Page 68 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

Her grin widened. “Are you saying I’m right?”

“Is that what you want to hear?”

She fluttered her eyelashes. “Yes, please.”

“Then yes, you are, on occasion, right. Now, do you mind very much?” he added sternly. “I am in the middle of something, if you please.”

“By all means, your lordship.”

He pressed closer still, and the heat in her center liquefied. He tugged up her outer skirts, pushing them around her waist. Then her petticoats, tucking them carefully. His sides, warm and bare, tickled her inner thighs. It was nice to not have to rush.

But he was taking too long.

“Keir,” she said, reaching for her gown to help him. All of her dresses were constructed so she did not require a lady’s maid, and even her stays laced in front. She could be naked in minutes.

He grabbed her wrist. “Ah, ah.”

She scowled at him. “What?”

“That’s for me to do.”

“Then do it. You are taking too long.”

“I’m going to take my time,” he scolded her, smiling a truly dangerous smile she had never seen before. It did not improve her patience. In fact, it made her feel quite wild. “And I’m going to unwrap you like a present.”

“You always took an insufferably long time unwrapping presents,” she complained.

“And you tore through paper like a badger. I once saw you bite through a ribbon,” he said fondly.

“I want to bite you.” Everywhere. Immediately.

“I have every intention of letting you.”

“I’m not convinced,” she sniffed, just to needle him into action. Into touching her, kissing her. Anything. “In fact, I think you’ve changed your mind.”

“Brat,” he said fondly.

She reached for the placket of his breeches. If he wouldn’t touch her, the least he could do was let her touch him. He closed his fingers around her wrist and clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Keir.”

“You come first, Sybil. Always. If you don’t come, I don’t come.”

And then he kissed her deeply, thoroughly, even as his thumbs grazed her quim, slipping through her wetness, parting her until she was gasping into his mouth. He was still teasing her. A brush of his fingers, pressing just inside, slipping up and over her bud until she squirmed against him.

And then he released her to finish loosening her dress. She was wet and swollen and panting for breath as the dress was pulled off, then her stays. Her chemise was thin, reaching the tops of her thighs. Her nipples strained against the sheer material, puckering at just the brush of his gaze. “Sybil, do you like this chemise very much?”

She swallowed. “No.”

“Are you quite sure?”

“Yes.”

“Thank God.” His big hands fisted into the chemise and he tore it in half. The sound went straight to her head. She gasped. “It was in my way.”

“I’ve decided I hate all chemises.”

He ran his palm up her torso, as if mesmerized. “Your breasts are absolutely”—he dipped his head reverently toward them—“perfect,” he continued, around her nipple, sucking it slowly, then with more fervor. Heat shot into her quim with every lick and suckle. Her toes were curling into the coverlet by the time he dragged his lips down her stomach. She wanted to touch him, but he was just out of reach, gleaming and golden.