To Distraction (Bastion Club 5)

With delight.

He was watching her face, and he knew. His fingertips slid to her inner thigh and trailed upward.

When they lightly brushed the curls at the apex of her thighs, her entire body reacted; she gasped as her skittering senses tensed with scintillating expectation.

In the music room, the soprano trilled.

His fingers slowed.

She nodded, moistened her lips, and managed to whisper, “Slow.”

His lips brushed her temple. “We can go as slow as you like.”

He did; she didn’t have to say the word again—not even think it. He seemed to know, to sense when she needed him to almost stop.

But he didn’t stop.

He brushed her curls increasingly definitely, then let his fingers tangle gently in them. Then they sought out the soft flesh beneath and caressed.

Slowly, deliberately.

The music welled, swelled, the crescendo of sound mimicking the steady rise of her passion, an emotion she’d never encountered before, one she grasped the building moments to absorb.

Until she wanted more. Her dazed wits were trying to decide what word to use for that when he reached further, parted her folds, and touched her. More intimately, more possessively.

She shuddered and let her legs part a little further to allow him to caress her. The building pleasure radiating from where he touched spread throughout her body; s

he let it fill her, take her, overwhelm her worries, her fears.

Let it drown them.

Then he found a spot, swirled, then pressed—and she gasped.

He caressed and she arched against him, eyes closing tight, wits scrambling, feeling very much as if she were losing her sensual footing, as if a tide of fiery delight had swept her into a surging sea of uninhibited, wanton pleasure.

The golden sensation spread through her, with every deliberate flex of his fingers burgeoned and welled. It surrounded her, lapped about her, filled and buoyed her as in the distance the soprano’s voice soared.

Deverell knew they were running out of time, but there was nothing he could do. She was too new to this, too untouched, and he’d had to go too slowly; there simply wasn’t enough time left to bring her to release at a pace she could handle.

Even with his own desires ruthlessly held in check—largely ignored—he couldn’t bring himself to push her too fast, not even to alleviate the frustration she would later feel.

As for his frustration, he didn’t want to think of that. Any other lady and he would have lifted the back of her skirts and eased his throbbing staff into the hot haven of her body. He tortured himself with the thought but didn’t act on it. Not this time.

Instead, hauling in a deep breath, he toed the line he himself had drawn and set his mind, his hands, his lips to the task of easing her back from the brink she wouldn’t reach that night.

Tomorrow, yes, but that was another day. Tonight, they had a bare five minutes before they would need to reappear with the other guests.

Luckily, Phoebe was too out of her depth to argue; with enthusiastic applause reaching them through the night, she allowed him to straighten her gown and lead her back through the corridors without protest.

When they joined the throng of guests pouring out of the music room and milling in the hall, no one gave any indication of having noticed their absence. Given the crowd, given the care he’d taken to cover their movements, that wasn’t surprising.

As for Phoebe, he kept her arm locked with his and glibly deflected any question directed her way. While she was steady enough on her feet, and he’d ensured her gown was perfectly neat, her color was a touch too warm, and her eyes were still a trifle dazed.

The sight made him wonder how she—oh-so-definite-and-determined Phoebe—would be after…

He broke off the thought, smiled at Lady Griswald, then tacked through the crowd to come up by Edith’s side.

After delivering Edith and Phoebe to their carriage and seeing them off, he put Audrey in hers, refusing her offer to drop him off at the club. He let her believe that he intended to look in at one of the clubs in St. James; in reality, he simply had to walk, although he doubted even that would help.