She dropped her hands, and he made haste with undoing the knots. The cravat finally unraveled, and she reached for it. The fabric’s slow drag across his neck was arousing in its simplicity. Pursing her lips, she studied him. Her gaze lingered upon the base of his throat, then drifted down his chest. What could she be thinking?
He was a decent-looking sort. Plenty of debutantes chased after him, but he often wondered if their pursuit had to do more with his fortune and title than his personality or looks. This particular woman had known him since he was just a boy of fourteen. He’d met her just after she married Renwick.
Memories assailed him of the first time he’d seen her, met her, heard her laugh. She’d been completely enamored of her husband, and Garrett had thought him most undeserving. Her husband had hardly paid attention to her, more concerned with drinking and gambling with Garrett’s father, talking of the whores they had sampled in their younger days. Whores they had most likely continued to sample.
Garrett had spied on them then, curious as to what the two grown men did when they spent time alone in his father’s study.
Julia trailed her fingers down his chest, bringing his focus back to her, and he watched silently. One by one she slipped the pearl buttons of his shirt free and parted the linen, exposing his bare chest. After releasing the last button, she slid her hands up his chest.
He closed his eyes and sighed at her gentle touch upon his scorching flesh. She stroked his chest hair. He opened his eyes to watch her once more, his cock rising at her wondrous expression. Leaning toward him, she pressed her lips against the center of his chest, and he swore he felt the teasing glide of her tongue.
A shudder moved through him, and he curled his hand about her neck before diving into her hair. She tilted her head back, her heavy-lidded gaze meeting his, and he marveled at the change from shy woman to wanton goddess.
She was a mystery. One he wanted to investigate further.
“You’re very muscular.” She played with the waistband of his trousers. “And hard.” She slipped her hand down to cup his straining cock.
He chuckled, though it ended with a groan when she gripped him tight. “And you’re a tease.”
“So are you. You teased me considerably in your carriage.” She undid his trousers and reached in to touch his bare cock. He sucked in a harsh breath.
“You liked it,” he choked out, shocked yet again at her boldness. Afraid he would spill all over her hand if she didn’t quit, and soon.
“I did,” she admitted with a gleam in her eyes. “And you’re enjoying this too.”
“Far too much.” He jerked away from her touch. She frowned, the disappointment etched on her lovely face, but he couldn’t endure much more. He was already on the edge.
“It’s your turn for me to undress you,” he said, gripping her about the shoulders and twirling her around so her back was to him. Stepping closer, he rubbed against her backside, and she quivered. “Are you ready?”
She nodded, her soft hair brushing his face, and he inhaled her fragrant scent. Distinctly Julia, she smelled sweet and womanly. He streaked his fingers down her nape, then bent and brushed a chaste kiss there. He couldn’t wait to undress her.
He was as eager as a child at Christmas, ready to unwrap this most coveted gift he’d been given.
He could hardly stand it.
Julia’s entire body shook as she waited for Garrett to undress her. He rested his heavy hands on her shoulders, squeezing her as if in reassurance. With quick fingers, he worked each button down the length of her back. The fabric parted, and the brush of cool air hit her exposed skin. He divested her of her gown and petticoats with ruthless efficiency, and she stepped out of the pile of fabric, kicking it aside, but still she waited.
She needed him to undo her stays, which he did without her even asking. She admired his skill, though she was loath to think of how he earned it. She frowned, nibbled her lower lip, wishing her nervousness hadn’t risen again. She was a grown woman of thirty-one, a widow, a woman of experience. She should behave as a woman of the world, and instead she was a trembling fool.
First her family and then her husband had sheltered her. And slowly, one by one, they’d abandoned her through death, though it was never their fault. But she couldn’t help feeling as if they indeed had left her. Alone and scared and without anyone to cling to.
This man, this strong, desirable, handsome man, he tempted her to cling. To grasp hold of him and never let him go. A foolish thought, but she couldn’t help herself. She needed his touch, craved the closeness. Even if it was only for one night, one week, one month, she would take it. Savor their time together, enjoy it and hold the memories close in her mind when he was gone.
For surely soon he would be gone. He had no true interest in her beyond seeing her as a conquest, a challenge, and she’d given in so easily in the carriage. Allowing him to touch her, slip inside her, fuck her.
She smiled and shivered when his fingers brushed the bare skin of her back as he loosened her stays. She liked that word. Fucking. It was indecent. Wicked and deliciously wrong.
Her stays fell forward, and she caught them and slipped them off so she was only in her thin shift. He grasped her shoulders once again and slid his hands down, his palms so wide they nearly covered the entire expanse of her back. He was big, tall and so powerful. He could take her with an ease she wouldn’t be able to fight, yet he was gentle, allowing her the lead, and she appreciated that.
Appreciated it as well when he was demanding and pushy and said such scandalous things.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered close to her ear, nipping at her lobe.
She shivered, sucked in a breath when he slid his arm around her and settled his hand on her stomach, then moved it down to cup her between the legs. “Touch me,” she urged, completely letting go of her inhibitions. She needed him that much.
He did as she asked, tugging on the length of her shift so it bunched at her waist. He slipped his hand beneath her drawers, touching her where she was soaked for him, and she moaned. The creamy sounds as his fingers worked should’ve made her want to die of embarrassment, but she didn’t care. She was beyond caring. He’d promised he
could make her come many times. She wanted to experience that, wanted to come against his hand, with him buried inside her. She wanted to come so much that her body grew weak and her heart was ready to burst.