Ramsay(2)

"Why?" she repeated, tilting her head, her expression perplexed, her  blue-green eyes blinking. As if she should have to give me a reason.

"Yes, why would ya want me to kiss ya? I'm the gardener's son, not  exactly in your social circle. It's not like anythin' could come of it."  I didn't have the money to date someone like Lydia right now. She'd  want to be taken to the movies, out to eat, expect flowers and gifts,  and who knew what else. We could barely afford to put food on the table  at home, and I had a voracious appetite that never, ever seemed to be  satisfied. I was wearing shoes too small because my feet had grown four  sizes in the last year and our budget couldn't keep up.                       
       
           



       

She laughed softly and shook her head. "You always say something like that, Brogan. I don't care about any of that."

I let my eyes roam her face, trying to detect deception in her  expression. I didn't think I saw any. But of course, she hardly knew  what she was talking about. She had no idea the extent of our financial  straits. Oh you would, Lydia. If you really knew my situation, you  would. "Anyway, ya didn't answer me question."

Lydia looked up at me through her lashes, causing my heart to race. "I  want you to kiss me because you're one of the most handsome boys in  Greenwich, and you don't even know it. Because I like the way you look  at me, the way you watch me. But even more, I like to watch you, too."  She stepped closer, and I held my breath. "I like how your accent gets a  little thicker when you talk to me. I like how serious you are, so  different from the other boys. I like the look you get on your face when  you dig your hands into the soil, as if . . . as if you're feeling it  with your whole body. I want to know if you get that same look on your  face when you touch me. I want to know what you're always thinking so  hard about. And I want you to kiss me because I want to know what your  lips feel like on mine." The last word came out breathlessly, and my  heart started pounding harshly in my chest. She'd thought all those  things about me? I hadn't even known she thought anything about me at  all when I wasn't right in front of her.

She leaned closer and I caught her fragrance, feminine and delicate like  her-warm and clean with just the barest hint of . . . vanilla maybe? I  wanted to put my nose against the perfume of her bare skin and close my  eyes. I wanted to see what else I could detect in her subtle scent. She  tilted her head up higher, looking at me, asking me with her eyes to  kiss her.

"Aye, Lydia, I'll kiss ya, but I'll not do more," I said. She was right,  my accent was thicker when I talked to her, and my voice sounded  hoarse, shaky. I couldn't help it. I didn't seem to have any control  around her-not with anything, not my body, not my voice, not my  thoughts. She must know how desperately I wanted to kiss her-how I'd  been dreaming of kissing her since the first day I'd seen her.

Lydia smiled and then held her hand out to me. "But not here. Let's go inside where we can be alone." Oh Jaysus.

I removed my hands from my pockets and took her hand in mine, following  behind her. Her hand was so soft, so warm, and before I even realized  what I was doing, my thumb began making slow circles on her skin,  attempting to learn the texture. With difficulty, I forced my thumb to  still.

She led me to the back door of the stable and shut the door behind us  once we were inside. The smell of hay and horses overwhelmed me and for a  moment, my mind went fuzzy. But when Lydia led me to a decently sized  room, where there was a cot that the men who worked in the stable could  use if there was any cause, like one of the mare's birthing a foal, and  closed the door, the smells lost their pungent quality and I was able to  focus again.

Feeling some apprehension about being totally alone with Lydia in such a  private location, I pulled her hand, halting her. She turned, staring  up at me again. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothin'. This is good, right here," I said. She'd been leading me  toward the cot and I knew that was a bad idea. I'd kiss her once and  then I'd leave. Some small alarm still rang inside me, but I ignored it,  knowing I was helpless to resist her. In the end, I'd do as she wanted  me to do whether it seemed like a good idea or not. I knew it, and she  bloody well knew it, too.

Lydia stepped closer to me until our bodies were barely touching, and  she leaned up on her tiptoes and gently pressed her mouth to mine. I  felt the soft press of her lips as if every nerve ending was focused  right there where we were joined. Hot desire raced through my veins, and  I made a small choking sound. Her eyes opened and something soft and  understanding appeared in her gaze. She moved slowly and sensually as  one hand came up to the back of my head, her fingers weaving through my  hair, the soft scratch of her nails over my scalp causing my skin to  prickle. Lydia's other hand went around my waist, resting there like a  warm weight. I put my trembling hands on her hips, bracing myself, and  closed my eyes, focusing on the feather-light brush of her lips.

Tentatively, I reached my tongue out to taste her, my nerves stretched  as tight as a bow, my senses on overload in a way I'd never experienced  before and wasn't sure how to manage. The mingling of pleasure and pain  wrapped around me, holding me tightly in a strange embrace, an exquisite  torture. I couldn't figure out which sensations to focus on. And  somehow Lydia seemed to know. She dropped her hands from my hair and my  waist so the only parts of us touching were our mouths. I sighed against  her lips, learning the taste of her, a subtle sweetness mixed with a  hint of richness, like milk and honey. God, it was good. Better than  good. Completely fascinated, I delved my tongue into her mouth to get  more of it, and she let out a little whimper, causing me to harden  painfully. Her tongue met mine, wet and warm, and so very, very soft,  drugging me, and yet causing my senses to sing. Our tongues danced and  thrust, and I pressed my groin against hers, seeking some relief, and  finding only more sensation that was both maddeningly pleasurable and  searingly painful.                       
       
           



       

I used all my willpower to pull away, my lips coming off Lydia's with a  wet pop. She gazed at me, confusion and need warring in her expression.  It took me off guard. I'd only ever seen Lydia look fully in control.  "Was that your first kiss, too, Brogan?" she asked uncertainly.

I looked away, trying desperately to control my breathing. "Was I that  bad at it?" I asked, shooting her a small smirk I didn't feel.

She shook her head. The expression on her face was almost one of . . .  wonder. "No, it wasn't that. It was incredible, and I love that it was a  first for both of us. I just . . . you're trembling." She took my hand  and pulled. "Come sit with me on the cot." When I hesitated, she added,  "Please." And so I followed. Again. When we sat down, she scooted closer  and ran a finger down my chest.

"Lydia," I groaned.

"Can I see you?" she whispered. "Please, Brogan? I want to see you." She  began tugging on my T-shirt and I let her, lifting my arms as she  brought it over my head. I sat before her, hardly breathing as her eyes  raked over my bare chest. I knew I was fit. How could I not be? I did  physical labor eight hours a day most days. But I'd never been naked  before anyone. And this wasn't just anyone. This was Lydia, the girl who  made my guts clench with nothing more than a glance. I felt vulnerable  and afraid. I watched as Lydia's delicate throat moved in a swallow.  "God, you're beautiful," she said. "Is it okay if I touch you?"

I nodded. I was incapable of anything else. She reached her hand out  slowly and ran her palm down my chest, using her index finger to move  over the ridges of my stomach, stopping at the sparse, dark line of hair  under my naval that disappeared into my jeans. I sucked in a breath as  her gaze moved down to the erection straining through my pants. Her eyes  met mine in question, and she must have seen something in my face that  gave her permission, because she reached down and ran her hand over my  shaft. "Oh God," I groaned, helplessly pressing myself into her hand. I  couldn't believe this was happening. This was . . . I couldn't think. I  could only want. And I wanted Lydia. I'd wanted Lydia for what seemed  like forever.

We lay back on the cot, and she unbuttoned my jeans and slipped her hand  inside. When she wrapped her warm fingers around me, I jerked in her  hand and groaned, lying perfectly still, just focused on the sensations.  Pleasure and pain. She brought her lips to mine again as she stroked  me, and I turned my mouth away from her. It was too much. Too much all  at once. She continued to stroke me and after a minute, she sat up and  took her tank top off, followed by her bra. Her gaze stayed on me as she  undressed and when her breasts popped free, I barely resisted the urge  to moan at the sight alone. She was so beautiful it hurt me a little.  Her breasts were full and high, creamy white where her swimsuit had  covered her skin from the sun. Her nipples were a pale pink and already  hardened. Jaysus, so pretty. Barely hanging on to control, I sat up and  tasted them, rolling one around my tongue. Lydia gasped, but only  pressed toward me. "You're making me ache, Brogan. I want you. I never  knew . . . Oh," she gasped. I sucked a nipple into my mouth, learning  the texture of that intimate skin, like velvet with barely discernible,  soft ridges at the very peak. And her skin, yes, it was clean with a  light hint of vanilla-maybe a body wash that still barely lingered. She  rolled out from under me, my mouth coming off her breast, but before I  could question what she was doing, she stood and shimmied off her skirt  and underwear and then removed my shoes and socks and jeans. I watched,  dazed. I should stop this. I should. It had gone too far and I couldn't  figure out how it had happened.