Alyssa held out her hand. “Agreed.”
Griffin stared at the elbow-length glove encasing it. He took her hand, turned it palm upward, and unbuttoned the tiny buttons of her glove before pulling it off. “I think we can dispense with the gloves,” he said, suddenly wondering at the wisdom of agreeing to three hours of extreme arousal. “This is a momentous occasion, but no longer an especially formal one.” He winked at her as he unbuttoned her remaining glove and pulled it off, too. “Nothing to warrant opera-length gloves.”
“Where shall you begin?” Alyssa asked.
“I don’t begin,” Griffin answered, a twinkle in his eye. “You do.”
“I do?”
Griff heard the astonishment in her voice. “But, of course.” He grinned at her. “Ladies first.”
Alyssa reached out and put her hand on his thigh. “Where does it ache, my lord?”
“Here.” Griffin covered Alyssa’s hand with his and moved it over a few inches, resting it atop the hard ridge pressing against the front of his breeches.
Chapter Eighteen
“It is important to make travel by coach as enjoyable as possible. And there are a great many pleasurable ways in which to pass the time. Especially during long journeys.”
—Alyssa, Lady Abernathy, diary entry, 04 May 1810
“Shall I kiss it and make it better?” Alyssa whispered, keeping her hand right where it was despite the hot blush she knew colored her cheeks. He was hard beneath her hand and hot, and the intimacy of such a hitherto forbidden touch excited her.
Griff caught his breath. Was it possible? Had he died and gone to heaven? Or had his innocent wife just asked him if she could kiss him in the place he craved it most? “Please,” he managed.
Alyssa leaned forward and kissed him, pressing her soft lips against his mouth. Her kiss was hot and sweet enough to tempt an angel. And he enjoyed it immensely, but it wasn’t the sort of kiss he’d been expecting.
Alyssa pulled him to her until she could press herself against him. She flattened herself against his chest, feeling the heat of his flesh as she deepened the kiss.
The twin points of her breasts pressed into him. Griffin groaned.
Encouraged by his response, Alyssa wrapped her free arm around his neck, forcing him to bend closer. She pressed her other hand harder against the front of his breeches, massaging him in a slow, circular motion that increased the heat and the pressure beneath her palm.
Griffin groaned again. His tongue mated with hers as he showed her what he wanted.
Alyssa continued her exploration. She trailed her hand from his neck, over his shoulders, and down his back as far as she could reach, then trailed it back up again, only this time, she moved over his shoulders, up the nape of his neck, where she buried her fingers in his hair. And when she’d explored every lock of hair on his head, she repeated the procedure, working her way back down his body.
Griff turned on the seat and slipped his free arm around Alyssa’s waist. He kept one arm around her waist, supporting her. He pulled her close, then lifted his other hand from hers. He caught hold of her wrist when she would have pulled her hand away and pressed it back against him, urging her to continue the motion by breaking their kiss long enough to murmur, “Don’t stop.”
His muscles bunched and rippled under her hands as Griffin held her tightly, half-lifting her off the coach seat as he ground his hips against her, rubbing his throbbing erection against her hand. He pulled his mouth away from hers and began to trail hot, wet kisses on her face, her neck, her throat, and over to her earlobes.
“Sweet Alyssa,” Griffin whispered close to her ear, “I want to feel your hands on my flesh. I want to taste you. And have you taste me.”
The muscles in his arms began to quiver. Alyssa felt them through the thin fabric of her chemise. “How?” She breathed the question against his forehead as he worked his way from her earlobe, down her neck, and over her chest to the edge of her chemise.
“Buttons,” he answered, moving her hand from his throbbing groin to the waistband of his breeches. “Undo the buttons on the right side of my breeches.”
She did as he asked, reaching around to unfasten the line of buttons at his waist.
Griffin braced his feet against the floor of the coach, lifted his hips from the seat cushion, and slid out of his breeches. It wasn’t the first time he’d shucked his breeches in a vehicle. He’d changed clothes in his coach numerous times when traveling, and on several occasions, he and a willing female companion had played the seduction game to break up the monotony of a long journey, but he hadn’t done it in quite a while, and his movements weren’t as smooth and practiced as they’d once been.
Alyssa watched as Griffin pushed his skintight breeches over his lean hips and down his thighs. He couldn’t wriggle all the way out of his trousers because his boots stopped their progress, but his movements were smooth and practiced, and Alyssa thought he must have had other opportunities to polish the maneuver.
He didn’t wear undergarments. The thought popped into her head as the paler flesh of his muscled buttocks came into view. Of course, it was probably impossible to get undergarments beneath those breeches. She was so fascinated by the play of muscles along his flanks and buttocks that she didn’t notice the arrow of dark hair pointing toward the thick nest of curls at the juncture of his thighs until his prominent male member sprang forward.
Alyssa’s eyes widened, and she inhaled sharply at the sight.
Griff chuckled. “So much for subtlety.”