Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,59

slid up to cup her small but firm breasts. He would have liked to pull her bodice down and touch her flesh, but he couldn’t see the dress she wore and felt no openings in the front.

But he knew where he could find exposed flesh. Both hands slid back down her hips and began to gather the material of her skirts.

“Mr. Pope?” she said, a warning in her voice. “I hope you don’t think to—er, have your way with me up against this tree.”

“I think you had better start calling me Nash,” he said as his hands grazed the bare skin of her thigh. “And, no. I’m not so coarse as to roger you against a tree.” Not that the idea didn’t appeal, but their first time—if they had a first time—would not be out here with his trousers about his ankles and her back rubbed raw against a tree trunk. “But I do want to touch you.”

She moaned a response as his hand slid higher up her thigh, her skin hot and soft under his fingertips.

“Do you object?” he asked, his mouth on her throat. Her pulse beat madly under his lips.

“Not yet,” she said.

He chuckled. Her skin felt so alive, so warm under his touch. He felt so alive when he touched her. He felt alive when he was with her. He hadn’t wanted to feel. He hadn’t wanted to remember what his life had been like before, but when he was with her, he could handle the pangs of nostalgia and feelings of loss. He would have given anything to see her face right now, as his hand skirted higher, but he could hear how her breath caught and feel how her body trembled in anticipation.

And then his hand grazed something unexpected. He pulled back. “Drawers?”

“Hmm?” And then she hissed. “Oh, yes. I forgot about those. Don’t look so shocked,” she said, and he tried to school his face into a more neutral expression. “I don’t see why only men should wear them. You try wearing a skirt out and about this time of year and see if you appreciate a frigid breeze in your nether regions.”

Nash was surprised to find he was scandalized. The only women he had ever heard of wearing drawers were prostitutes or courtesans. They were considered a masculine garment, and it was quite taboo for a genteel lady to wear them. He’d never reached under a lady’s skirt and found a pair of drawers. But he was not put off now that he had. In fact, he was rather intrigued. These drawers, in particular, were quite short, not even reaching mid-thigh. From what he had felt, they were made of a soft linen material.

“I can imagine you wouldn’t want cold air...there,” he said, his hand fingering the edge of the drawers as he tried to picture them in his mind. “What color are they?” he asked.

“White. I sewed them from an old petticoat. They aren’t fancy.”

“You continue to surprise me, Pru.” His hand slid inside the drawers and she shivered.

“Is that a good thing?” she asked, her voice low and husky as his hand brushed against the curls at the juncture of her thighs.

“It’s a very good thing. God, but you’re warm.”

“So are you,” she said, breathless. “You’re like an inferno.”

“I promise I won’t burn you.”

“Somehow I doubt that. Nash?”

His head jerked up at the use of his Christian name.

“You did say to call you that?” she asked, voice tentative.

“I did. Call me that whenever you please.”

“Good. Then Nash?”

“Yes?”

“Do you plan to keep teasing me or do something with those fingers?”

He almost laughed out loud. She was wonderfully audacious. “Shall I do this?” he asked, stroking a finger along her seam.

“Oh, yes.” She moaned and pulled him closer. “How about this?” He slid the finger back, pausing at the place where that small nub of pleasure was hiding. Gently, he parted the flesh and brushed over it.

“Nash.”

“You asked me to stop teasing you,” he said, siding his finger into her wetness. She was tight and hot, and he regretted having begun this because the need to be inside her was all but overwhelming. He withdrew his finger, slaking it over that tight bud again and she tensed in his arms. As he brushed over the sensitive spot, his touch feather light, her hips bucked, and her hands clawed at his shoulders.

“Still no objections?” he murmured into her neck.

“If you stop, I will strangle you,” she said, trying to sound threatening but failing