She smiled, feeling powerful, and so, so womanly.
She curved her fingers so that her nails would scrape his skin, lightly, softly, just enough to tickle and tease. His belly was flat, with a light dusting of hair that formed a line and disappeared below his breeches.
“Do you like this?” she whispered, taking her index finger and making a circle around his navel.
“Mmm-hmm.” His voice was smooth, but she could hear his breathing growing ragged.
“What about this?” Her finger found the line of hair and slid slowly down.
He didn’t say anything, but his eyes said yes.
“What about—”
“Undo the buttons,” he grunted.
Her hand stilled. “Me?” Somehow it hadn’t occurred to her that she might aid in their disrobing. It seemed the job of the seducer.
His hand took hers and led it to the buttons.
With trembling fingers, Hyacinth slid each disc free, but she did not pull back the fabric. That was something she was not quite ready to do.
Gareth seemed to understand her reluctance, and he hopped from the bed, for just long enough to pull off the rest of his clothing. Hyacinth averted her eyes…at first.
“Dear G—”
“Don’t worry,” he said, resuming his spot next to her. His hands found the edge of her dress and tugged it the rest of the way down. “Never”—he kissed her belly—“ever”—he kissed her hip—“worry.”
Hyacinth wanted to say that she wouldn’t, that she trusted him, but just then his fingers slid between her legs, and it was all she could do simply to breathe.
“Shhhh,” he crooned, coaxing her apart. “Relax.”
“I am,” she gasped.
“No,” he said, smiling down at her, “you’re not.”
“I am,” she insisted.
He leaned down, dropping an indulgent kiss on her nose. “Trust me,” he murmured. “Just for this moment, trust me.”
And she tried to relax. She really did. But it was near impossible when he was teasing her body into such an inferno. One moment his fingers were on the inside of her thigh, and the next they’d parted her, and he was touching her where she’d never been touched before.
“Oh, m—Oh!” Her hips arched, and she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what to say.
She didn’t know what to feel.
“You’re perfect,” he said, pressing his lips to her ear. “Perfect.”
“Gareth,” she gasped. “What are you—”
“Making love to you,” he said. “I’m making love to you.”
Her heart leapt in her chest. It wasn’t quite I love you, but it was awfully close.
And in that moment, in that last moment of her brain actually functioning, he slid one finger inside her.
“Gareth!” She grabbed his shoulders. Hard.
“Shhhh.” He did something utterly wicked. “The servants.”