Читать книгу A Scoundrel By Moonlight - Anna Campbell - Страница 14

Miss Trim’s—Eleanor’s—lips trembled against Leath’s. Touching her was so sweet that he almost forgot that he didn’t trust her. Not for a moment did he believe that she was smitten. On the other hand, he did, against all sense, believe that she’d never kissed a man before.

Where the devil had she been living? In a cave under a mountain? He always chose sophisticated, experienced lovers. But there was something breathtaking about setting his lips to Eleanor’s and knowing he was the first.

This girl possessed no worldly skills to augment his pleasure. Which didn’t mean there was no pleasure. There was far too much, damn it.

The proximity of his bed, the late hour, her tantalizing combination of shyness and eagerness. All conspired to erode his anger and suspicion, and remind him that she was beautiful and night after night he’d dreamed of touching her.

Gentleness won out as he tasted lips locked against him. A pang of inconvenient tenderness struck him as he recalled her kissing him as if battering him into submission. Now her resistance seeped away until she fit against him as though created to please him. He kissed the corners of her mouth, then nipped softly at her full bottom lip.

A muffled protest parted her lips.

It was enough.

The tip of his tongue invaded her mouth. Just that small incursion blasted him with enough heat to incinerate good intentions.

She jerked back, cinnamon eyes dark, troubled, heavy with desire. “That was … strange.”

He smiled and cradled her head between his hands. “You’ll come to like it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am.” He beat back another wave of tenderness. When she stood willingly in his arms, trembling with the onslaught of new feelings and experiences, she undermined his every defense. Again he pressed his mouth to hers. His tongue traced the seam of her lips. “Open for me, Eleanor.”

Her eyes were glazed. “I—”

Leath swooped, sliding his tongue into the hot depths and tasting her fully. He closed his eyes, the better to savor every nuance. She was sweeter than cherries or peaches or apricots. Like honey, but with a tart edge.

She made a sound in her throat. Denial or encouragement? Then her tongue fluttered against his, and this time, her sigh betrayed enjoyment. Her hands kneaded his loose shirt like a kitten sharpening its claws.

How long did he stand beside the fire kissing Miss Trim? He didn’t know. Eventually, inevitably, kissing wasn’t enough. His lips drifted across her face and down her neck. When he concentrated on a nerve at the junction of neck and shoulder, she cried out. Her fresh scent became richer, earthier.

He aroused her. God knew, she aroused him. His hand shook when he raised it to the line of buttons descending from her demure collar. He fumbled at the fastenings—he, who hadn’t fumbled with a woman’s clothing since he’d left Cambridge.

Her face flushed with pleasure. Her eyes were closed and her glistening mouth parted as she awaited more kisses. She leaned into him as though her legs couldn’t support her. He wasn’t feeling too stable himself. His blood pounded hot and heavy, the need to touch her skin an insistent hum in his ears. Her breath emerged in ragged sighs and her strong, graceful hands curved around his shoulders.

The gray dress gaped. He felt like a traveler venturing into an unexplored land. How he’d fantasized about stripping away her nun-like clothing.

He bent to kiss her collarbone, lingered on the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. Sliding one hand under her shift, he cupped her breast. The weight of her flesh in his palm crashed through him like a hurricane.

She gasped and stiffened. “This is wrong.”

“Yes,” he agreed. He might be a fool; he’d never been a liar.

“You promised … kissing only,” she said unsteadily, although without withdrawing.

“Then let me kiss you again.”

Her lips quivered with uncertainty until with a sigh, she succumbed to the heat. Her beaded nipple scraped his palm. When he flicked it with his thumb, she started and gasped into his mouth. She pressed forward, silently begging for more.

Her reaction excited him. Urgently he pushed her undergarments down to bare one breast to the firelight. Seeing that satiny white flesh crowned with deep pink made him shake with need. The sight was somehow more arousing because plain white linen covered her other breast. He felt as though he unwrapped the most wonderful present in history.

Unable to stop himself, he bent to take that pearled nipple into his mouth. She gave a soft cry and squeezed closer. He drew harder, curling his tongue. Then, when she panted and squirmed and dug her hands deep into his hair, he gently bit her. Another start of shock.

Dear God, she was so responsive. He couldn’t remember a lover so attuned to pleasure.

Her swollen, parted lips beckoned him. He kissed her again, glorying in her quick, hot answer, even as he hoisted her high in his arms and carried her to the huge bed that he’d never shared with a woman.

When he came down over her, her legs parted to cradle him. He pressed into her mound, letting her feel his weight and size.

She wriggled and made a choked sound, but he was too far gone to pay attention. One unsteady hand stretched down to raise her skirts. He burned to touch her sex.

She made another strangled sound against his lips and caught his hand as it reached her thigh. Vaguely through raging tumult, he sensed that her body wasn’t as loose and welcoming as it had been.

Wits dull with arousal, he raised his head. “Eleanor?”

His heart sank. She looked tense and afraid and unhappy. His hand stilled at her hip, although he couldn’t bring himself to retreat.