this time, she had not forgotten how flirt.
But did she know how to flirt with a man like Stephen?
Maybe not… A flicker of displeasure darkened his expression. He closed his mouth. Compressed his lips a moment.
She glanced down whilst tucking the stray lock behind her ear. A nervous laugh escaped her. Heavens, she hadn’t behaved like this—like some free-spirited fancy piece—in years.
He had known her long, long ago. When she had been the next thing to a girl, stuck in a passionless marriage. In the years since then, she’d been awakened to her full power and pleasure as a woman. Tonight, he was making her remember what that felt like.
But did he really prefer the naïve, un-awakened girl?
“You’re not a harlot.” His tone was resolute.
“No?” This time her voice echoed sadly and she released the strand of hair and it sprang in front of her face, tickling her cheek. She barely noticed in the wake of the sudden crashing of her spirits.
Apparently, he did prefer the girl.
What man didn’t want to be the one who awakened a woman? To be able to take a her as a blank slate and train her to please his wonts and his alone?
What were Stephen’s carnal wonts?
Through her lashes, she let her gaze move slowly over his elegant features. Dear God, she would love to be his harlot. To have him press her down and have his wicked way with her and force her to do all sorts of naughty, utterly wicked things to that beautiful, unbelievably masculine body of his. If only for tonight.
If only for some distraction from the dangers that threatened her.
But what woman could ask a new lover: ‘Call me a harlot, pull my hair, deny me, make me grovel, make me beg, punish me’? How could a woman offer a man such power over herself and yet expect that he would have the sensitivity and artfulness as a lover not to take it too far?
“You’re just a good little girl.”
At the sensuality vibrating underneath his softly spoken words, a flush spread over her face even as pleasant warmth filled her. She lowered her eyes. “I am forty-four years old, Stephen.” She had to pause and swallow. “H-hardly a girl.”
He studied her so closely.
The feeling of that lump in her throat increased, though from trepidation or pleasured excitement, she didn’t fully know. She felt her face heat.
“You wear each and every one of those years exceptionally well. And despite those years, you’re still a good little girl at heart, aren’t you?”
A grin stretched her face wide. She nodded.
“Ah, I knew it.” Good humour blended with the rich sensual note in his deep voice.
Hope swelled within her chest, a feeling like she might burst. She took a long, convulsive breath, trying to slow her rapidly racing heart.
“I could be a good girl for you.” She twirled a wayward tress around her finger again and cast her gaze down to his lap, making her attention pointed. “So very, very good .”
“That good, eh?”
She jerked her gaze back to his face, suddenly a bit alarmed at her boldness.
He was smiling, ever so slightly. His eyes blazed with lust.
Oh, it was heady. Far too heady. She was being reckless, too damned reckless. But it was too late to stop now.
Yet, her mouth went dry at the sense of things becoming suddenly more than she might be able to handle. Especially once she was sober. She released the strand of hair and tossed her head back. “I’ll be your good little girl.” She gave him a steady look. “But just for tonight.”
Heart in her throat, she waited for Stephen’s response. What would he say? Jon had always controlled the terms when she had been with other men.
Stephen’s smile broadened. “Ah, you want to set limits. To be in control of our situation. But I wonder, should we set limits yet?”
“I am just trying to stay safe.”
“He hurt you that much?”
She inhaled sharply. Stephen’s words had stuck her to the bone. She couldn’t look at him now. She tucked that stray piece of hair firmly
But did she know how to flirt with a man like Stephen?
Maybe not… A flicker of displeasure darkened his expression. He closed his mouth. Compressed his lips a moment.
She glanced down whilst tucking the stray lock behind her ear. A nervous laugh escaped her. Heavens, she hadn’t behaved like this—like some free-spirited fancy piece—in years.
He had known her long, long ago. When she had been the next thing to a girl, stuck in a passionless marriage. In the years since then, she’d been awakened to her full power and pleasure as a woman. Tonight, he was making her remember what that felt like.
But did he really prefer the naïve, un-awakened girl?
“You’re not a harlot.” His tone was resolute.
“No?” This time her voice echoed sadly and she released the strand of hair and it sprang in front of her face, tickling her cheek. She barely noticed in the wake of the sudden crashing of her spirits.
Apparently, he did prefer the girl.
What man didn’t want to be the one who awakened a woman? To be able to take a her as a blank slate and train her to please his wonts and his alone?
What were Stephen’s carnal wonts?
Through her lashes, she let her gaze move slowly over his elegant features. Dear God, she would love to be his harlot. To have him press her down and have his wicked way with her and force her to do all sorts of naughty, utterly wicked things to that beautiful, unbelievably masculine body of his. If only for tonight.
If only for some distraction from the dangers that threatened her.
But what woman could ask a new lover: ‘Call me a harlot, pull my hair, deny me, make me grovel, make me beg, punish me’? How could a woman offer a man such power over herself and yet expect that he would have the sensitivity and artfulness as a lover not to take it too far?
“You’re just a good little girl.”
At the sensuality vibrating underneath his softly spoken words, a flush spread over her face even as pleasant warmth filled her. She lowered her eyes. “I am forty-four years old, Stephen.” She had to pause and swallow. “H-hardly a girl.”
He studied her so closely.
The feeling of that lump in her throat increased, though from trepidation or pleasured excitement, she didn’t fully know. She felt her face heat.
“You wear each and every one of those years exceptionally well. And despite those years, you’re still a good little girl at heart, aren’t you?”
A grin stretched her face wide. She nodded.
“Ah, I knew it.” Good humour blended with the rich sensual note in his deep voice.
Hope swelled within her chest, a feeling like she might burst. She took a long, convulsive breath, trying to slow her rapidly racing heart.
“I could be a good girl for you.” She twirled a wayward tress around her finger again and cast her gaze down to his lap, making her attention pointed. “So very, very good .”
“That good, eh?”
She jerked her gaze back to his face, suddenly a bit alarmed at her boldness.
He was smiling, ever so slightly. His eyes blazed with lust.
Oh, it was heady. Far too heady. She was being reckless, too damned reckless. But it was too late to stop now.
Yet, her mouth went dry at the sense of things becoming suddenly more than she might be able to handle. Especially once she was sober. She released the strand of hair and tossed her head back. “I’ll be your good little girl.” She gave him a steady look. “But just for tonight.”
Heart in her throat, she waited for Stephen’s response. What would he say? Jon had always controlled the terms when she had been with other men.
Stephen’s smile broadened. “Ah, you want to set limits. To be in control of our situation. But I wonder, should we set limits yet?”
“I am just trying to stay safe.”
“He hurt you that much?”
She inhaled sharply. Stephen’s words had stuck her to the bone. She couldn’t look at him now. She tucked that stray piece of hair firmly
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