To buy time, he tore his lips from hers and trailed kisses along her shoulder to the pale blue ruching at the edge of her dress and back again. His hands left her hair and slid down to her waist. He wanted her out of all these clothes, but he forced himself to wait, containing his moves until her body told him the next one to make.
When she was quivering in his hold and making hushed little moans against his shirt front, he took the next step. His hands left her waist and moved up her back. He pulled back enough to look into her face as he gathered her hair and brought it forward over one shoulder. Then he began to undo the buttons down her back.
Her eyes were closed, her lips parted and her head tilted back, but as he pulled the dress down from her shoulders, she opened her eyes, and he felt her stiffen slightly, just a hint of resistance, but enough to give him pause.
She looked into his eyes. “Is this sort of thing usually done with candles lit?”
“Oh, yes. Most definitely.” He slipped the dress down her shoulders, but by the time he freed her arms, by the time the dress was down around her waist and he could see the soft white cambric bodice of her princess petticoat, she was pushing against his shoulders to stop him.
“Anthony, I think we should put them out.”
“Why?” He bent his head to kiss her neck. “I want to look at you. Do you not want to look at me?”
“I can’t see anything,” she whispered. “You took my glasses. Again.”
He chuckled, blowing soft breath against her neck, and he did not move for a long moment. “Daphne,” he finally said, “I want to see you naked on my sheets. I want to see your hair spread across my pillow. I want to look at your face while I touch you because you are so lovely to me now and because I want so badly to know how you feel.” He paused, wondering if he was talking like a complete idiot. “But if you would be more content with the dark, if you want me to put out the candles, I will.”
She did not reply. Instead, she lowered her gaze and bit her lip, fingering the lapels of his evening coat. After a moment, she began pulling his coat away from his shoulders. “No,” she said. “Leave them.”
Anthony stood still and let her take away his coat and his waistcoat. He let her unbutton his shirt, then he pulled it off. He waited, forcing himself to stand utterly still, as she caressed his bare chest with her hands and pressed kisses to his skin. He waited, shuddering with pleasure as she pushed him to the very edge of his wits. When he felt the flick of her tongue against his nipple, he stopped her.
“God, Daphne, enough,” he groaned, and his hands tangled in her hair, gently pulling her back as he took a deep breath. “I believe you enjoy tormenting me.”
She looked up, a long, appraising glance. “I could get used to it.”
“I have no doubt.” He rested his hands on her bare shoulders and touched the edge of her neckline. “Lace on the bodice?” he said, taking deep breaths and attempting a bit of conversation while he regained control of the lust that threatened to overwhelm him. “Daphne, I am astonished at this extravagance.”
“Mrs. Avery told me a princess petticoat for evening had to have lace, though since it is hidden from view, I hardly see the point of it.”
“I do,” he said fervently as he reached behind her to unfasten the buttons of the delicate cambric garment. “I only ask that you never take to wearing corsets.”
“But it would keep my posture perfect when walking, would it not? Why, I believe it was you, your grace, who advised me to wear one.”
“I changed my mind. Corset hooks take too damned long to unfasten.” He grasped the lacy edges of her princess petticoat and pulled the garment down her arms, revealing her breasts. So luscious, cream and pink in the candlelight. His throat went dry.
He cupped her breasts in his hands and heard her gasp. He lifted his gaze, watching a beautiful delight wash over her face as she closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall behind her, and he did not think he had ever seen anything lovelier in his life. He gently closed the thumb and forefinger of each hand over her hardened nipples, relishing the little whimpering sounds of pleasure she made even as he felt his self-control slipping.
Reluctantly, he slid his hands away from her breasts to grasp the folds of silk and cambric that were caught on the flare of her hips. He pulled the dress and petticoat down her legs as he knelt in front of her, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the thick, willow-green rug and his lust reined in.
His body was burning by the time the garments reached her ankles. She put a hand on his shoulder for balance and stepped out of them.
He pulled off her heeled silk slippers and tossed them aside, then his hands curved behind her ankles and moved slowly up her calves. He caressed the backs of her knees, and smiled when he felt shivers run through her. He untied her garters and pulled them down with her stockings.
Only when she was completely naked did Anthony dare to look up again. But he did it slowly, over long, straight shins and taut, tapering thighs, thighs that had a sleek, outside plane and an oval hint of muscle above each knee. Strong legs, lean and taut, more beautiful than all the plump, fleshy limbs of other women he had seen. A man’s most insane dreams could not conjure up legs like these. “God, Daphne, I—”
He couldn’t go on. Anthony ran his palms up the outside of each of her thighs, then grasped her bare hips in his hands. He pulled her toward him and pressed a kiss to the soft brown curls at the apex of her thighs, inhaling the scent of gardenias and feminine arousal.
That kiss was too much for her. She gave a strangled, startled cry, and her hands came down on his shoulders to keep herself from falling.
He stood up and lifted her in his arms. Turning around, he laid her on the bed, then sat on the edge beside her as he removed his boots. Standing up again, he looked at her as he began to unbutton his trousers, and found that her gaze was fixed on his hands. He watched her face as she watched him slide his trousers off his hips, and when her lips parted with a soft, startled oh and a smile of pure approval, he wanted to laugh with exultation.
The mattress dipped with his weight as he moved to stretch out beside her on the bed. Leaning on one elbow, he gazed down at her for a moment, then he reached out to touch her. He flattened his palm across her stomach, then moved lower, and slid his hand between her thighs. He slipped the tip of his middle finger inside her.
She was wet, aroused, panting, as he encircled her clitoris gently with the tip of his finger. He barely moved, watching her face as her hips rocked frantically against his hand and she approached her climax. Nothing she felt was suppressed or hidden from him now; there was exquisite joy in every plane and curve of her face as she let out the soft, keening wail of feminine ecstasy. Anthony felt the tiny, convulsive shudders of her body as she wrung the last few pleasures of her orgasm from him, and he was more pleased by what he had just witnessed than by any other sexual experience of his life.
He withdrew his hand and moved on top of her, his weight pressing her deeper into the mattress. He entered her, and he wanted to move within her slowly, bring her to ecstasy one more time, but she was so tight, and the feel of her surrounding him was so exquisite that his good intentions went straight to hell.
He heard his own visceral groans as he felt the tension within him rising, thickening until it was unbearable. No way to be gentle now, or hold back. He quickened the pace, thrusting into her with the rough, frantic motions of his own passion finally unleashed. He came in a rush, the sensations exploding inside him with all the flash and heat of fireworks.
