Page 25 of Lady Petra and the Wolf

Drawing back from the intensity of the moment, he inclined his head to rest his brow against her own.

“May I show you pleasure, Petra? With my hands?”

Petra pulled away for a moment, and something dark passed across her face at the word hands.

“What will you do?” she whispered, the vulnerability in her voice setting off something primal and possessive in his chest.

Leaning forward so that he could speak against the delicate shell of her ear, he realized he needed to both reassure her and seduce her, and he let his words paint a picture.

“First, I will trace my finger up those delectable legs, while every nerve will be afire with awareness of my touch,” he rasped, hyper-aware of her deep inhalation of breath. “Then, I will pull up those skirts and find the slit in your drawers, which I will part so that my hands can feel the essence of you, which I will stroke until you cry out in absolute pleasure, chasing your own release in the most beautiful petite mort imaginable.” Pulling away from her ear, Wolf looked between her eyes. “Would you like that?” he asked more earnestly than he meant to.

The darkness that had passed across her face before was gone, replaced by a wild curiosity he had only seen a few times before, matched with a self-conscious lust he found both arousing and charming. Shyly, she nodded and Wolf proceeded to be a man of his word, utilizing his fingers to bring her the ultimate pleasure. For the first time in his life, someone else’s pleasure and release mattered much more than his own and he relished the feel of her ecstasy against him, satisfied in a primal way that had been previously unknown to him.

Watching her chest rising and falling, as if trying to restore her breath while she righted her skirts, Wolf regretted his earlier conversation with Kemberley. He would not rush or trap Petra through this kind of intimacy. It was far too sacred, meant only for the two of them, alone in this warm, fiery glow of the library. He would find another way to make her his.

Of course, just as he had this thought, Lord Kemberley and several others burst into the library.

Behind him, Wolf heard the gasps and he craned his head so that his body still blocked Petra but he could see their audience. Standing in a queue stood several key members of the haute ton, including the Stillwells and Lady Wyestone, their mouths agape in surprise. Though not Kemberley. The man merely shook his head as a knowing expression crossed his face.

“My daughter, Wolfridge. If you do not marry her, I shall have to call you out, sir.”

While the others likely heard a concerned father, Wolf heard the spider who had led the fly to his web.

Turning back to Petra, her chest heaved as before, but this time the lust was gone, replaced by frustration and anger. Her large eyes narrowed on her father as a V formed between her dark brows.

“He appears pleased,” she murmured. Of course Petra would see past the outward appearance of concern.

Wolf glanced toward the man before returning his attention to the lady at his side. “He is merely reacting to the situation. Come on, Pet, it won’t be so bad. After all, we have this.” Wolf gestured between them, as if he could bottle the chemistry they created together.

Petra went completely still at his words.

“What did you call me?”

Wolf cocked his head as dread began a pronounced crawl up his spine, seeping throughout his being. “I don’t recall, it must have just slipped out.”

Slowly shaking her head, she bit the inside of her cheek before speaking again.

“You called me Pet. The only one who ever calls me Pet is him.” She looked back to her father who was conversing with a frantic Lady Stillwell. “Did you and he conspire together?”

“No, we… I—”

“I heard my father met with a gentleman earlier today. It was you, wasn’t it?”

“He may have called me in to discuss—”

“You did conspire with him.” For the second time in a few short weeks, Wolf was treated to Petra’s heart breaking before him, evident on her usually impassive face. But this time after her countenance cycled through a dizzying kaleidoscope of fear and sorrow, her face ultimately settled into a rigid, unyielding mask of anger.

“You trapped me.” While the words were heated, he discerned a current of sadness deep below the anger, a discovery that inflicted a visceral ache within his chest.

“No, not a trap, just a way to hurry you along.” Wolf clamped his jaw shut, recognizing only in the cold silence that followed how profoundly wretched his words sounded once they had escaped his lips.

“I see. You and my father had it all figured out.”

“Not necessarily. I am not in league with your father. He made a suggestion, and I didn’t quite disagree.” Wolf winced again at the sound of his own words.

Petra visibly swallowed. “So, all of this, everything tonight, came from my father’s suggestion?”

“N-no,” Wolf was usually much smoother of tongue than this. Why was he stumbling over every other word? “This was real.”