Devil's Daughter (The Ravenels #5) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,88
the least my desire to debauch you thoroughly.”
Phoebe curled her arms around his neck and rubbed her cheek against the black-brown locks of his hair. Bringing her mouth close to his ear, she whispered, “I’m not sorry about that.”
To her surprise, she felt a fine tremor go through him, like the vibrations of a piano wire. Drawing back, she stared into his flushed face, and smiled with a hint of triumph. “That’s the sound, isn’t it? . . . the one that gives you tingles. It’s a woman’s whisper.”
Chapter 26
“I admit nothing of the kind,” West said, resuming his attentions to her breasts, cupping them together and kissing her nipples. Fastening his mouth on a stiff peak, he drew it deep and suckled. Gradually one of his hands smoothed over her stomach, down to her groin, idly fluffing the red curls. Despite his physical strength, he handled her with stunning gentleness, his caresses skillful and indirect, building anticipation.
His touch skimmed through delicately layered flesh, pressing her open like petals. The tip of his middle finger eased around the half-hidden nub, playing lightly. At the same time, his mouth moved to her other breast. Still straddling him on her knees, Phoebe felt her thighs quiver dangerously. She sank lower and jerked as she felt the taut head of his sex press against her.
“Don’t stop,” he said against her breast, one of his palms sliding over her bottom to guide her. At her hesitation, he lifted his head and read the uncertainty in her expression. “You’ve never done it this way?”
“Henry and I were both virgins. We only knew how to do it the one way.”
West gave her a skeptical glance. “You never looked at erotic postcards together? You would have discovered no end of ideas.”
“Never,” Phoebe exclaimed, more than a little shocked by the idea. “For one thing, Henry wouldn’t have known where to find such materials—”
“The booksellers on Holywell Street and Drury Lane keep them behind the counters,” he said helpfully.
“—and for another, he would never have shown anything like that to me.”
West’s eyes sparkled wickedly. “What would you have done if he had?”
Taken aback by the question, Phoebe opened her mouth to reply, then closed it. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I suppose . . . I might have looked at one.”
He laughed. “Only one?”
“Or two,” Phoebe said, so embarrassed she half-expected to burst into flames. She leaned forward to hide her face on his shoulder. “Let’s not talk about dirty postcards.”
“You’re having fun, you naughty girl,” he said, one of his arms sliding around her, “Admit it.”
Phoebe smiled against his shoulder. She loved how he teased her, the way no man would ever tease a duke’s daughter or a respectable widow. “A little,” she said.
The fragrance of his skin mingled with shaving soap and almond oil and a hint of some salty essence that she realized with a little shock might have come from her. Aroused by the thought of the intimacies she had already shared with this man, she turned her head and kissed his neck. She dragged her parted lips up to his cheek, and his mouth sought hers, kisses blooming within kisses like a field of poppies in endless summer. Those clever, inventive fingers played between the open bracket of her thighs, occasionally slipping into the snug sheath of her body and teasing the inner muscles into squeezing around them. His thumb brushed over her clitoris in flirting touches, drawing quivers from her and making it impossible to sit still. Reaching down to grip his shaft in her hand, she guided him into place, determined to take him inside.
“Easy,” West said softly, cupping her bottom to control her descent.
Phoebe sank lower in his lap, and felt him adjust his position in the chair, altering the angle between them. Gasping with effort, she worked herself on him, easing farther each time. He held her carefully, watching her with rapt concentration, his breath turning choppy.
He was deep inside her now, impaling her to the point of discomfort, and yet she hadn’t quite taken all of him. She paused, and he groaned softly, caressing her back and sides, muttering words of fervent approval and praise. Obeying the coaxing pressure of his hands, she eased downward, lifted and slid down again, enthralled by the sensation of being filled and caressed within.
“Like this?” she asked, wanting reassurance.
“God, yes, just like that, yes . . .” He reached for her head and pulled her in for a profoundly enthusiastic kiss.