“And then you left,” she went on, “and I felt so stupid for it. It made me question everything I believed about myself. That’s why I wrote the pamphlet.”
“You needn’t—”
“No, I need you to know this. I owe you this much. When I said it wasn’t about you, I wasn’t being dishonest. If you’d allowed me to finish, I would have explained. It was about me. I was so heartbroken, and so angry with myself for my inability to forget you. I needed to believe that there was something special inside me. Some reason worth continuing on, when it felt as though everything was lost. First Andrew, then you. All my hopes and plans. I was desperate to pull myself together, find a new purpose.”
“You did. You did that all, and more. I’m fiercely proud of you.”
“And I’m proud of what you’ve accomplished, too.” She touched his hair. “Envious of it, to be honest. But proud, as well.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Your opinion means a great deal to me.”
“Does it?” She rested her fingers on his cheek.
“More than you know.”
And then his lips touched hers.
He dipped his head to kiss her neck, then her chest. He nuzzled back and forth, easing her chemise aside to expose more of her bosom. The linen slipped from her shoulder, freeing the pale globe of her breast, capped by her dark, taut nipple.
He stared down at her for a long, nerve-shredding moment, his brow furrowed and eyes intent. “So lovely.”
Then he bent his head and captured her nipple in his mouth.
Pleasure ripped through her, bright as lightning and leaving her equally shocked. He licked and teased her, drawing circles around the aching tip before taking her in his mouth again and suckling her hard.
Nora’s back arched as she was racked by the exquisite sensations.
Meanwhile, he skimmed his hand upward, beginning at the calf and slowly climbing to her knee, her thigh, and then higher. His exploration was slow and thorough. Devastating.
He lifted his head from her breast, his fingers paused on her upper thigh—just at the border between Mere Impropriety and Utter Ruin.
His breath stirred her hair. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this.”
She wanted this. She’d always wanted this.
And she made a promise to herself, then and there: No shame. No regrets. No thoughts of the future, either. There would be only wanting and pleasure tonight. Whatever happened between them, the fault or credit would be hers, just as much as it was his.
She shifted on the bed, letting her leg fall to the side, giving him freer access.
Offering him everything.
He slid his hand higher, settling his palm over her mound and parting her folds with callused fingers.
Her breathing grew hot, heavy. He stroked up and down, inflaming her with desire and spreading the thin sheen of moisture with his fingertips. A hollow feeling built deep inside. She was aching for him.
She pushed through the folds of linen and quilt to find the hard ridge of his arousal. He twisted his hips to help her as she undid the buttons of his falls, freeing him.
As she skimmed one fingertip over the tip, a low moan escaped his throat.
They turned onto their sides, facing one another. Truthfully, it was the only way they would both fit on the bed. Unless one of them were atop the other, of course, and Nora wasn’t quite ready for that part.
She never would have dreamed that she could do this without dying of mortification—staring unabashedly into a man’s eyes while he fondled her most intimate places and she stroked his. But it wasn’t nearly as awkward as Nora had worried it might be. This was Dash, after all. They were merely two people who’d been acquainted all their lives, getting to know one another in this new, thrilling way. She searched every inch of him she could touch, marveling.
A wicked smile curved his mouth. “Well? How do you find me?”
“Large.”
He chuckled.
“It wasn’t meant as a compliment.” She peered down between them, studying the formidable, thick curve of his erection, arcing up toward his navel. “I knew a man’s organ hardened, but I didn’t realize it swelled so. Are all men like this?”
“Some are smaller. And some are larger, I’m sure.”
“You’re so hard.” She slid her hand slowly down the full length of him, from tip to base. “But soft to the touch.”
He leaned forward, kissing her cheek and ear.
“You’re soft, as well,” he whispered. His thick finger slid inside her, and she gasped. He pushed in and out, a bit deeper each time. “Sleek. And tight. And wet.”
He was wet, too. Just a little bit, at the tip. She touched her finger to the bead of moisture and spread it in widening circles. He groaned.
With a muttered oath, he flipped her onto her back, pushing her chemise to her waist and then drawing the garment over her head and casting it aside. He shucked his trousers as well, shaking them off one leg to land on the floor.
“My shirt,” he directed, bending to kiss her. As their tongues tangled, she grasped the linen by the hem and pushed upward, helping him disentangle one arm, then the other. He broke the kiss just long enough to pull the garment over his head, then bent to kiss her again.
“Wait,” she said, pressing her hands flat to his chest. “Let me touch you.”
“If you insist.”
He stayed like that, straddling her waist as she skimmed her hands over the sculpted planes of his chest and shoulders. Running her palms down his strong, sinewy arms.
“You must tell me what you like,” she said.
“I like”—when she brushed her thumbs over his nipples, he sucked in his breath—“that. I like you. I like everything.”
“No, I mean . . .” She gathered the courage to meet his eyes. “I’m not experienced, of course. But I want this to be good. Perfect.”
“Nora.” He moved his weight forward, balancing on his elbows. “Let’s address this right now. It’s not going to be perfect.”
“But—”
“It’s not. We can’t be other than we are. You, being you, are already setting unrealistic expectations. You’ll likely act on bad assumptions. And I, being myself, am liable to be rash and overbearing.” He nestled his hips between her legs, pushing her thighs wide. His lips touched her forehead. “I may hurt you, when the last thing I want is to cause you pain.”
“I know.”
“So it’s not going to be perfect. That doesn’t mean it can’t be good.”
She bit her lip. “I think I promised magnificent.”
His laugh was husky and warm. He lowered his body to cover hers.
His strong, hairy leg twined with her smooth, slender one. She kissed his neck, and his shoulders tensed. His hardness pulsed at the cleft of her legs. She could sense how heroically he was struggling to hold back.
Nora reclined against the satin lining of his cloak.
No more conversation.
It must be now.
He reached between them, positioning the broad head of his arousal where they both wanted—no, needed—it to be.
Then his hips flexed, and he pushed inside her, just a bit. An inch, perhaps.
Again. Another inch.
Again, and again.
Each time, she gasped for breath. Her fingernails dug into his arms.
He was killing her by increments, filling her and stretching her and hurting her and giving her all of himself. Everything she’d been missing for so long. It was bliss and torture all at once.
At last, he was completely within her, and his heartbeat pounded next to hers.
A sense of rightness settled all the rioting sensations of pleasure and pain. No, it wasn’t perfect.
It was exactly what she’d always wanted it to be.
Dash, you idiot. You’ve made a grave mistake.
Just staring down at Nora’s breathless, flushed face, he could have kicked himself. The sensation of her body surrounding his, hugging him in the tightest, most intimate embrace . . . The pleasure was enough to drive him mad. He was thrusting into her, mindless with bliss and years of pent-up need, pushing himself ever closer to the brink.
And he was hurting her, badly.
Which perhaps was unavoidable from the first, but he should have made certain she found pleasure first. Now there would be no chance of her reaching climax.
Unless . . .
Unless she hadn’t been lying about the passion in her fingertips.
“Touch yourself,” he said.
“What?”
“Touch yourself. Where it pleases you.”
He tried to make this voice a deep, dark command. So that she wouldn’t even think to question—just assume his to be the voice of experience.
Tentatively, she slid her right hand from his shoulder and worked it between them, settling her fingertips right where their bodies joined.
“Yes?” she breathed.
“Yes.” He plunged deeper. “God, yes.”
He levered up on his arms and sat back on his haunches, try to give her more room. Well, and also to give himself more space to watch.
What a picture she made. Her fiery hair, her smooth skin. Her long, elegant fingers working between her legs, and her full breasts rolling to the rhythm he set.
Damn. He’d never seen anything so arousing in his life.
It was almost too much. He had to close his eyes for a few strokes.
Think about ice, he told himself. Wind and sleet. Squalls off the Cape of Good Hope. Anything to cool the surging crisis in his loins.