unadulterated temptation. And Sebastian was tempted. His conquering instincts clamored for control. Screamed for release. Ached for surcease. All of which made his next action nearly unbearable.
He waited for her to acknowledge his lack of attention. When she finally opened her lids, he said, “Second thoughts?”
She blinked hard twice, as if to cast off a deep fog. “God, yes.”
Sebastian’s muscles hardened, instantly regretting his decision. Of all the cork-brained things to do—
“But not enough to stop,” she whispered.
He stilled. Flames licked through his veins, his chest grew taut. “Be very sure, Catherine.”
From the way her eyes widened, he knew he’d been unsuccessful in keeping the rough edge from his voice. He also knew the moment he slid into her welcoming body that the devil himself would not be able to rip him from the warmth of her embrace until he’d had his fill.
She trailed her fingers along his cheek and eased back onto the table. The leg he’d bared with his roaming hand rose to an inviting angle, and she hooked her dainty black boot around his backside.
Her acceptance nearly unmanned him. Unable to ignore her encouragement, Sebastian shifted his attention to her breasts, desperate to swirl his tongue around the hard nubs hiding beneath layers of cloth and corset. But he hadn’t the patience to unfasten the contraption.
Instead, he slid hungry kisses up her throat and along the delicate ridge of her jaw. The faint scent of a lavender-filled meadow reached his nose. He wanted to pause for a deeper inhalation, wanted to draw her essence into his very center. But the craving to taste her lips one more time won out.
She must have sensed his need, for in the next instant she turned her head until their mouths touched. The dam broke, and Sebastian felt himself sinking into a watery abyss for which there were no handholds.
Catherine could not breathe, and she didn’t care. The earl’s demanding mouth angled first one way and then the other, stealing her breath and rattling her wits. Never before had she been overwhelmed by her lover. Jeffrey had always taken his time and ensured her comfort. She did not even know one could make love on a table.
She loved this mindless seeking of pleasure, this chaotic grasping for gratification. This demonstration of their mutual desire. How long had it been since she’d experienced the simple joy of being wanted by a man? She clasped his head tighter and arched her back, needing to feel the weight of him along every inch of her body.
Cool air swirled around her other calf, her knee, and then her naked thigh. With her voluminous skirts now bunched around her waist, the lower half of her body was exposed for the household’s delectation. She prayed his staff followed his instructions and stayed away. Knowing what they were doing was one thing; catching them doing it was quite another.
Ending their kiss, he straightened away, curving his palms over her breasts and stomach, up her raised legs, and down her inner thighs. He didn’t stop until both thumbs reached her aching cleft. She groaned and thrust her hips, sending sharp needles of pleasure-pain up her spine.
His thumbs never moved from the crest of her opening, tantalizingly close, frustratingly far away.
She lifted her head. “My lord, please.”
“I can feel your heat,” he said in a low, rough voice. “See your need.”
Her inner muscles clenched, and he moaned like a man on the brink of salvation.
In that moment, she would be whatever he wanted her to be. If only—she lifted her hips—he would—she grasped the tablecloth—relieve her—she tilted her head back and squeezed her eyes shut—agony. “Pleeease.”
Instead of touching her, he attacked the fall of his trousers. Unfastening the placard with inhuman speed.
As he took his member into his hand and pressed the thick head against her silky cleft, he said, “Need to feel you. Now.”
“Yes. Now.”
He entered her slick passage. The heated friction more delicious than anything she had ever experienced. Even with her shoulder blades digging into the table, she was swimming in decadence and thrilling at her boldness. But at the halfway point, Catherine’s muscles tensed and the exquisite contact transformed into a dull, intrusive pain.
She grimaced, and he stopped. When she opened her eyes, she found his luminescent gaze—now filled with concern—raking her features.
“Did I hurt you with my impatience?”
Catherine’s heart slammed into her chest. If she confirmed their lovemaking had caused her some discomfort, he would become considerate and gentle. Boring.