The Virtuoso by Grace Burrowes Page B

impulse.
    â€œYou kiss me,” he urged, his hand running down her arm and back up to her collarbone. “Please.”
    She framed his face with her hands and bent to the task, tasting him first with her tongue then sealing her mouth to his. Val’s palm moved to the base of her spine, to urge her down, down onto the rising ridge of flesh at his groin. His left hand remained at his side and never had it felt more useless.
    â€œGive me your weight,” he whispered between kisses. “Let me feel your body over mine.”
    When he pressed down this time, she let him guide her into his lap. She stopped abruptly when she met his erection then cautiously continued her descent until Val had the gratification of her weight resting on his cock.
    â€œBetter,” he murmured, laying his cheek against her sternum. His hand found her calf next, and Ellen went still.
    Around them, the sounds and scents of the summer night went into high relief: The pause between breezes and the lift in the air when the lightest wind resumed, the subtle shift in the moon shadows as the air stirred, the blending of fragrances in the warm night.
    Val knew what came next. He’d ease her skirts up, diddle her until she either came or was begging him to make her come, then he’d penetrate that sweet heat of hers, and spend—or, if he were going to be a gentleman, he’d withdraw before he spent, cuddle her for a bit, lend her his hankie, and see her back to the house.
    It didn’t seem like enough. Not with her.
    â€œJust let me hold you,” he murmured, leaving his hand on the firm muscle of her calf. She relaxed against him, and he felt her lips against his neck. He shifted, enjoying the rub of his cock against her weight but for some reason not repeating the movement. His hand settled on her back, and she relaxed further.
    For long moments, she stayed draped over him, letting him rub her back, smooth his hand over her hair, and just pet her. His erection subsided some, but the desire to hold her and touch her did not.
    It occurred to him the weakness in his hand might be spreading to his cock, but it was just a passing, insecure thought. It felt right to hold her, and while it didn’t feel wrong to desire her, it didn’t feel desperately necessary to have her sexually, either.
    Not just yet.
    ***
    â€œLet me have the reins,” Ellen said quietly. They’d made their good-byes to the Belmonts, the savages were asleep in the back of the wagon, and yet she’d waited only until to the foot of Candlewick lane to state her demand.
    Val glanced over at her in consternation. “You?”
    â€œMe.” She reached for the reins, and Val saw she was wearing riding gloves. They weren’t as heavy as the driving gloves he sported, but they’d do.
    He passed her the reins. “Why?”
    â€œBecause these are very sweet beasts and well trained,” Ellen said, shifting a little closer to Val, “and yet they are big fellows and will pull on that hand of yours.”
    Amusement fled, leaving Val to frown at his gloved hand then at his companion.
    â€œDid resting it and taking care of it this weekend help?” she asked.
    â€œMaybe. A little. It certainly didn’t hurt.”
    â€œWell, then.” Ellen nodded, apparently feeling her point had been made.
    â€œEllen, I’ve been resting it for weeks now, and sometimes it’s better and sometimes it’s worse, but it never heals.”
    â€œTake off your glove.” She gestured with her chin. “The left one.”
    He complied and inspected his hand. He tried not to look at it, usually—the results were invariably disappointing. Besides, he could feel the differences, between the good days and the other days. Friday had been a bad day.
    â€œSee.” Ellen nodded at his hand. “Your third finger is losing its redness, and even your thumb and first finger look a little better. Rest helps,