He could. And he did.
Pure pleasure shot through her, tickling to every corner of her body. She clutched his head, her hands sinking into his thick, straight hair, and she didn’t know if she was pulling or pushing. She didn’t think she could stand any more, and yet she didn’t want him to stop.
“Gareth,” she gasped. “I…You…”
His hands seemed to be everywhere, touching her, caressing her, pushing her dress down, down…until it was pooled around her hips, just an inch from revealing the very core of her womanhood.
Panic began to rise in Hyacinth’s chest. She wanted this. She knew she wanted this, and yet she was suddenly terrified.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said.
“That’s all right.” He straightened, yanking his shirt off with enough force it was amazing buttons didn’t fly. “I do.”
“I know, but—”
He touched her lips with his finger. “Shhh. Let me show you.” He smiled down at her, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Do I dare?” he wondered aloud. “Should I…Well…maybe…”
He lifted his finger from her mouth.
She spoke instantly. “But I’m afraid I will—”
He put his finger back. “I knew that would happen.”
She glared at him. Or rather, she tried to. Gareth had an uncanny ability to make her laugh at herself. And she could feel her lips twitching, even as he pressed them shut.
“Will you be quiet?” he asked, smiling down at her.
She nodded.
He pretended to think about it. “I don’t believe you.”
She planted her hands on her hips, which had to be a ludicrous position, naked as she was from the waist up.
“All right,” he acceded, “but the only words I’ll allow from your mouth are, ‘Oh, Gareth,’ and ‘Yes, Gareth.’”
He lifted his finger.
“What about ‘More, Gareth?’ ”
He almost kept a straight face. “That will be acceptable.”
She felt laughter bubbling up within her. She didn’t actually make a noise, but she felt it all the same—that silly, giddy feeling that tingled and danced in one’s belly. And she marveled at it. She was so nervous—or rather, she had been.
He’d taken it away.
And she somehow knew that it would be all right. Maybe he’d done this before. Maybe he’d done this a hundred times before, with women a hundred times more beautiful than she.
It didn’t matter. He was her first, and she was his last.
He lay down beside her, pulling her onto her side and against him for a kiss. His hands sank into her hair, pulling it free from its coils until it fell in silky waves down her back. She felt free, untamed.
Daring.
She took one hand and pressed it against his chest, exploring his skin, testing the contours of the muscles beneath. She’d never touched him, she realized. Not like this. She trailed her fingers down his side to his hip, tracing a line at the edge of his breeches.
And she could feel his reaction. His muscles leapt wherever she touched, and when she moved to his belly, to t
hat spot between his navel and the last of his clothing, he sucked in his breath.