She snuggled against him, sighing contentedly. The motion had all his senses flaring.
She was an innocent. There was no way she could know what she did to him. But damned if his cock wasn’t growing harder by the second.
Turning to him, she reached up to cup his face. “So rough,” she murmured.
He closed his eyes as her fingers explored down his jaw, over his chin, and across to the other side. Soft fingertips circled the shell of his ear, making him suck in a breath. And then she touched his lips gently, almost reverently. Opening his eyes, he pressed a kiss to her fingers.
“Olivia,” he said on a near groan. “I want you so badly. I’ve wanted you for so long.”
“I’ve been thinking…” Licking her lips, she hesitated, her eyes meeting his. She whispered, “Well, what it comes down to is… I want you, too.”
“Are you sure?”
Slowly, she nodded. “I am. I want this.”
She moved her hand away from his lips, pushing over
his cheekbone and threading her hand through his hair until she cupped the back of his head, drawing him closer to her. She was pulling him in for a kiss, he realized. And then sensation washed over him, warm and drugging, as her lips touched his.
Sweet and tentative, but not cowardly. She took the lead, questioning and probing, moving her lips in her own slow rhythm, testing and tasting, one hand behind his head and the other slipping around his side, fingers questing up and down the side of his back.
He felt her shudder in his arms. “So strong,” she whispered. “So powerful.” And she kissed him again, less tentatively this time.
He felt neither strong nor powerful. He felt enslaved. Completely at the mercy of this beautiful, tiny, strong woman.
His hand stroked over the material of her robe. The dip of her waist, the subtle flare of her hip, the smooth contours of her body inflamed him, made him ache for more. For all of her.
He found the hem of her nightdress at her thigh, and realized that the dress must’ve hiked up when she’d sat on his lap. Moving his hand lower, he touched her knee, then cupped the rounded back of her bare calf. His breath hitched—she was so utterly slender and smooth.
Then he noticed that she’d stopped breathing altogether. She’d stopped kissing him, too, though her lips were still pressed against his.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered against her lips.
“What?” Her voice was breathy and high. Was she panicking?
“I still want you. So much, it’s nearly killing me. But I should stop. Tell me to stop.”
She pulled back. “Why should you stop, Max? I already told you it’s what I want.”
His hand stilled on her calf but didn’t leave it. “I shouldn’t… I don’t want to compromise you. I don’t want you to regret…”
“Shh.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “I’ll have no regrets.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s the wine speaking.” She’d had at least two glasses—maybe more. His own memory was fuzzy. Certainly she wasn’t accustomed to drinking potent wine, and she was so slight, even a small amount would affect her.
She was drunk, she wasn’t thinking, she’d regret this—
He dragged his hand off her leg.
“It’s not the wine.” She brought her hands up and held his face between her palms. “Look at me.”
He opened his eyes.
“The wine did not affect my decision.”
“Are you sure?”
Gravely, she nodded.
“I want you, Olivia.”
“I want you, too. So badly.”
He shook his head, hopelessly confused but at the same time completely bewitched. His heart was hammering. His cock was like a steel pike. Just the thought of her flesh bared, of her mouth open in ecstasy…
“Olivia.” It was a groan of agony, of prayer, of need.
In response, she shrugged the robe off her shoulders and reached down to untie the belt. It fell over his legs. Now all that separated his flesh from hers was the single flannel layer of her nightgown.
She reached up and pulled the string, letting the gown
gape open at the neck, revealing the creamy swell of her breasts. Slowly, Max bent down and pressed his lips to the curve of her breast.
Warm, soft, and sweet. The three adjectives that best described her.
Sighing, she arched back, giving him better access to her breasts. He cupped the swell through the material but nudged it aside with his lips, finding her nipple and taking it into his mouth. She made little panting noises, and her fingers tightened, her nails biting into the flesh of his back.
Her nipple responded to his ministrations, tightening and budding. He suckled, then circled it with his thumb while his lips explored the rest of her breast and higher, over her collarbones and up her jaw until he found her lips again.
He kissed her gently, then stood, lifting her. He walked toward his bed, and set her down at its foot. Kneeling, he grasped the hem of her nightgown and lifted slowly, dragging his fingertips over her shins, knees, and thighs. When the fabric snagged at her bottom, he hesitated and looked into her eyes.
“Tell me one more time,” he said. “Tell me you want this.”
She licked her lips. “Must I be naked?” she asked in a voice so thin it barely resembled a whisper.
“No.”
She stared at him.
“You don’t need to be naked, Olivia. But I’d very much like to see your body. To touch it.”
Her eyes drifted shut. “Yes. I want that, too.”
His lips twitched into a smile. “Good.”
He raised the nightgown over her buttocks, hips, waist, and breasts. She reached around and grasped the hem, helping him pull the garment over her head. When it was off, she tugged it over her arms and tossed it away. Then, fists clenched, she lay back stiffly, straightened her arms at her sides, and gazed at him.
He could stand and stare at her all day. In the yellow-gold light of the fire, she was perfection. No harsh edges and rough corners like he had. She was all smooth roundness and curves, more so than he could have ever imagined with her clothes on. Her flesh was an even color—pale ivory—and flawless. He could see hints of her hipbones, collarbones, and ribs, but she wasn’t so thin that any of them jutted out.
“God, you’re perfect,” he murmured.
She shuddered.
“And cold.” He groaned softly. “I’m sorry.” He gathered her into his arms, pushed back the blankets and laid her down, then went in beside her before pulling the covers up to their chins.
She turned to him, tucking her body against his. Her skin was cool against his heat. Her hands roamed over him, learning his body’s contours, until she reached the waistband of his trousers. “Take them off.”
It was a whispered command, but it surprised him nonetheless. Despite her smallness and her innocence, Olivia proved over and over that she was no coward.
Without a word, he complied, unbuttoning them, then kicking them off and tossing them onto the floor to join her nightgown.
When he turned back to her, she was staring up at him, wide-eyed. “I’m naked. In bed. With a gentleman.”
“A gentleman who wants you. Who…”
Loves you?
Holy hell, was he falling in love with Olivia Donovan? Had he already fallen? Max had never been in love before—he’d actively avoided such irrational entanglements. But was that what this odd, fuzzy feeling was? Was that what made him feel like he wanted to take this woman into his arms and worship her body for the rest of his life?
Whatever this feeling was, he didn’t want it to stop.
“I want you, too,” she whispered.
He pushed a stray strand of bronzed blond hair away from her face so he could see it. Then he moved his hand down her side, past the dip of her waist and down the front of her thigh until he cupped the curls between her legs. All the while, he watched her eyes widen.
“What do you think is going to happen, Olivia?”
“You’re going to… penetrate me,” she breathed.
Gently, he pushed his fingers between her legs, stroking her damp, hot folds. “Here.”
“Yes,” she gasped.
He nudged her until she lay on her back, then he knelt over her, all the while smoothing his fingers over her. He touched her in that most womanly place, finding her hot and wet, feeling smug that he was the only man who’d ever touched her here. And if he had his way, he’d be the only man to ever do so.
The only man.
He couldn’t contemplate the significance of that thought—not right now.
He slipped a finger inside her, and her body arched up to meet him. The action made him grind his teeth. She
was so tight. Her body squeezed the length of his finger. And she was receptive as hell, shockingly so. Passion glazed her eyes, and her channel clamped over his finger.
He stroked in and out of her, watching her face with rapt attention. A sheen of perspiration covered her cheeks, and her blue eyes were bright and needy, staring into his with such trust.
God, did he deserve such a look? Did he deserve such a woman?
His body had tightened all over. His cock was so tight and hard. He was in a precarious position—one light stroke would set him off.
“Max?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
She wiggled against his hand. “I need… I should… We must… Oh…” Her eyes fluttered shut as he pushed his finger into her.
“Oh,” she whispered. “I never knew… I couldn’t imagine… But…”
“Shh,” he murmured. “Stop talking. Just enjoy it.”
“But… But…” She opened her eyes, and even as she pushed against his finger, and even though her voice croaked with dismay, she said the words that nearly killed him.
“Max… you must stop.”
O
livia watched Max draw away from her, not only physically, but his expression, too, turned still and then shuttered.
“No,” she murmured as an ache for his touch swelled within her body. “No… I meant…”
“What did you mean?” His voice was gentle enough, but it held a flatness that hadn’t been there before.
“I meant… Well…” She swallowed hard. How did men and women discuss such things? It was one thing to be so intimate with a man, although even when she didn’t seem to know what to do, her body did. But to find the words to speak about such intimacy seemed a thousand times more difficult.
He lay on his side, supporting his upper body on his forearm as he watched her patiently. Yet a muscle worked in his jaw.
“You’re angry with me,” she whispered.
Releasing a harsh breath, he rolled onto his back. “No, Olivia.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, choking back a moan. “I’ve ruined it, haven’t I?”
He remained silent.
“I didn’t want to stop,” she said. “I just… Well… well, we’re not married, Max. And I’m… I’m afraid. I do want you—desperately—but I don’t want this to result in a child out of wedlock.” She hesitated. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. His chest—his beautifully golden and muscular chest—rose and fell as he breathed.
Finally, he turned his head toward her. “If we ever engage in carnal relations, Olivia, I’ll do whatever I can to prevent conception. Unfortunately, nothing is guaranteed.”
Olivia pressed her lips together and then nodded. “And what if I do conceive?”
Max rolled back onto his side to face her. “I’d marry you, of course. I’d take care of you, and of our child.”
“Would you?” she asked. “Many men wouldn’t. And… you’re going to be a duke someday…”
“Ah, but remember—you yourself said that I am not like most men. Not with you.”
She already knew that he wasn’t like other men, and she believed him. “I trust you,” she whispered, and burrowed into his arms, thinking of the way he’d said “our child.” Not “
your
child” but “
our
child.”
He took her into his arms willingly, and she felt the press of his lips on her head.
“Did you doubt me?” he murmured.
“I didn’t know whether men ever thought about such things,” she said, her voice muffled against his muscled chest. “It’s chiefly considered to be the woman’s responsibility, is it not?”
“No. It’s my responsibility. And it’s one I will uphold.”
She smiled against his skin. “It’s mine too, though. It would change my life, after all.”
He said nothing, but his arms tightened around her.
“My sister said you must withdraw—”
“Your sister?”
“Yes.”
He pulled back to look down at her, aghast. “You told her about us? You told her that you intended…?”
“I told her I was considering engaging in carnal relations with you.”
He groaned. “You make it sound as though you two were discussing what you should have for dinner.”
“Well… it wasn’t quite like that.”
“Which of your sisters was it?”
“Meg.”
He bowed his head, releasing a slow breath against her scalp. “I suppose this means I can expect a challenge from Stratford tomorrow morning.”
“Of course not!” she exclaimed. “My sisters and I are very close. I must talk to them about such things. How else could I learn about the things in the world that are most important to know?”
“Most young ladies wouldn’t ask at all.”
“But these are things everyone should consider, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I do.”
Olivia sighed with contentment. They held each other in comfortable silence. Olivia drank him in—the hard maleness of him, the clean smell of him, the warmth emanating from his skin.
“Max?”
“Hm?”
“I was scared for a moment when I wanted to talk to you about this. But you listened to me. You stopped what we were doing, and you didn’t judge or become angry. And it seemed like you’d… well, you’d progressed quite far. I wasn’t sure if you
could
stop, even though I’d asked you to.”
“I didn’t want to stop, Olivia. It was difficult, because you’re right about me having progressed far.” He frowned. “When a man reaches a certain point, it’s painful to stop.”
“Oh, dear. Did I cause you pain?”
He shrugged. “It wouldn’t matter even if you did. I’d never press if it was something you didn’t want.”
“I did want it, though… I just… well, I wanted to thank you.” She gave him a shy smile. “I feel like I can talk to you about anything.”
“Like you can talk to your sisters about anything?”