Page 69 of Ruthless, But for Her

Slanting his mouth across hers, Ashton pulled her hard against him and heard the sound she made against his mouth.

She opened for him, and Ashton did not let the moment pass.

He told her with his tongue how to respond. Ashton may not always have the right words—and being raised in a stew house was not ideal for many reasons—but he at least knew how to make a woman forget her own name.

When her hands froze on his arms, Ashton regretfully pulled back from the kiss, giving her time to think. If he and Cassia would do this, they would do it right.

He looked down at her swollen lips and wanted nothing more than to continue the kiss. But he wanted one thing more.

He placed his hands over hers. “Do not hesitate to take what you want. Not with me.”

Ashton drew her hands up to his shoulders and onto his chest, the muscles underneath responding to her touch. “You’ve not touched a man this way before,” he guessed.

She shook her head. “You are...so different than me.”

He closed his eyes, trying not to imagine how a married woman had so little experience. Instead, he took a step back, opened his eyes and told her to explore him at will. As she tentatively brushed her fingertips down his chest, Ashton showed her how much pleasure it brought him. And that pleasure was not bad. Or evil. It was hers to give, and hers to stop.

“I did not know.”

Her hands stilled, moving back to his forearms.

“You’ve not been kissed that way before?” The answer was plain enough to see but Ashton wanted to confirm it, as well as reassure her.

“Nay. I thought a kiss... I was courted, and thought I’d been kissed.”

He reminded himself she’d had no mother to guide her. “Nell?”

“She was widowed at a young age, her only babe having died in its first winter. I do not believe she’d been kissed that way before either. If she had, Nell kept it from me. She never spoke of relations between a man and a woman as bringing...”

If naught else, Ashton would teach Cassia she had naught to be ashamed of when speaking of such things.

“Say it.”

“Bringing pleasure.”

“You are well-read.” He held still, determined not to touch her, not to move, until Cassia did.

Margot had said it a hundred times in that house, to men who had paid and men who had not. A woman who is not asked is not willing, she is only quiet. He’d been perhaps thirteen when he understood she meant it as a rule and not a kindness.

“My father purchased every book I’ve read. His library is extensive, but filled with tomes on history and philosophy. Not⁠—”

He could provide the word but would not.

“Say it.”

“Not...”

Again, her voice trailed. Cassia could learn this from him, and a proper kiss, if naught else.

Though he wished for much, much more.

She grinned. Cassia’s hands were soft against him, the touch nearly too much to bear.

“You are ruthless.”

“Aye. I’ve been told as much.”

“That was not—” She stopped, then took a deep breath and started again. “I mean it not as an accusation.”