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He crowded closer again, his mouth branding hers as his hand cupped the weight of her breast, plucking and teasing the tip into an aching peak.

Then her entire focus shifted to the path of his lips as they trailed hotly down her throat, the feel of his broad hands, and the warm liquid heat pulsing inside her.

Someone should write this down , she thought absently. It was excellent research. And when she was curious about something, she had to know everything about

it. There was nothing for it except to keep... discovering...

She lost her train of thought when his mouth closed around her nipple, spurring the tip with a flick of his tongue, a gentle

suck, sending a clenching sensation deep in her core. Her fingers threaded into his dark blond locks as her head fell back

on a sigh. She never knew she was capable of feeling this way.

The heat of his hands burned through the thin layer of cambric as they coasted down her hips, her thighs. Then he was touching

her skin.

Oh, the feel of those callused hands on her sent a siege of gooseflesh tingles over her. As he laved and worshipped her breasts,

leaving the tips glossy and damp in the light, his touch skirted beneath her hem, almost tickling up along her inner thigh.

“Your skin is like the petal of a flower,” he said thickly. “So delicate and”—he paused on a low groan as his finger brushed

her nether curls—“wet... for me.”

She felt her cheeks heat in embarrassment and she moved to close her thighs.

He shook his head. “Don’t. Please. I promise I’ll be gentle.”

Did he think that she was worried about him hurting her? Nothing could be further from the truth. This was just all so new

to her and, puppet play or not, she was feeling woefully uneducated.

Then she felt the slight tremor in his hand and the way he shifted awkwardly as if not entirely certain of the best approach, and she relaxed at once, knowing that this was not something either of them took lightly. She let her thighs fall open for him.

His shoulders shook beneath her hands on a shuddered breath as he slipped through the dewy folds. He touched her with gentle—almost

reverent—passes as he soothed the thumping pulse in unhurried exploration.

“ Jasper ,” she gasped against the shell of his ear, eyes closed as she peppered frantic kisses over his face and jaw, his throat and

lips. She was trembling so hard that it rattled the plate of scones.

“Shh... shh...” he crooned as he circled her entrance with the tip of one finger. “I won’t hurt you. Just let me...”

He nudged inside, his finger thick and blunt. Then he cursed, accusing her of being too small, too tight. Spoken in a hungry

growl, his voice tinged with primitive pleasure, she knew he wasn’t criticizing her. He wanted her, and oh, how she wanted

him to keep doing wicked things to her on that table.

“Does this”—he hooked his finger inside her, rubbing against some secret place that scrambled her wits—“feel good?”

“ Yes... there... don’t stop... please... more ,” she said in a garbled rush, her eyes closed tight as the pleasure built, tingles dancing at the base of her spine. Blindly,

her mouth opened against the skin between his earlobe and cravat.

She tasted the salt of him as his groan vibrated against her lips.

A wash of warmth flooded down to the clench of her sex around his finger, her hips matching his rhythm, stroke for stroke.

His head lowered, hunting for the aching peak of her breast, and when he drew her flesh into the heat of his mouth, she knew that nothing had ever felt this good before.

Then the pad of his thumb glanced across that taut bundle of nerves and her body hitched out of rhythm. He stilled for just

a second as if deciphering her response. And then, he did it again, his thumb tracing a path that drew helpless whimpers from

her.

Back arching, her fingernails bit into his scalp as she shamelessly held him to her breast. Then her hips hitched again— once , twice— before a choked cry tore from her throat.

She flew apart in an explosion of tingles that detonated from her core, rippling in outward waves. She curled into the sensation,

hunching against the spasms, her face buried in the crook of his neck as he wrenched out every ounce of pleasure from her.

Still panting, she watched as he withdrew his hand and lifted his glistening fingers to his mouth. He closed his eyes on a

quiet groan as he sampled her. It was such a primal thing to do. Seeing it made her stomach perform a little jig, her pulse

quickening.

“What do I taste like?” she asked.

His eyes flew open and he lowered his hand like a boy caught stealing from the biscuit jar. He cleared his throat, his color

high. But he must have seen the genuine curiosity in her gaze because he answered her. “Sweet and salty. Like ambrosia or

something a man like me could only dream about.”

Her heart quickened as his gaze skimmed over her once more. “Take me upstairs.”

He bent to press his lips to hers, the hard heat beneath his trousers meeting her eagerly. Then he rested his forehead against

hers and exhaled long and slow. It was a sound of resignation, and she didn’t like it.

“If I take you upstairs, then I will take you upstairs.” He put her clothes in order with the quick efficiency of a man smothering an ember that landed on the rug.

“And there will be no taking this morning, or ever.”

Before she could form an argument, he walked stiffly to the door, leaving without looking back.