Page 28 of Ten Rules for Loving the Wrong Rake

"You wanted me to touch you." His fingers found the bare skin above her stocking, soft, warm, and she inhaled sharply through her teeth. "Put my hands on you the way no one has."

She was shaking. Her eyes were wide and black in the lantern light.

He kissed her again. Softer this time. Pulling the urgency back, gentling the edges. He felt her body ease against him, pressing closer. That was enough.

He sank to his knees.

Her breath stopped. Like a held note.

"What are you—"

He gathered her skirts, pushing them up slowly, above her knees, her thighs. She seized his wrists.

"Kit. What are you—"

"Did your husband ever touch you here?"

He placed his mouth on the inside of her knee. She flinched as though burned.

"No," she whispered.

"Bastard." The dead man had never bothered to learn her. He pressed his forehead to her thigh for a moment, willing himself to slow.

He lifted his head and looked up at her.

"May I?"

A pause. Then her fingers, still gripping his wrists, loosened.

“Now lean back,” he said.

She did as told.

“Bring your knees up."

She obeyed, hesitant. Knees pressed close together.

“Spread your knees. I want to see you.”

Averting her gaze from him, she opened her legs inch by inch. His cock swelled and pushed against his trousers as her heat came into view. Even in the dim light, it glistened with her arousal. His breath caught.

His arms circled around her thighs and held them firm. He placed his mouth on her.

She cried out. Sharp. Her thighs clamped around him for a moment before she released, and he felt the tremor run through her entire body.

He went slowly. Savouring her softness, her scent. He kept his hands on her hips, his thumbs tracing circles on her hip bones.

She was making sounds that went straight through him. Small, frantic, climbing sounds, her thighs contracting and releasing, her hips rocking in tiny, involuntary movements she was trying to control.

He was losing himself. The taste of her, the heat, the sounds—they were pulling him toward a finish he had no business reaching, not like this, not with his cock pressing against a mound of dirt. His body did not care about sequence or intention. It cared only that he was between a woman's legs for the first time in half a decade and the woman was Audrey and the sounds she made were sounds he wished to hear for the rest of his life.

He pulled back. Pressed his forehead to her thigh and breathed. His whole body was tight, every muscle clenched against the edge, and he could feel himself leaking against the fabric of his trousers. If he stayed here another minute, he would finish without being touched, and that was not how this was going to go.

She made a sound of protest. Her fingers tightened in his hair.

"Why did you—"

He rose and kissed her. Hard. Tasting of her. She stiffened at the shock of it and then her mouth opened against his and the kiss deepened, messy and urgent, and he felt her hands on the waist of his trousers, her fingers fumbling with the buttons.