Page 114 of The Wallflower Takes All

He wanted her.

He lowered himself against the seat next to her and deftly pulled her atop his lap. Her knees landed on either side of his thighs, her skirts hitched up to accommodate. His mouth moved from hers to the corner of her jaw, then lower, to the sensitive place beneath her ear. Poppy’s breath caught. Her fingers slid into his hair, and the discovery that she could disarrange him there too nearly made her laugh. Or weep. Or ask for something she had no words for yet.

Gabriel’s hand moved at her waist, then her side, and paused there, asking silently before he trusted himself to speak. “Tell me if you wish me to stop,” he said against her throat.

Poppy’s eyes opened.

His voice had gone unsteady.

So had hers. “I do not wish you to stop.”

His hand rose, careful even now, and covered her breast through the thin muslin of her gown.

The world contracted to that touch.

Poppy’s head fell back, and Gabriel kissed her again, swallowing the small sound she could not contain. His palm shaped her with aching care, his thumb finding the peak of her breast through the fabric. She felt the stroke everywhere.

“Gabriel,” she whispered.

His mouth left hers. For one suspended moment, he only looked at her, the sound of his name undoing the last of his restraint. Then his head bent, and his lips found the same place his hand had discovered.

Even through the muslin, the heat of his tongue shocked her. He drew her gently, wickedly, between his lips, and Poppy’s fingers flew to his hair. The sensation moved through her in a hot, helpless rush, pleasure braided with astonishment, want sharpened by the knowledge that he was still listening for the smallest sign of hesitation.

There was none.

She arched her back before she could stop herself, pressing her nipple more firmly into his mouth.

Gabriel made a low sound against her breast, and the vibration of it made her squeeze her eyes shut. His hand slid around her waist, firm and possessive now, gathering her closer as though he had reached the limit of carefulness and found it wanting.

Desire moved through her, shocking and sharp, yet beneath it was something more unsettling than wanting.

Trust.

She trusted him to desire her and still care whether she was frightened. She trusted him to lose control by degrees and still hear her.

His hand left her back and found her knee beneath the folds of her gown.

Poppy went still.

Gabriel lifted his head. “Poppy?”

She could scarcely answer. His hand was warm through her stocking, and the careful pressure of his fingers made her thoughts scatter. “Yes.”

One word. Apparently, it was enough.

His hand slid higher, gathering her skirts as it went, the muslin whispering over her legs. Her breath caught. He watched her face, attentive to every flicker, turning even this into a question he would not answer without her leave.

She gave it by pushing closer.

His fingers reached the top of her stocking, then the bare skin above it, and Poppy’s whole body drew tight with expectation.

Gabriel’s breath changed.

His hand lingered there for one charged instant, the heat of his palm seeping through her skin even before he moved again. Then he slid his fingers higher beneath her skirts with deliberate care, and the kiss he pressed to her mouth turned deep and hungry. His hand was patient, almost unbearably so, learning her by touch, coaxing from her one shiver after another until she was trembling against him.

Poppy clutched at his shoulder. A soft cry escaped her when his touch turned more intimate, more knowing. One long finger slipped inside of her and her head fell back against the sofa cushion. She could scarcely think. The whole room had narrowed to the warmth of his mouth, the strength of his arm around her, and the mounting pleasure gathering low and hot between her legs.

He lifted his head just enough to look at her, his eyes dark and intent. Nothing in his face was careless now. He looked utterly absorbed in her, as though every small sound she made mattered to him.