thrust out her chin. “I do. I want to do this.”

“Are you certain?”

“Of course I’m certain. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Then kiss me.” Perhaps if she took the lead, she would feel more at ease.

“K-k-k-kiss you?”

Or not.

“Yes. It is a simple thing really. Put your lips on mine and…” What? “Explore.”

“Explore?” Ah. That, at least, seemed to intrigue her.

“That is what we are doing, is it not? Exploring each other?”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“Well.” He leaned back and spread his arms wide. “Explore me. I am your canvas.”

He didn’t expect her to peer at him with a dubious expression as she surveyed his person. He was a fine specimen—or at least that was what he’d been told. Her reaction said otherwise. But still, after a disarmingly long pause, she reached out and gently touched his cheek. And then she laid her palm flat and scudded it over the bristles of his beard.

He closed his eyes and allowed her this. But really, he allowed himself to savor the innocence of her touch. Despite his simmering ardor, despite the fact that his body was tense and ready and hungry for her, he basked in it.

She traced his eyebrow and the bridge of his nose. His lips.

He opened to her then and sucked at her fingertip.

She make a sound, like an eep, but didn’t pull away.

Then she touched his hair, stroked it, raked it with her nails.

“That’s nice,” he groaned.

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“How about this?”

His eyes were closed, so he didn’t see it coming, her kiss. It was gentle and soft and utterly untrained, and he loved it. He made a sound of appreciation, deep in his throat, and he felt her smile against his mouth. He could not resist responding, could not resist dabbing her with his tongue.

He hated that she pulled way, but then she smiled when she said, “I like that.”

He peeped at her through long lashes. “My tongue?”

She flushed. “Yes. Is that wanton of me?”

“Not in the slightest. I like it too. Come here.”

This time, she did not hesitate. He cupped her cheek with his hand and held her close, and showed her some of the things a tongue could do.

Apparently, he was better than he thought he was, because she relaxed against him, from shoulder to hip, and opened to him.

He cradled her and stroked her lightly as he kissed her, savored her. Her response was sublime. As the kiss deepened and the passion arose, she became even more daring, which he adored.