Captive of Sin - Page 108

“Yes,” she sighed, and traced the line of his mouth with her tongue.

Hunger slammed through him. Drowning out all other sound, his blood thundered. He leaned forward and bit her lower lip. She shivered with excitement, her hips jerking against him.

“If you want that dress to stay in one piece, take it off,” he said unsteadily.

She gave a breathless gust of laughter. She hooked her hand around his neck and sent him a scorching glance under her eyelashes. “You’ll have to help. It laces up the back.”

“Damn fool fashion,” he grunted.

Her face was flushed with need. Her lips were swollen and red with their frantic kisses. Her eyes were a deep and mysterious green. Tarns in the Penrhyn woods. He moved his thumb against her cheek, feeling the warm smoothness of her skin, the sticky remnants of tears.

She pressed her cheek into his ravaged hand. How quickly he’d accepted that his injuries didn’t repulse her. Odd when he’d nearly died of shame revealing them.

He’d intended the searing honesty to break the connection between them, destroy her foolish infatuation at last. Instead, uncovering his secrets forced him to admit he was her slave and always would be.

“I don’t want you to see anyone but me,” she said huskily. Her voice was thick with the tears she’d shed. He wished he could promise there would be no more sorrow, but even at this joyful moment, he knew that would be a lie.

“I don’t.” He swallowed to dislodge the painful constriction in his throat. “I won’t.”

Gideon kissed her again. The desperate urge to possess faded, and his mouth moved with piercing tenderness. He raised his head and looked deep into her eyes. Her spirit shone clear for him to see. Brave. Generous. Honest. So full of love, it left him humbled.

He gently turned her around and began to undo the pretty red dress. Inch by inch, clumsy as a lad with his first woman, he revealed the smooth skin of her back. He pushed apart the edges and traced a line of kisses between her shoulder blades. Her breath faltered, then quickened. She lowered her head. He accepted the unspoken invitation and kissed a path up to her hairline. Her scent was stronger there. Carnations. Warm skin. Woman. Charis.

He buried his nose in the soft mass of hair and breathed deep, drawing her essence into his lungs. Into his heart.

He returned to unhooking her dress. “I’ll need all night to get you out of this confounded rag,” he growled in frustration, as yet another fiddly attachment refused to cooperate.

“Are you in such a hurry?”

The wench laughed at him. God help him, he liked it. “Yes.”

Finally, the hook released. He turned his attention to the next one down. The line stretched endlessly.

She flexed her shoulders, and he fought the urge to bend her over the nearest chair and take her from behind. This morning he’d leaped on her with a passion unlike any he’d ever known. The need to thrust his aching cock into her tonight made this morning’s passion seem a mere milk-and-water fancy.

Patience, Trevithick. Calm down. She deserves better than a quick tumble. She deserves every ounce of skill you can muster.

He sucked in a breath and spoke more steadily as he reconsidered his earlier answer. “No. I want to show you everything you’ve missed.”

Another of those voluptuous shivers rippled through her. Dear God

, when she did that, he threatened to explode.

He rode the surge of desire and concentrated on the next hook. After spending the last week in rags, he could understand she didn’t want to ruin the dress. But if the damned thing didn’t come off soon, he’d shred it.

“Show me everything?”

Her overt curiosity made him smile. “Well, everything might require more than one night.”

Her quivering sigh was answer in itself.

As though he unveiled something sacred, he slid the dress down her slender body.

Gideon’s breath stopped.

She still wore corset, shift, petticoats. The sheer covering did little to hide the glories beneath. His rod throbbed, but he ignored its greedy insistence.

His eyes traveled down her straight spine to the firm bottom, pressing enticingly against the white lawn. With shaking hands, he released the tapes holding her petticoats. They fell with a whisper.

Tags: Anna Campbell Historical
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