Page 27 of Ladies in Hating (Belvoir’s Library Trilogy #3)
Hot water trickled over her hair and rolled in a stream down her spine.
Cat’s fingers touched her cheek, her hair, and then withdrew.
Georgiana struggled to keep her eyes closed against the onslaught of sensation: the spill of heat, then Cat’s touch, then the water again, in waves down Georgiana’s back and across her breasts.
It was unpredictable. Thrilling. Devastating.
Cat’s fingertip traced a path down Georgiana’s spine, then slid around to stroke the outside of Georgiana’s breast. Somehow she’d found soap—her fingers were slippery and smelled of roses.
She toyed with Georgiana’s nipple, almost casually, and Georgiana could not stop the whimper that slipped past her lips.
The way her hips moved restlessly in the water.
“Do you like that?” Cat’s voice was in her ear, and Georgiana could feel the movement of her lips. Cat slid slick fingers along Georgiana’s nipple again, first one, then both at the same time, her arms wrapping around Georgiana from behind.
“Yes,” Georgiana rasped. “God, Catriona. Yes. Let me—” She caught at Cat’s soft upper arm, but her hand was wet and Cat slipped free.
“Not yet,” Cat said. “Stand up first. Keep your eyes closed.”
Georgiana clutched at the sides of the tub as she rose. Water cascaded down her body, and though the room was warm, she felt cold and hot at the same time. Her knees wobbled, and then Cat was there.
“God”—Cat was almost laughing—“don’t fall, that’s not what I meant, I should’ve thought this through—”
Her body was pressed to Georgiana’s front, soft and solid, her chemise growing damp from Georgiana’s body.
Georgiana dug her fingers into Cat’s waist. “Stay with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Georgiana felt another bloom of pleasure, of lust past sense or reason. Another sound broke free from her mouth, and she kept her eyes clamped closed, because Cat had asked her to, and Georgiana wanted feverishly to please her.
Carefully Cat transferred Georgiana’s fingers from her waist to the sides of the tub. She kissed Georgiana’s neck, then licked her way down Georgiana’s body, stopping here and there to slide her tongue along Georgiana’s ribs, her navel, the crease of her thigh.
Georgiana clutched at the sides of the tub and tried not to fall. “Can I look at you?”
“If you like,” Cat murmured, her lips moving against the prominence of Georgiana’s hip.
Georgiana opened her eyes.
Cat knelt at the side of the tub. Her wet chemise was transparent, and her full breasts were barely contained by her stays. Georgiana could see the rosy edges of Cat’s areolae, her heavy lashes, the careful concentration of her mouth.
Cat picked up the final can of water and poured it in a slow trickle from Georgiana’s navel down across her sex.
Georgiana heard herself groan, and Cat echoed the sound, softer, hungrier. She cupped Georgiana’s hip, digging her fingers in.
And then she poured another careful stream of water.
Georgiana couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. The water was warm and soft and too gentle, and it did nothing to soothe the painful throb of desire, only pulled it higher and tighter. “Catriona,” she said—a broken-off plea.
Cat poured another stream of water, and Georgiana thought she might die. Her body was trembling, desire rolling over her in fierce and frantic waves.
And then Cat followed the water with her mouth.
“Oh—” Georgiana managed, and then she forgot how to speak, because her fingers were in Cat’s hair, and Cat’s hands held her fast, and Cat’s tongue was making tiny circles around her clitoris, and God, oh God, it was only moments before Georgiana came so hard that white lights sparkled in the edges of her vision.
“Catriona,” she was saying, when her hearing returned, “oh God, oh please— ”
And then Cat was standing, gathering Georgiana into her arms, and bringing their mouths together in a frantic clash.
They stumbled to the bed. Cat was still half dressed, her shift heavy with water. Her stockings slipped against the floor.
Georgiana couldn’t bring herself to stop. Somehow Cat was in the bed, their mouths locked hungrily together, and so Georgiana followed Cat down, one knee pressed to the mattress between Cat’s thighs.
She yanked down the top edge of Cat’s stays, and Cat’s breasts came spilling out, heavy and lush and so goddamned sweet. Georgiana relinquished Cat’s mouth with a groan and moved to suck on one of Cat’s hardened nipples.
She had a moment of pause—was this too fast?—and then Cat groaned and arched up. Her hands were seeking, helpless, digging into Georgiana’s dripping hair. “Georgie,” she gasped, “please—I need—”
Her hips jerked, and Georgiana felt a hot pulse between her own legs at the sight of Cat, undone with need, her nipple wet from Georgiana’s mouth.
She pulled Cat’s sodden chemise free, letting Cat’s sex grind down against her thigh. Her vision darkened at the slick sensation of Cat’s arousal on her skin. “Take what you need,” she said. “God—Catriona—can you make yourself come like this?”
Cat whimpered and rocked, and Georgiana set her mouth back to Cat’s nipple.
Oh God, she was half out of her head. She wanted to please Cat, but she did not know what she was about.
She only knew what she wanted, the instincts of her need and the revelation of Cat’s response.
She could not stop herself from sucking hard, from clutching at the soft, luxurious weight of Cat’s breasts.
“Don’t stop,” Cat said, and so Georgiana didn’t, not even when Cat’s voice broke on a sob and her thighs trembled where they clamped around Georgiana’s own.
She didn’t stop until Cat tangled her fingers in Georgiana’s hair and pulled Georgiana back up to her mouth.
They breathed, not quite in unison, for several long minutes.
And even then, Georgiana could not make herself stop touching Cat.
She did not want to stop. She let herself give in to a decade of desire, let it swamp her, let it bear her away from safety and control and everything else she usually held dear.
She stroked Cat’s neck, her collarbone, the soft curve of her waist and belly. She nuzzled her mouth into the place where Cat’s neck met her shoulder. “God,” she mumbled, “God, you taste good.”
She could hear the smile in Cat’s voice as Cat touched the side of Georgiana’s hip, very lightly. “So do you.”
It took a moment for Cat’s meaning to dawn. More than a moment—it took the slow slide of Cat’s fingers across her lower belly, and another throb of need between her thighs before Georgiana realized what Cat had meant.
So she was blushing when Cat laughed and rolled her over in the bed. When Cat kissed away the heat in her cheeks and throat.
“Georgie mine,” Cat whispered against her skin, “let me taste you again.”
And Georgiana did.