He pressed another kiss to her palm and she squeezed her eyes closed, fighting the urge to weep again.
If she did this—if she took what she wanted—she could not let her secret get out. She would not permit the guardianship hearing to be anything but a success. This was what she did—she organized, she planned, she managed circumstances. She would use every trick at her disposal to ensure the children’s position as Peter’s wards, and in the end, she would make himhappy. She would not let him down, she vowed, not on her life.
When the burning sensation in her eyes receded, she lifted her gaze to Peter’s again. He had a half smile on his lips and a strange hint of vulnerability there too, lurking in the curve of his mouth.
He brought his hand to her chin and then stroked his thumb across the curve of her lower lip.
Her mouth trembled open. “Peter,” she said. “I—”
He kissed her. It was a slow, searching sort of kiss. His mouth was gentle. His big hand still stretched warmly over hers, and his fingers moved, whisper-soft, to trace the lines between hers.
She heard herself gasp against his mouth.
He pulled back. “Yes?”
She stared at him. “Yes?”
“You were starting to say…?”
“I don’t remember.”
A grin curled across his lips, more smug than she’d ever seen. “Good.”
And then he kissed her again.
Talking, it seemed, was at an end. Selina took a moment to consider and decided she approved entirely.
His mouth on hers was almost cautious, and when her tongue tentatively touched his, he gave a soft groan of pleasure. The sound of his desire undid her completely, and she stroked his hair, his jaw, his neck, trying to chase more of his response.
When she slipped her hand beneath the line of his jacket and traced the hard muscles of his abdomen through his thin linen shirt, he made an inarticulate sound. His hands fastened on her rib cage, his thumbs stroking the undersides of her breasts.
Without her conscious volition, her head fell back, her back arching. Sweet heavens, if his touch felt that splendid through her gown, just imagine if she was…
Peter seemed to be having much the same thought. His fingers moved to the side hooks in her gown, unfastening one after another until her gown sagged open at the seam. Beneath her gown, she wore only a chemise—she didn’t bother with stays with this dress, as she couldn’t lace them herself.
One of Peter’s hands eased the heavy serge fabric off her shoulder, and it fell to her waist. The other hand had already claimed her breast, shaping and kneading the small globe through the thin cotton of her chemise. His fingertips traced her areola, then slipped softly across one tight, aching nipple.
“Ah,” she gasped. Her hands were still on his abdomen, and she felt her nails tighten on him. “Peter, I—ohGod.”
He kissed her, hard and deep and urgent, his tongue thrusting into her mouth with a need that echoed in her breasts, her belly, her fingertips. She whimpered and shifted in his lap, trying to pull closer to him.
Somehow he’d disentangled her other arm from her gown,and now both of his hands were filled with her breasts, both of her nipples taut under the gentle, relentless torment of his fingers.
Her skin felt tight and hot. She needed him to touch her. She needed—God, something, she needed something or she would go mad. She pressed her thighs together and writhed on his lap.
He groaned again. “You—that’s—God, I have to—”
His pelvis rocked, and she recognized suddenly the hard line of his arousal pressing into the soft flesh of her hip. Oh.Oh.
One of his hands abandoned her breast, and she whimpered in disappointment. No, he couldn’t stop, he’d barely touched her, only stroked and teased and tormented.
Then she felt his hand beneath her skirt, warm through her thin silk stockings, and then his mouth came down to her breasts.
Where his fingers had grazed, his mouth was firmer, hotter, more urgent. He laved her nipple through the fabric, then spread the wet cotton tight with his fingers. “So lovely,” he said roughly. “So beautiful, sweetheart.” Then his mouth came back, hot and wet, and he sucked hard at her nipple, making her gasp and then moan.
She felt—she hardly knew what she felt.
Wild. Drunk. Barely in control of her body as she gripped the back of his head, holding him tight. She didn’t know what to do, but she knew what her body wanted. Pressure. Friction. More.
