The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,72

tunic was damp, and her nipple was straining for his mouth.

“Tristan.” She dropped her head back, baring her neck for him.

Tristan pressed a half-dozen open-mouthed kisses over her tender skin before pulling slightly away. “Not here. Come to my bedchamber with me, Sophia.”

She didn’t answer at once, only looked at him, her pupils huge and dark, crowding out the green he’d grown to love so well. He could see the struggle on her face, the uncertainty in her trembling lips. He wanted to go to his knees, to clasp her around the waist and beg and plead with her, but he kept quiet, a bead of sweat sliding down his back as he waited for her to make her decision.

He saw the answer in her eyes before she spoke a word. The green depths softened as she gazed at him before she hid them behind her thick black lashes. She took his hand in hers, neither of them speaking as they rose from the sofa. Tristan led her to the stairs and together they climbed to the second floor, where Tristan’s apartments lay at the end of the hallway.

He took her into his bedchamber, closed the door behind him, then turned to her and held out his arms. “Come here.”

She went to him without hesitation, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her body flush against his. He captured her hand and raised it to his lips, kissed each of her fingertips one by one, then swung her up into his arms, carried her to his bed and lay her down on top of the coverlet. Her cheeks flushed as he looked down at her spread across his bed, his gaze touching her everywhere. “You’re beautiful.”

That word felt wrong, too weak to capture what he truly felt when he looked at her. A rueful smile quirked his lips. No, he was no poet. He did think Sophia beautiful—breathtakingly so—but her beauty was so much deeper than green eyes, silky hair, and pouting lips.

He couldn’t put it into words, but he could show her how he felt, how much he wanted her. Slowly he reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it over his head, his breath catching at the expressions flickering across her face.

Desire, hesitation, anticipation…

“Oh.” Her chest rose and fell rapidly as his naked skin was revealed. She cast him a shy look from under her eyelashes, then she reached for him and dragged her fingers across his bare stomach, letting her fingertips slide just beneath the waistband of his breeches.

Tristan sucked in a breath, his head falling back at the sweet caress. “Yes. Touch me, Sophia.”

She did as he asked, watching his face as she learned his body, pausing to linger on the secret skin behind his ear, the base of his neck—wherever her tentative strokes made his breath catch, or his eyes drift closed.

When he couldn’t take another moment of her sensual exploration without going mad, he took control, turning her gently in his arms so her back was pressed against his bare chest, and slid his arms around her waist. He brushed a kiss over the nape of her neck, then moved lower, following the path of her spine with his lips, testing each of her vertebrae with his tongue. Her skin was hot, but she shivered under his touch. By the time he pressed a final kiss to the base of her spine and drew away, she was quivering.

He traced his fingertips down the graceful line of her back, following the path his mouth had taken before pausing to brush his lips over her hair. “Your hair, Sophia. Take it down.”

Her hands were shaking as she pulled her hairpins out one by one. Tristan waited until every pin was gone before he gathered the thick locks of her hair into his hands then let it fall loose, watching the dark waves spill over her back. “I love it loose like this. Like a waterfall.”

Sophia let her head fall back onto his shoulder with a sigh, and Tristan buried his face in her wild curls, inhaling the sweet scent of honeysuckle. “I want to see your hair against your bare skin,” he murmured into her ear. He fingered the edge of her black tunic. “Take this off for me, pixie.”

She caught her breath at the nickname, but any hesitation she might have felt earlier, any misgivings she had seemed to have faded away, and she turned to face him. His breath grew harsh