"I—No. Is that always part of lovemaking?"
The struggle with his conscience took a split second, and his conscience lost, as always.
"Absolutely," he said firmly. "One wouldn't want to criticize a former lover, but..." He had her trembling, so he slid his fingers just to the edge of the soft curls between her legs. "A man always touches a woman here. Because—" He pulled her closer so he could feel her soft breasts against his chest."—because that is where a woman is most luscious and most delicate, which in itself sets a man on fire." He let a finger drop deep, stroke and glide.
Her head dropped back against his arm, so he bent to kiss her throat. "He touches her like this," he said, licking her shoulder and letting his fingers wander. "That's—lovely," Eleanor said, the break in her voice sending another jolt down to Villiers's groin.
"Surely he kissed you here?" He kissed his way down the slope of her breast, ran his teeth gently over her nipple.
"Of—Of course," she said, her back arching toward him. "That feels so good!" He didn't think she was talking only about the fact he was suckling her, so he increased the pressure of his fingers a little bit.
Her little cries were an aphrodisiac like no other, so he knelt again before she had a chance to protest and pulled her legs apart even farther.
She was so exquisite that he was shaking like a lad experiencing his first woman.
"I'm not sure," she cried. "Oh Leo, you can't—"
"Of course I can."
"It's not proper," Eleanor cried desperately. "I can't think that it is. I've never heard of such a thing."
She looked around wildly, apparently remembering again that they were outside. "And we're—"
Her voice broke off because he had dipped his fingers into the chilly water and stroked them over the hottest part of her body. Her mouth fell open and she made a choked noise. He smiled against her leg and let his fingers dance.
"I'm going to kiss you now," he said, when he had her trembling.
She managed to say "Leo," but it was a weak protest and he knew it. He put his mouth on her, delicately, in the sweetest kiss of all. It took only a moment. Her hands twisted in his hair, her hips arched, and she broke in a cry, a quaking, muffled cry that was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard.
He straightened slowly, knowing he was just barely in control. "You look like a virgin sacrifice, waiting on the rock for a dragon to sweep by," he said, hearing the growling tone in his own voice.
She opened her eyes. "I'm no virgin," she whispered, pulling him closer.
"And I'm so grateful for that," he whispered back. "I just need to find my breeches."
"Now," she cried, pulling him to her. "Oh God, Leo, please, please... I want you."
"Not as much as I want you," he growled. He couldn't even let his body touch hers. If he allowed himself even a touch, he would lose control, plunge into her sweetness, take her right there under God's sky and with no shame.
Eleanor couldn't think lucidly. She was leaning against a rock in the sunshine. She was naked. She was about to make love with a man to whom she had no formal attachment. She was...
All the considerations that should have made her run shrieking into the woods seemed inconsequential, when she could instead watch Leopold's beautiful haunch as he leaned over and pulled a French letter from the pocket of his breeches, throwing them toward the riverbank.
"Do you carry those with you at all times?" she asked.
He straightened and turned around. His body almost took her breath away: it was so powerful, muscled and beautiful... so very different from hers. She wasn't prone to feeling dainty and feminine, though she felt just that as she stood there in the sunshine, waiting. But she didn't move, afraid that she would break the spell if she moved. That one of them would regain some common sense and reach for clothing.
"Are we going to make love standing up?" she asked shyly a few moments later. "Oh!" Because they clearly were going to do just that. His big hands cupped her bottom and he pulled her up a bit and then...
And then she opened her thighs and he was sliding in, and it was different—so different—than she remembered. His hands were curled around her bottom but her entire being was focused somewhere else. He was slow and she needed it. She could feel every inch.
It was enthralling—a bit painful—exquisite. Her nails dug into his shoulders. "Too much?" he whispered, his voice a growl. "You're so tight, Eleanor." "Just go slow," she said in a gasp. He took another inch and the pleasure of it streaked like fire down her legs. She bit his lip. He growled at her and took another inch.