Page 57 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

“Just a little tilt, love,” he said, already sliding her drawers off her body. “I need to get these off.”

Love?

Not darling. Love. Something different. Something new and entirely theirs. The thing she’d been chasing all these years.

If her brain wasn’t so terribly fogged over, she might have teased him for the endearment. Or, rather, might have begged him to say it again.

With her drawers gone, she was completely nude, her body bare to him. He sat back, his gaze dragging over every inch of her. She responded in kind, admiring the expanse of his bare chest, peppered with dark hair that tapered into a trail that she was certain led somewhere quite dangerous.

“Christ, Farah,” he breathed, pressing his hands to his thighs in a show of restraint. “Look at you.”

Glancing down, Farah saw the body she knew and cared for, from the rolls of her stomach to the iridescent stretchmarks on her breasts. All of it perfect, and perfectly on display for Grey to appreciate with abandon.

Propping himself on his knees, he began to touch her, his hands equal parts gentle and firm. An anticipatory tightness began to build in Farah’s stomach as she made an attempt to control her panting breaths. Grey bent his head, pressing a kiss to her thigh as he parted her legs. Without warning, he ran a finger through her folds, his skin coming away slick. Farah shifted, eager to re-experience the jolt of delicious pleasure that had rolled through her at his touch.

“Here,” he murmured, taking hold of her calf and lifting her leg until it was draped over the armrest of the chair. “That’s better.”

An uncharacteristic shyness shot through her, and, for a moment, she considered asking him to move to the bed, if only to escape the overwhelming light of the fireplace. That moment, however, was fleeting, because as soon as she opened her mouth, he had his head between her legs, his beard grazing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Whatever sentences she might have strung together were replaced by moans as he worked the bundle of nerves at her core with his mouth and tongue. All shame went up in smoke as she slid forward in the armchair, offering as much of herself to him as she physically could, her free ankle finding purchase on his shoulder.

To think she might have missed out on this, this intimacy and aching need that was turning into yet another tiny dream she would carry in her heart for—

Farah gasped as Grey eased a finger into her, his strokes coaxing her to a place she knew well. Whatever sensations she’d brought forth in the past through her own ministrations did not even begin to compare to the dizzying electricity coursing through her now. It built slowly but surely, driven by Grey’s single-minded focus on her pleasure. When she came undone, it was in a burst of sparks and laughter, the latter barely muffled behind her hand. Grey lifted his head, a lopsided grin she’d never seen before gracing his normally severe face.

“Have I entertained you?”

A cross between a giggle and a snort escaped her. “I would say so, yes.”

“Good.” He pushed himself up onto his knees to kiss her, his hands resting on the armrests on either side of her body. “I aim to please.”

Oh, the things Farah would sacrifice to hear such words on an endless loop. Another tiny dream.

His kisses were drawn out and languid—and careful, always careful—as if they had all the time in the world with one another. As if they had forever. Then, as if registering that they did not, in fact, have forever, Farah was struck with the desire to please him. All the things he said she deserved to feel, just once—those were things he deserved, too. Pressing a hand to the middle of his chest, she gave him a light push. It was, of course, not enough to move Grey the slightest bit, but he pretended it was, parting from her with a questioning expression as she slid off the armchair to settle on her knees before him. They gazed at one another for a beat, Farah wishing she could mend his broken heart as something completely foreign to her flickered in his stormy eyes.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pressed a kiss to his mouth before whispering, “You deserve everything I do. I hope you know that.”

He didn’t respond, choosing instead to pull her as close as possible, deepening the kiss until Farah squirmed with eager excitement. Grey allowed her to lead, lying flat on the plush rug beneath him as she straddled his hips. A feeble attempt at patience had her trailing kisses down his chest and stomach, enjoying the sharp inhales brought forth by each press of her mouth to his skin. When she arrived at his scar, she paused before giving it a feather-light kiss.

“Farah—”

“Yes?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

She continued her journey downward until she reached the waistband of his trousers. Just as he’d done for her, she slid his clothing off his frame until every stitch of it had been tossed aside, revealing the body she’d caught herself daydreaming about once or twice. His build was as solid and strong as she’d suspected, every inch of him hard and unyielding.

A warm, joyful buzz began to build beneath Farah’s skin as she straddled him again, his hands coming up to caress her hips and thighs. For reasons she could not fathom, an unbearable happiness washed over her. A part of her wondered if that was the right way to feel, if she should instead be breathless with desire or chomping at the bit to experience another burst of pleasure, but the emotion that shone through all the others was simple happiness. She was elated that she was here with him. The touches, the kisses—all of them made her feel cared for, and she knew deep inside that it was because they came from him.

Grey Montgomery, who understood her more than anyone else ever had. It only made sense that he was the man she chose to do this with.

“Careful,” he said, his pupils dilated as he watched her wrap a hand around his erection to guide it into her. “As slow as you need.”

Affection began to intermingle with joy as Farah smiled at him, reveling in the continuous back and forth of his thumb stroking her hip. Heeding his words, she took her time, sinking atop him in short, measured bursts, mesmerized by the sharp rise and fall of his chest. She felt no pain, only pressure and gorgeous, irresistible fullness.

When he was finally, blessedly buried to the hilt, he let out a strangled, “Christ.”

Farah began to move, her hands pressing into his shoulders for stability. The wet heat between her legs banished all friction, sending shivers of pure pleasure tripping up her spine.

“Tell me when you need me to take over,” he gritted out, his hands guiding her into a steady rhythm. “The minute you tire—”