She couldn’t respond. She couldn’t breathe.
“Alexandra.” He tilted her gaze to his. “When I ask a question, it needs an answer.”
Somehow she managed to nod. “I understand.”
“Good.” His gaze dropped to her breasts, glassy with desire. His murmured words sounded miles away. “Good.”
His hand, strong and callused from work, claimed her breast. Kneading and shaping her through the thin veil of her shift. He pulled the fabric tight, and her dark, hardened nipple stood out in relief.
He dipped his head, swiping his tongue over the aching, needy peak. She gasped with the keenness of the sensation.
As he shifted his hand to her other breast, he dropped hot kisses on her lips, her neck, her ear. “I have to see you.” His whisper stirred her hair. “Alexandra. Let me see you.”
She nodded.
He raised his head, gazing down on her as he plucked at the buttons down the front of her shift. The first slipped free easily. He pressed an openmouthed kiss to the patch of skin he’d revealed.
When his fingers moved on to the second button, however, he stilled. “I have a better idea.”
“You do?”
He rose up on his knees beside her, hooked his thumbs into a gap between the lowermost buttonholes—and yanked, ripping the two sides of her shift apart. Buttons went flying.
She stared up at him. “Why?”
“So I can buy you a new one. One that’s warmer, finer. As lovely as the woman who wears it.” He pushed the ruined garment down her shoulders. “Besides, I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“It was rather arousing, I must admit.”
The curl of his lips was wolfish. “Good. Because I have no regrets.” His gaze roamed her exposed breasts, making her tender flesh ripple and quiver. “God, you’re beautiful.”
Instead of stretching alongside her, this time he lowered himself atop her. He weaved his legs with hers, pressing a broad, muscled thigh directly against her sex. As pleasure jolted through her, Alex gasped.
Suddenly, he was everywhere. Licking and suckling her breasts, drawing a hand down her body to gather the hem of her chemise, rubbing his thigh against her cleft in an exquisitely maddening rhythm. Desire raced through her body like a pack of wild, hungry beasts. No part of her was safe. She had nowhere to hide.
It occurred to her, rather belatedly, that perhaps she ought to be doing something, too. She slid her hands to his shoulders, clutching him tight.
Then he slowed, easing his weight from atop her body and sliding one hand under her shift. His fingers climbed the trembling slope of her inner thigh, dragging the frail linen with them.
As he moved his hand to her center, his gaze held hers. His fingertips brushed—lightly, gently—along her cleft.
Oh, sweet heaven above.
He explored her with that same light, gentle touch. Not invading her body, but waiting for its soft, wet invitations. His thumb covered the swollen bud that was the center of her pleasure, and she felt his fingertip ease inside her.
Alex tensed and made a faint, whimpering sound of bliss.
He paused. “Still a yes?”
She bit her lip and nodded. “Yes.”
Yes.
He watched her responses so intently, she grew self-conscious and had to close her eyes. In the dark, her awareness narrowed to that sweet, pulsing pleasure between her thighs. It flickered, expanded, glowed blindingly bright . . . until—
Yes.
And yes and yes and yes.
He caressed her as she came floating back down to earth, running his fingers through her unbound hair and murmuring words that she couldn’t quite catch—but they sounded warm and approving.
When she opened her eyes, he kissed her forehead. “That was magnificent.”
“I think I’m supposed to be the one saying that.”
“Well, you can say it, too, if you like.” His mouth widened into a lopsided, cocky grin. “I’m not stopping you.”
Alex rolled onto her side and gave him a coy smile of her own. “You are magnificently arrogant. But apparently the arrogance is well deserved.”
She reached for him, skimming her fingertips down the expanse of his chest and hooking her fingers under the waistband of his trousers.
He put his hand over hers, halting her progress.
“Don’t you want . . . ?” She darted a gaze at the pronounced tenting of his trousers. “I mean to say, it would seem you need some relief of your own.”
“Pleasuring you was pleasure for me. I don’t want you to feel you must reciprocate out of obligation. Lovemaking isn’t a market trade. Not the way I go about it, anyhow.”
“I don’t feel any obligation. I feel curious. You promised me a lesson. But I know my own body already. I don’t know yours.” She placed her hand over the bulge in his trousers, cupping his hardness and tracing the shape of him through the thick wool. “May I?”
He groaned. “Do with me what you will. I’ve no strength left to protest.”
She found the buttons of his trouser falls and undid them one by one. Once the last button slipped loose, however, her courage faltered.