a lifetime to kiss her, and couldn’t wait another moment. But even so, he was slow, gentle, nibbling and teasing and taking tiny sips from her lips as if she were the sweetest wine, and he had all of eternity to taste her.
“Gideon.” Cecilia didn’t recognize her own voice. It was so husky, a plea hidden just at the edges, subtle, but Gideon heard it, and responded with another hungry groan.
Cecilia slid her fingers into his hair, her fingernails dragging over the back of his neck as she tugged his head down to hers. She opened her lips to him, urging him closer, making no secret of her desire for him.
He gasped against her mouth, cupping her face in his hands. He slid his tongue between her lips, the kiss going on and on until Cecilia was weak-kneed and breathless.
“I want to taste you here, sweetheart. Let me…” Gideon sank his hands into her hair to drop a dozen tiny kisses over her neck, his tongue darting out to taste her skin. She cried out when his mouth, hot and open, pressed into the arch of her throat. “Gideon.”
He sucked and nipped at her tender skin, and Cecilia held onto him, overwhelmed with unfamiliar sensations. She wanted to touch him, with her hands and her mouth—his neck, his shoulders, the long, strong line of his back, his firm, rounded—
“Come with me, sweetheart.” Gideon tugged gently on her hand, drawing her away from the landing and further down the corridor where the shadows were deeper. “Yes. Here.”
She was already reaching for him as he drew her into the alcove. He kissed her again, the demand of his lips and tongue setting her alight until she was clinging to him, gasping for breath.
“Shh.” Gideon stroked her hair back from her face, his blue eyes tender as he gazed down at her. “We shouldn’t be…I don’t want to frighten you.”
Her body felt alive, stretched taut, as if tiny flames had burst all over her skin in the wake of his stroking fingertips, and she was one caress away from exploding. Cecilia caught his wrist and dragged his hand down her neck, and then lower, lower, where she needed his touch the most.
Bright color bloomed across his cheekbones as he cupped her breast with a groan. “We can’t…we shouldn’t be—”
Cecilia pressed her fingers against his lips. “I’m not afraid, Gideon.”
She was a little afraid, but not of him. Never of him.
She was afraid of herself, of how easy it would be to forget everything—her friends, Lady Clifford and Daniel, the reason she was here—and lose herself in him.
“So beautiful, Cecilia. So soft here.” He traced his fingertips over the curves of her breasts, his body going rigid against hers when she whimpered in response. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”
Cecilia couldn’t speak, but another soft cry broke from her lips as he brushed his thumb over a nipple, just the lightest stroke, a tease more than a caress, until he wrung another whimper from her. Then he began to stroke her in earnest, his gaze locked on her face as he caressed both her nipples, circling and pinching the stiff nubs until Cecilia cried out and grasped his forearms to steady herself, her fingernails digging into the expensive fabric of his coat.
“You’re so sensitive.” His tone was soothing, but his wicked fingers kept up the caress, dragging back and forth over the aching peaks. “Do you want my mouth on you?”
She did, oh, she did, but she was covered in layers of fabric—
“Oh, oh…” Cecilia dragged a trembling hand to her mouth, biting on her fingers to smother her moans as his hot mouth closed over a nipple and drew on her until she was shaking, and the fabric of her dress was clinging maddeningly to the straining peak.
She buried her fingers in his hair, urging him on with soft murmurs and pleas, but all at once he tensed and raised his head from her breast.
“No, Gideon. Don’t stop—”
He pressed gentle fingers to her lips, silencing her protest.
That was when Cecilia heard it.
Voices, on the stairwell. “…read you a story until Miss Cecilia comes.”
It was Amy, taking Isabella to her bedchamber for the evening.
Cecilia’s head fell against his chest as she drew deep, trembling breaths into her lungs. How had it gotten so late? She’d lost track of time, of Isabella …
Dear God, she’d lost track of herself. She’d let Gideon touch and kiss her—no, not let him, encouraged him, nearly begged him—on the second