He dipped his hands lower, running them along her abdomen until they reached her belly. Slipping them inside the waistband, he loosened the flap and pushed the trousers over her hips.
She wore nothing underneath, and his hands were soon filled with her warm flesh. He cupped her bottom, wedged his thigh between her legs, and spread them slightly. “I want to bend you over and plunge inside you,” he growled in her ear. “I want to take you right now. Like this.”
In illustration, he bent her at the waist, but instead of loosening his own trousers, he knelt behind her, spread her thighs, and dipped his tongue into her. She was as sweet as he remembered, all the more so because he had her the way he wanted. He pulled back, admiring her pink flesh, then adjusted slightly and ran his tongue along her small, hard nub. Her legs tensed, and she moaned with pleasure.
She was at an awkward angle, and he knew her balance was already sketchy, so he kept one arm around her waist, holding her to his mouth as he suckled and licked. She was so tense, so ready, that it was a matter of seconds before she came. And then it was fast and hard, her bucking against him like a horse.
And didn’t that just give him a dozen more wicked ideas.
Chapter Eighteen
Josie’s head was spinning, partly from the wine and partly from Westman’s skilled lips and fingers. She had barely got her breath back, when he pulled her up and turned her around.
To her surprise, he tugged her into a gentle embrace, holding her carefully, almost as though she were a porcelain doll. It was nice. She’d never been treated like a fragile thing before. And she was not under the illusion that any man would have acted the same. He was an exceptional lover. Even inexperienced as she was, she knew that there was something remarkable between them.
Had she ever imagined that a man could give her so much pleasure? Had she ever understood how consuming being held by a man like Westman could be? Why, he could make her forget all about treasure and clearing her grandfather’s name with one kiss. And tonight she wanted to forget.
Tonight, she wanted to give him as much pleasure as he had given her. An idea sprang to mind, and she lifted her lashes to peer at him surreptitiously. She caught a brief glimpse of his cheek.
Surely, she shouldn’t consider doing something so wicked. What would he think of her? What would she think of herself? Could she sit across from him in the carriage all day tomorrow after . . .
Oh, drat the consequences. It was one more new adventure. Who knew when or if she would ever again find a lover like this? And tomorrow Westman might start all the marriage proposing again. This might be her only opportunity to experience it all.
She slid her hands from around his waist, allowed them a brief excursion to the hard muscles of his back, then dragged them and herself away.
“I think we have a problem, Lord Westman,” she said, stepping back.
She was naked and quite aware of that fact, but be it the wine or the recent pleasure, she didn’t really care right now. She sat on the bed, loving the way his eyes flowed over her body hungrily. It made all the heat coil in her belly again. It made her thighs moist and her nipples harden.
“A problem, Miss Hale? I would think you might feel relatively free of any and all worries at the moment.”
“Oh, I’m far from satisfied, my lord, especially when you are still wearing so many clothes.”
He looked down at his shirt, coat, and trousers, then back up at her. “I see the problem. How would you like to resolve it?”
“Strip for me.” She waved her arm as in a command. “Take it all off. And do it slowly.”
She didn’t know what demon had possessed her, what wild spirit had given her this brash courage. Even Westman looked surprised at her suggestion. Surprised but not offended.
She eyed the bulge in his pants. No, not offended at all.
With infinite grace, he lifted a hand to his cravat, loosened the cloth, and stripped it off. Next came his coat. It was tight and molded to his figure, and she had watched one of his men help him struggle into it this morning, but now it fell off him like water.
Next were his boots. He sat in the lone chair to wrench those free, then set them neatly on the floor and pulled off his stockings as well.
Barefoot and coatless, he looked quite vulnerable. She liked it. She wanted him just as naked and just as aroused as she was.
“Take it all off, my lord,” she ordered. “Start with the shirt.”
He complied with a nod. There were three buttons at the top, and he loosened them, then began to drag the shirt over his head.
“Slowly, my lord,” she reminded him. “Slowly.”
He paused, glanced at her, then inclined his head. His next movement was slow and languorous as a cat’s. She was treated to a revelation of one delicious inch after another of the bronzed, toned skin of his abdomen. And then the material moved over his chest proper, revealing that light smattering of chestnut hair. Josie felt her breath quicken.
He pulled the garment off, tossed it at her feet, and she stared at his corded shoulders, his chiseled biceps. She admired the way his muscles bunched when he flexed his hands.
“Would you like me to turn around?” he asked, his tone sarcastic.
