Tammy Falkner - [Faerie 02] by The Magic of "I Do" Page A

players were now naked, and the man tossed the woman onto the bed. Claire giggled.
    “Liked that, did you?” he couldn’t help but ask.
    “I like their easy camaraderie,” she said quietly. “You can tell they’re in love.”
    “How?” He was blind to it, obviously.
    “By the way they look at one another,” she breathed, totally enraptured by what the players were doing.
    Finn and Claire were shrouded in complete darkness up on the landing. He almost wished it wasn’t dark, so he could see her face.
    The man on the stage took his lover’s breasts in his hands and drew them to his lips. Claire’s bottom twitched against Finn’s lap. Was she getting aroused?
    “This makes your heart beat faster,” he said softly in her ear, loving the lemony scent of her.
    “I supposed it does,” she said, squirming a little in his arms.
    “It makes my heart beat faster too.” She immediately stilled. She didn’t even breathe.
    Finn began to move his fingers across her stomach in a slow motion that finally turned into a roaming caress that went from beneath her breasts to her hips. She sat still and watched what was on the stage.
    “Claire,” he said quietly, when her shallow breaths were nearly more than he could take.
    “Hmmm?” she hummed back absently.
    “If you were alone, would you be touching yourself?” She froze again. Barely daring to breathe. “Would you?” he coaxed.
    ***
    Would she? If she truly asked herself that question, she’d have to say yes. She’d never even thought of doing it before that night at his house in Bedfordshire. She hadn’t known what it was all about. But in the months since, she’d touched herself. Heat crept up her face at the thought. The answer to his question was—Yes, she would hike her skirts up around her waist and sink her fingers into her warm, wet folds. She’d rub herself to completion. But she wasn’t alone. Which made this damned difficult.
    “Look what he’s doing on the stage,” Finn said. His eyes were riveted there, instead of on her. But when she glanced at the stage, she saw the male character, who she assumed was some debauched lord, nibbling and biting at his wife’s breasts. She didn’t know if the woman was his wife, but she liked assuming she was.
    “Do you like what he’s doing?” Finn asked.
    Absently, she allowed her own fingertips to grace the plump skin over her bodice.
    “I remember what it was like to lick your breasts. They turn cherry red when they’ve been suckled.”
    Claire’s belly clinched. She was already wet. At this rate, she’d leave a huge wet spot on Finn’s knee when she stood up.
    “You didn’t answer me. If you were alone, would you be touching yourself? Would you slide a finger below the bodice of your dress so you could tease your nipples? Would you, Claire?” She barely registered it when his hand came up to cup her breast. But she didn’t shove his hand away. She liked his touch. Her breasts were more sensitive than normal, but his touch was gentle.
    “Yes,” she whispered, ashamed of her own response. She would be touching her nipples. She would be massaging her breasts. She would be ready to find completion.
    “Tell me if I do anything you don’t want,” he said. Then his hand grazed the sensitive skin above her breasts. It was all Claire could do not to arch her back to thrust her breasts into his hands. To shamelessly beg him to caress her. “You’ll tell me if I’m not pleasing you, won’t you?” he breathed. His voice had dropped to a husky murmur for her ears alone.
    His finger slipped beneath her bodice and grazed that turgid little peak that ached for him. A shameless moan left her throat.
    “I would give anything right now to lower your bodice and take you in my arms. Then I’d drink you in.”
    She was being tortured. “Finn,” she protested.
    “What is it, love? Do you want to come?”
    If it wasn’t so dark, he would see her blush furiously at that question. But, heaven help her,