He paused briefly at the apex of her bare thighs. Venetia stiffened at the shocking realization that he planned to kiss her there at her center.
When he parted her curls with his tongue, she gasped at the blatant carnality of it.
His tongue stroked her gently, probing her folds. And then he drew her swollen flesh between his lips.
A soft moan escaped her at the unbelievable things he was doing with his mouth. The sensations were incredible. His mouth moved on her, slow and erotic and extremely thorough. He was driving her mad with his caresses. Yet it was his tenderness that stunned her most. She had never felt anything like this captivating man’s assault on her senses.
An aching torment rose inside her, burning through her body. When he sucked more powerfully on the sensitive nubbin, she jerked, lifting her hips halfway off the blanket.
His hands moved to her thighs to hold her down. “Be still, darling. Let me taste you….”
The soft command was a reminder of her shattered willpower. As her head shifted feverishly back and forth on the pillow, she could feel him reveling in her body’s heated response.
Forcing her eyes open, she glanced down to see Traherne’s golden head between her thighs. She was giving him far too much power, Venetia knew. She was already a melted puddle of desire. If she let him continue, she would surrender completely.
Her hands blindly found his shoulders. “Enough…” she rasped. “Please…”
For a moment he continued his brazen ministrations, until her voice grew stronger.
“Quinn!”
At her plea, he left off and raised his head to look at her. For a moment he remained still, poised above her. But then he gave an almost imperceptible sigh and shifted his weight.
He settled on his side again so that he lay watching her.
Venetia rolled over to face him. She had a greater chance of fending off his advances that way—and more control over her own traitorous desires. He was undeniably wicked, and he made her long to be wicked with him.
When Traherne reached out his hand as if to touch her, she flinched and instinctively drew her knees up in a defensive posture. When she contacted his body accidently, he flinched as well and shut his eyes in obvious pain, his breath hissing through his teeth.
Instantly repentant, Venetia issued a sincere apology. “Oh, did I hurt your wound? I am so very sorry!”
“Not my wound,” he rasped, gritting his teeth. “Just my loins.”
Easing back, she glanced down and saw his swollen manhood thrusting out below the hem of his nightshirt. His member was long and thick—much larger and darker than she thought it would be.
Her gaze fixed on his hard male flesh; she bit her lip. “I did not mean to hurt you.”
“I believe you. Give me a moment and I will recover from the blow, if not from my hunger.”
Her mouth turned down in puzzlement. “Hunger?”
“For you.”
Her gaze rose again to his face. “Your randiness, you mean. Cleo says randiness is in a man’s base nature.”
“Cleo says?”
“My friend Mrs. Newcomb.”
“I know who Cleo is. I am merely curious about her perspective.”
Venetia made a face. “My mother never saw fit to explain to me what happened in the marriage bed, so I have had to rely on Cleo for my education. She has told me a great deal about carnal relationships.”
“Is that so?” He sounded amused.
She felt rather indignant that Traherne was ragging her on so intimate a subject. “Forgive me, your lordship, if I am not as sophisticated as your other lovers.”
“Easy, love. I did not mean to prick your sensibilities. You know much more than is typical of a young English lady.”