his enticingly tight arse.
She couldn’t leave. She wanted to stay. She could not resist.
She would never have this again.
He made her daring. Brave. Wild. She gently tapped his heavy ballocks against her open palm. Soft, dangling, and surprisingly large. What did it feel like to have those round, furry things dangling there? She brushed the tips of her gloved fingernails over the wrinkled, velvety skin. His ballocks jerked up toward his body.
“Your turn,” he promised. His deep, rumbling voice wrapped around her, setting her heart racing.
She stared up. “What do you mean?”
“I want to taste you,” he growled. “Everywhere.”
He clasped her hands and helped her to her feet with the easy charm and formality of a gentleman raising a young woman from a curtsy. His dimple deepened as he sank down to his knees in front of her.
“Oh no, you mustn’t—my legs will melt and I’ll fall.”
Raw, masculine laughter teased her. “I would never let you fall, Grace.”
She looked down, both touched and aroused by his smile, his almost boyish delight as he lifted her hems. “No, you tried to raise me up, didn’t you? To give me courage. And you did.”
He stood, taking her skirts up with him. In welcome, she parted her thighs. She watched his large, scarred, tanned hand slide into the lacy white slit of her drawers.
“You were one of the most courageous woman I’ve known.”
“I can hardly believe that.”
“I admire women who defy idiotic rules to take what they want and deserve. I’ve had women hold a pistol on me to protect their ship, to protect children—not knowing I’d never hurt an innocent. Hell, I admired those women. Just as I admire you.”
His finger rubbed over her clit, pressing to the very peak, and her legs melted like butter beneath a scorching sun. Grace grasped his wrist. She should push him away, but instead she clung to him, aware of his long, fine bones, soft, bronzed skin, and silken gold hairs. His finger drew slow, deliberate circles.
“I simper at balls now,” she managed. “I lie every day of my life.”
Moaning, she arched her hips and wriggled her tight, aching clit against his fingertip. Oh, it was so good. Really, why should he hold up carriages? He could use this skill to have anything he wanted.
“For your sisters, sweeting. I understand that.”
“Not brave and daring, though,” she breathed.
“There is nothing more brave than putting someone else above yourself.”
“I would have thought you would see that as a weakness.”
“Perhaps the fact that I cannot is my weakness. I wanted you and I kidnapped you to bring you here. When I had no right. I’m a selfish man. A weak man. But I refused to do the honorable thing and never see you again.”
God…God…his finger flicked lazily over her clit and she cried out.
How could this be? She could touch herself this way. She could walk away from him and pleasure her own body. But she was a slave to the soul-melting pleasure of his touch. Her own touch would not satisfy. Not now.
Not anymore.
No, it would. It would have to.
She wanted to move back, but her feet would not leave the carpet. She stood, lashes shielding her eyes, and let his fingers play magic on her slick quim. “Would staying with you be brave or weak?” she asked. “Brave because you want it, or weak because I want it?”
“Brave for both of us, I think.”
His hands were at her buttons. This gown, the height of fashion, was a dress unlike those she used to wear. It was intended to be dealt with by a lady’s maid. He fiddled with the buttons, his fingers brushing the sensitive line of her spine as he opened them.
Her gown fell.
She was staying. Now that she was undressed, she couldn’t run.
Her lungs expanded as he untied the bow at her corset and expertly loosened the stays. “I like this,” he murmured. “Stripping away your layers. Revealing the beautiful woman confined within the proper young lady.”
“I’m not
She couldn’t leave. She wanted to stay. She could not resist.
She would never have this again.
He made her daring. Brave. Wild. She gently tapped his heavy ballocks against her open palm. Soft, dangling, and surprisingly large. What did it feel like to have those round, furry things dangling there? She brushed the tips of her gloved fingernails over the wrinkled, velvety skin. His ballocks jerked up toward his body.
“Your turn,” he promised. His deep, rumbling voice wrapped around her, setting her heart racing.
She stared up. “What do you mean?”
“I want to taste you,” he growled. “Everywhere.”
He clasped her hands and helped her to her feet with the easy charm and formality of a gentleman raising a young woman from a curtsy. His dimple deepened as he sank down to his knees in front of her.
“Oh no, you mustn’t—my legs will melt and I’ll fall.”
Raw, masculine laughter teased her. “I would never let you fall, Grace.”
She looked down, both touched and aroused by his smile, his almost boyish delight as he lifted her hems. “No, you tried to raise me up, didn’t you? To give me courage. And you did.”
He stood, taking her skirts up with him. In welcome, she parted her thighs. She watched his large, scarred, tanned hand slide into the lacy white slit of her drawers.
“You were one of the most courageous woman I’ve known.”
“I can hardly believe that.”
“I admire women who defy idiotic rules to take what they want and deserve. I’ve had women hold a pistol on me to protect their ship, to protect children—not knowing I’d never hurt an innocent. Hell, I admired those women. Just as I admire you.”
His finger rubbed over her clit, pressing to the very peak, and her legs melted like butter beneath a scorching sun. Grace grasped his wrist. She should push him away, but instead she clung to him, aware of his long, fine bones, soft, bronzed skin, and silken gold hairs. His finger drew slow, deliberate circles.
“I simper at balls now,” she managed. “I lie every day of my life.”
Moaning, she arched her hips and wriggled her tight, aching clit against his fingertip. Oh, it was so good. Really, why should he hold up carriages? He could use this skill to have anything he wanted.
“For your sisters, sweeting. I understand that.”
“Not brave and daring, though,” she breathed.
“There is nothing more brave than putting someone else above yourself.”
“I would have thought you would see that as a weakness.”
“Perhaps the fact that I cannot is my weakness. I wanted you and I kidnapped you to bring you here. When I had no right. I’m a selfish man. A weak man. But I refused to do the honorable thing and never see you again.”
God…God…his finger flicked lazily over her clit and she cried out.
How could this be? She could touch herself this way. She could walk away from him and pleasure her own body. But she was a slave to the soul-melting pleasure of his touch. Her own touch would not satisfy. Not now.
Not anymore.
No, it would. It would have to.
She wanted to move back, but her feet would not leave the carpet. She stood, lashes shielding her eyes, and let his fingers play magic on her slick quim. “Would staying with you be brave or weak?” she asked. “Brave because you want it, or weak because I want it?”
“Brave for both of us, I think.”
His hands were at her buttons. This gown, the height of fashion, was a dress unlike those she used to wear. It was intended to be dealt with by a lady’s maid. He fiddled with the buttons, his fingers brushing the sensitive line of her spine as he opened them.
Her gown fell.
She was staying. Now that she was undressed, she couldn’t run.
Her lungs expanded as he untied the bow at her corset and expertly loosened the stays. “I like this,” he murmured. “Stripping away your layers. Revealing the beautiful woman confined within the proper young lady.”
“I’m not
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