Seven Minutes in Heaven(62)

“When I was in prison, my smalls became infested with fleas. I threw them out and never used that particular garment again.”

One of those big hands took hold of his manhood and slowly stroked its whole length. Eugenia’s heart quickened at the sight. Her eyes fell lower and his legs were—well, they turned her mouth dry with one glance. They looked carved from warm marble, like those of a Greek athlete poised, javelin in hand.

He stopped just before her, his hands rounding her bottom. As if he somehow knew exactly what would make her dizzy, his right leg slid between her legs and he pulled her forward, grinding her softness against his thigh.

She shocked herself with a panting breath. “That feels. . . .” His thigh was pressing a fold of silk against her most private part.

“Drop your gown, Eugenia,” he said in her ear. She heard his order through a blinding flash of sensation from his touch, his smell, his tongue on her ear.

She hadn’t even realized that her fingers were still clenched. She looked at him, dazed, and he pried open her fingers and pulled the gown so it slithered to the floor.

She whimpered as he pushed his thigh back between her legs, unprotected by a barrier of silk. “You like that,” Ward growled.

Eugenia couldn’t find her voice so she nodded, blood thundering through her veins.

He pressed again, harder. “Do you want more?”

In answer, she leaned forward and licked him at the join of his thick neck and shoulder.

“Hell,” Ward groaned, his leg abruptly straightening, pitching her against him. His mouth pushed hers open roughly, possessing it without warning or apology.

Eugenia wound her arms around his neck and tilted her head, giving him everything, loving the way Ward plundered her mouth, his tongue thrusting deep, making her legs tremble and her breath turn to frantic pants.

He tore his mouth away and looked down, a curse spilling from his mouth.

Eugenia’s corset barely reached her waist. Her only remaining garments were pale silk stockings held up by garters with red bows, and her favorite heeled shoes.

Glancing down, she saw pale skin, curves, and the tuft of red hair that covered her most private place.

“There are no words to describe you,” Ward said, his voice strangled and rough. “You’re so damn beautiful, Eugenia, like Venus and Diana in one woman. No man could see you without falling to his knees and begging.”

“Begging for what?” Eugenia asked achingly.

“This,” Ward said, falling to his knees.

Surprised, Eugenia looked down. Was he about to? Andrew had . . . but only months into their marriage, under the covers, and a very few times.

“Oh my God,” she breathed as Ward drew her legs apart and his warm tongue ran over the tender flesh on the inside of her thigh.

She held her breath.

When his tongue touched her again, a broken cry came from Eugenia’s lips, and her knees shook so much that she fell against the chair at her back. Ward’s hands tightened on her legs, holding her steady as he licked and teased, sending streaks of bliss through her.

Eugenia’s mind tumbled from one thing to another, from the acute waves of pure sensation rocking her, to the sight of his bunched thighs crouched before her, to his rumpled chestnut curls, to the way harsh breaths expanded his chest.

Another delicate, twisting caress with his tongue and she sank to her knees. “I want to touch you too,” she gasped.

“Not here.” Ward leaned forward and scooped her into his arms, coming to his feet in one smooth movement.

Eugenia pressed kisses on his shoulders, loving how they flexed as he carried her across the room to the great bed as if she were light as a meringue.

Her heart was thudding and her body racing with erotic pleasure. All the same, she couldn’t suppress a wide smile. Was she meant to be feeling this bubbling laughter, even as a bead of sweat ran down the back of one knee?

Ward laid her on the bed and leaned over her, arms braced on either side. “I see that you are a drunken lover.”

“I scarcely had a glass.” She arched up, kissing his chin, toeing off her shoes at the same time.

“Drunk on this,” he said, taking her hand and wrapping it around his tool, his hand enclosing hers.

Eugenia felt her eyes growing wide. It had been years . . . she’d forgotten what a man felt like, silk and smooth and hard as rock all at once. Extraordinarily alive, pulsating in her hand.

She tightened her grip.

Ward growled, shifting his weight onto the bed, thrusting into her hand.

“I had forgotten,” she breathed.

He pulled back and her hand slid away. “No talk of your husband,” he ordered. “Not in this bedchamber, Eugenia.”

“I wasn’t referring to him in particular.”