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He slid his arms around her, catching her by the waist. “I’ve got you. Don’t try to stand.”

Somehow, he swept her legs out from under her and carried her to the couch. Dimly, she registered a moment of surprise at his easy strength, as his body wasn’t as bulky with muscle as some men were. But that must be a byproduct of his boxing practice, despite the overall leanness of his frame.

He laid her gently on the couch, and even went so far as to place a pillow beneath her head. “Thank you,” she mumbled.

He brushed a curl of hair away from her cheek. “Are you cold? I can fetch your dress.”

She shook her head. She was anything but cold, molten pleasure still seeping through her in waves of heat.

Heavy satisfaction suffused her, which made her realize he’d experienced no such resolution. Last time, he’d stopped her from touching him, and it had been rather fun to leave him unsatisfied. This time, however, she didn’t want to end this without feeling her hand wrapped around his cock.

Once she caught her breath, she hauled herself into a sitting position, weary muscles protesting the movement. “You’re getting very good at that,” she said. “Perhaps a reward is in order. Lie back.”

He gave her a look hot with hungry anticipation, along with a trace of incredulity, as if he didn’t really believe this was about to happen. But he lay back, positioning a pillow beneath his shoulders and clasping his hands behind his head so he could still look at her.

Lucretia brushed her hand over the protrusion of his arousal through his tunic. “Is this all for me?”

A shudder went through him at the light touch. “Yes.”

“Have you thought about me doing this before? Lifting your tunic, sliding my hand up…” She did exactly as she said, feeling the muscles in his thighs tense as she passed over them. “Wrapping my fingers around your cock?”

“Yes,” he hissed as her hand found his arousal. “So many times.”

The admission that she was the object of his fantasies thrilled her. She gave him a long, slow stroke. “Did you do this after I left last time?”

He gave a hoarse, strangled chuckle. “Barely a moment after the door closed behind you.”

She laughed. Perhaps that explained why he hadn’t walked her to the door. She’d taken it as a minor discourtesy, but maybe he’d just been beside himself with lust. “I like that. I like the thought of you pleasuring yourself while imagining me.”

“It happens with mathematical regularity.”

The fact that he was still able to conjure words like “mathematical” meant she hadn’t yet achieved her aim of rendering him stupefied with pleasure.

She increased the firmness of her grip, which made him gasp, and sped up until she drew a groan from his lips.

“Tell me what you like. Faster? Slower?”

“Anything,” he rasped. “Anything. Just—just touch me.”

I can do that . She kept going, maintaining a steady rhythm. He released one hand from behind his head and grabbed a fistful of the couch cushion, knuckles whitening.

“Is this like you imagined it?” she murmured as she worked his cock.

“Better,” he panted. “Your hand—so soft.”

With her other hand, she cupped her breast, allowing her thumb to swipe over her nipple. Tingles shot through her, everything more sensitive after her climax. “I liked it when you did this earlier.”

His pupils dilated, and he let out another groan.

“You’re getting close, aren’t you?” she asked, almost contemplatively.

He hissed something that might have been a “yes,” and then a garbled plea of “don’t stop.”

She didn’t, and continued her rhythm of firm strokes. A moment later, a tremor rippled through him. He moaned her name. His hand shot out to grip her wrist, clutching almost painfully as the climax roared through him.

A matching thrill made her heart speed up as she watched him. She drank in the sight of him, shuddering and lost to pleasure, like the finest wine.

When it subsided, he collapsed back against the pillows.

His fair skin was flushed, dark hair in disarray with a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

He looked thoroughly shattered, and pride swelled in Lucretia’s chest. There was a singular satisfaction in doing that to a man, especially one as self-assured and controlled as Felix.

She found a clean napkin on the table and used it to gently wipe him and her hand.

“Come here,” he mumbled, the words slurred and indistinct. He clumsily moved over to make room for her on the couch.

She lowered herself down next to him, laying her head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her.

“Stay the night,” he whispered in her ear.

She froze. That was the sort of thing that lovers did. Not people in a transactional relationship, who had negotiated an erotic education in return for a business truce.

This arrangement had no future. Even if they enjoyed each other for a month, or two, or six, it would come to an end eventually. Felix would no doubt marry some eligible maiden, and Lucretia had no desire for another husband.

So despite the considerable pleasure they could find with each other, maintaining some distance was paramount.

“No,” she breathed. “I must return to look after Marcus.”

“Of course.” His voice betrayed no regret at her rejection. “Let’s eat, and then I will have my steward escort you home.”