The Unexpected Wife - Jess Michaels Page 0,67
in her own voice, desperate and needy.
“More?” he asked, his voice muffled by her flesh against his tongue.
“All of it,” she begged.
He hesitated for a mere flash of a moment, then pushed her dress forward off her shoulders. His fingers dragged back up the front of her chemise slowly, hands cupping both her breasts from behind. He massaged there and she gasped out a helpless breath. How could every single touch light her up with more intensity than the last? How could he make her feel all the need and passion and pleasure she had convinced herself didn’t even exist with just the simplest brush of his hands?
She didn’t know the answer, but she knew she didn’t want it to end. She pivoted around into his broad chest, lifting her mouth hard into his even as she shoved the gown down her body and impatiently kicked it away. She wanted to feel this man’s flesh against her, free of all other impediments. Nothing else would do.
He caught her hips with both hands, his fingers pressing against the flesh through her thin chemise, massaging the curves there. It only made her more desperate, so she pushed his jacket away and then lifted shaking hands to his cravat. She had to open her eyes to unknot it. She was not so experienced in undressing a man to do it by feel alone. She found him watching her as she did so, pale brown eyes locked on hers. Her fingers fumbled in the long swath of fabric.
“Need help?” he asked, smiling, that dimple popping in his cheek. She released the cravat with a sharp inhalation of breath and reached up to trace his lips and then his cheek, smoothing her thumb across that fascinating divot of his dimple as she had longed to do since the first moment he flashed it toward her.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Please.”
He untied the cravat with a few flicks of his wrist and unwound it just as expertly. But instead of dropping it to the floor to join her dress, he looped it around behind her, catching her in the snare of it and drawing her even closer with the cravat as leverage.
She was trapped and she didn’t care. She wanted it. She wanted all of it and more and more and more. She was going to take it, take him, one way or another.
She began to unbutton his shirt as he tugged her hips flush to his with the cravat. She arched against him, her breath coming short and her vision blurring as they ground against each other. He dropped the cravat and cupped her backside with his hands instead, moving her against him, making her forget his half-undone shirt as he backed her toward the bed. Her thighs hit the high edge and he lifted her, depositing her there and wedging himself between her legs.
She locked them around his thighs as he kissed her yet again. The hard length of him was still encased in linen, but when she lifted against him there was no doubt he was very ready for her. And she felt equally ready. Her sex tingled, wet with anticipation of what he would do to her.
She wanted it all and she wanted it now.
He pulled away and stared at her, his expression almost stunned, as if he was understanding something that had eluded him until this moment. Then he pointed at the bed.
“Slide over,” he said. “And take that chemise off, please.”
She wrinkled her brow but slid to the opposite side of the bed and tugged her chemise off. Then she unbuckled her slippers and dropped them off the bed, as well. She was going to unroll her stockings, but he shook his head. “Not those. I like those, they are very pretty.”
She might have answered, but she was too mesmerized with the way he tugged his half-buttoned shirt over his head with one hand. His muscles flexed as he did it, and she licked her lips at the sight of this man undressing for her pleasure.
He shucked off the trousers, kicking them aside, and then he joined her on the bed. She expected him to roll over her, to take her, but instead he slid his pillow down a little, lay flat on his back and said, “Have a seat.”
Utterly confused, she stared at him, naked beside her, reclining like some kind of king, waiting for tribute. His cock was at half-mast, hinting at the pleasure he could give, but not yet