The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,46
her lady parts. Wanting to torture him just a little, she scooped the last bite and raised her fork to his lips.
“If that is truly its purpose, perhaps you should have some as well.”
Watching her, he accepted it, opening his mouth and curling his tongue around the tines. The tension between them shot through the roof. Her chest tightened and her nipples pebbled against her dress. But Isobel wasn’t the only one affected. Winter’s eyes were so dark with need, his pupils had nearly swallowed the gray irises.
“So, besides fare fit for the devil himself, what else is here?” she asked, wiping her mouth with her napkin.
“Whatever one desires.”
Isobel swallowed, the words lost in her tight throat as he angled his body toward her. The moment was interrupted, thankfully, when a masked gentleman stopped and claimed Winter’s attention. Air flooded her lungs as though they’d been held prisoner.
“Sorry to interrupt, Roth,” the man said. “Just a quick matter of the auction. Apologies.”
An irritated Winter glanced at her. “This won’t take a moment, Isobel.”
“Please,” she murmured.
They clearly knew each other. The man seemed vaguely familiar to her, but she could not place him. As her eyes wandered over the other diners and the footmen, a wicked idea came to her.
Time to take back the reins.
Removing her glove, she slid the hand resting on her lap beneath the table to Winter’s knee. The embroidered tablecloth hid the movement from view. The only outward sign that he’d noticed her daring act was a slight intake of breath. He kept his attention focused on the gentleman. Heartbeat thundering in her ears, she inched up his rock-hard thigh, marveling at the muscle she felt there. He was not a man prone to laziness, if evidenced by his corded strength.
But his deliciously muscular thighs were not the goal.
That prize rested at the top of them. According to Lady Darcy’s detailed instructions—knees, thighs, groin—in that order. Save the trophy for last. Men liked to be teased, but not too much. A firm handhold was best.
Isobel bit her lip—she could barely muster up the courage to inch upward, much less worry about grip. She was attempting to stage an epic seduction when she had no blasted idea what she was doing. She’d never touched a man there.
It’s a body part, she told herself, like a knee.
Gathering her courage, she resumed her exploration, freezing when her marauding fingertips encountered the rock-hard ridge in the crotch of his trousers. Isobel nearly choked on her inhale. It was nothing like a knee at all! She steeled herself and inched forward, knuckles sliding along its impressive length. Her husband put the male organs on display in Rowlandson’s lewd drawings to utter shame. Her mouth went dry as her fingers learned his shape.
Giving her wine a nonchalant sip with her free hand, she peered up at the men who were still in quiet discussion. Winter gave no sign that he was affected by her tentative exploration.
Time to change that. Step two: grasp firmly.
She filled her palm with him and did just that.
It was then that he lifted his own glass with a shaking hand and drained the contents, though he did not pull away or put a stop to her attentions. A gratified smile took over her lips.
Good Lord, he was thick and long, pulsing against her even through the layers of his clothing. She fisted him, gently squeezing and running her fingers along his thick staff to the tip. One fingertip traced the rounded crown, a bead of wetness soaking through the black fabric. A choked noise reached her ears and she shot him an innocent glance.
“Did you say something, my lord?” she murmured, drawing the gazes of both men. She froze, her hand in place, her thumb drawing tiny circles over him. His girth jerked in her palm, more fluid dampening her skin. Winter’s face could be hewn from rock, though his eyes burned…with lust and the promise of retribution.
“No,” he croaked.
The gentleman on the other side of the table wore a diverted expression, and Isobel felt a beat of alarm. Oh God, he didn’t guess what she was doing, did he?
“I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’ll leave you to your…dinner,” he said with an amused twinkle in his eye, and walked off. Isobel felt a blush take over her entire body at the intonation of the last word. She refused to entertain any shame, however.
A heavy palm covered hers. “Just what do you think you are doing, Isobel?”