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“Watching you in that box, all I could think about was what I wanted to do to you.” He gripped the satin perched on her shoulders, then tugged down her sleeves and bodice in one motion, exposing the swells of her breasts.

He closed his mouth over the ruched peaks, every flick and pull making her body clench and quake, her hips hitching toward his.

His grip tightened, steering her back against the bedpost as he lifted her hands over her head to grab hold.

Then he jerked up her skirts, cupped her through the damp saturation of her drawers and growled. “You’re wet.”

She closed her eyes as he coasted a finger along the swollen seam. “It’s your fault. You make me wanton.”

“I’ve thought about this. Being here, in your bedchamber,” he rasped as he sank to his knees, tugged the drawstring free and

let her drawers fall around her ankles, his breath hot on those private curls. “And I thought about tasting you at the opera.

About kneeling down in front of you, lifting your skirts and making you come apart with my mouth in front of the entire ton . I wanted them all to hear you gasp my name as you shuddered.”

“I wouldn’t have let you,” she said, still trying to goad him into telling her how he felt.

But then he proceeded to prove her wrong.

Taking her off balance, he lifted her knees to his shoulders, forcing her to hold on to the bedpost for support. Then he opened

his mouth over her center and ate into her flesh, groaning with abandon in a way that quickly took her to the edge.

She bit into the back of her hand to keep from crying out in pleasure. And he was relentless. She had no hope of resisting.

Spasms arced through her like lightning, bowing her body as she came apart against his mouth, her throat hoarse as she gasped

his name, over and over again.

Then he set her down on wobbly legs and stood, jerking at the fastenings of his trousers, his mouth glistening damp, his eyes

greedy on her exposed breasts.

Then he stopped. He just... stopped.

Cursing under his breath, he stalked across the room. Slumping into the chair, he lowered his head in his hands. “What is

happening to me? I cannot control myself. I thought that after we were together, I would be able to think clearly. But this

want, this ache is worse than ever.”

Even though her legs were barely more stable than molded gelatin, she made her way to him and laid her hands over his, easing them away. “Why are you resisting this so much?”

“Because I need to be in control of myself. That’s all I have.”

“You’re wrong,” she said softly. Drawing his hands away, she pressed her lips to his for every point she made. “You have your

friends.” Kiss. “You have your aunt and your cousins.” Kiss. “You have Roly and Garmr.” Kiss. “You have me.” Kiss. “And no one can ever make us stop loving you.” Kiss.

He surrendered on a groan, pulling her off her feet and onto his lap, his mouth greedy on hers. The kiss was desperate and

seeking as if he was afraid to believe her and needed proof.

She fed him the answer, straddling his hips and grinding herself against him. Then, reaching down, she freed him from his

unfastened trousers and gripped him the way he showed her, earning a growl of approval. But soon his rough hands were groping

under her skirts, lifting her by the hips as she positioned him at her center. And then he was inside of her, his breath rushing

into her open mouth as she lowered down and down and down, slick flesh cinching around him as she sank all the way to the

hilt.

This time, a breath shuddered out of her at his size, at the fullness. It was clear that he hadn’t given her all of him before. But she was taking all of him now.

His head fell back on a curse, his throat tight above the shirt points and cravat. “You’re... perfect. So bloody perfect.”

In that moment, she felt perfect, and powerful as she rocked her hips, a spear of pleasure sprinting through her. Then their

mouths met again, his hands guiding, his fingers digging into the cushion of her backside, spreading her open to take more

of him.

Within seconds she was arching over him, undulating, chasing that sensation. The room filled with the sounds of their breaths, ragged, gasping and pleading as they clutched at each other, shuddering toward ecstasy, then plummeting over the edge together.

She collapsed against his chest, his flesh still wedged inside her. “Now do you see...” she panted, “how good it would

be... if we didn’t avoid each other.”

“You certainly present... a valid argument,” he said, equally winded, his hands still roaming over her bare hips, bottom

and thighs, as if he couldn’t get enough of touching her.

It was only then that she fully realized that they were both completely—well, mostly—dressed. And there was something exciting

about that. Just imagine what it would have been like if they had met in a darkened box at the opera...

Her body clenched, approving of the idea.

His hips arched reflexively and a choked sound escaped him. “Don’t do that. Not yet.”

“What? This?” She focused on her inner muscles and clenched again. Hearing his groan, she giggled.

His mouth curved against her temple. “Shhh... If we get caught, I won’t be able to linger.”

“You’re going to stay?” Now she was grinning.

“I don’t think I can stay away. You’ve done something to me.” Then he lifted her face, wonder in his expression as he searched

her gaze. “Is this what happiness feels like?”

She swallowed, trying to keep a tidal wave of hope from pouring out of her. “I think so.”

“I like it,” he said and brushed his lips over hers. “And I like seeing you happy, too.”

Draping her arms around his shoulders, she said, “Well, it would make me extraordinarily happy if you came to tea tomorrow.”

He cringed. “Anything but that.”