You must overwhelm his senses while keeping your own.
She knew this was wrong. Unmarried ladies did not entertain gentlemen in their bedrooms. Not while in their night rail, and certainly not with brandy and kisses. She knew it, but she found herself unable to stop. After an entire lifetime of being demure, Melinda found herself tossing every scrap of logic and decorum aside.
She blamed him completely.
She blamed him for charming her out of her anger. She blamed him for leaning close and being so handsome that she ached to touch him. And she blamed him most especially for being so good at kissing that she wanted to do it again.
Their lips touched. His were warm and tempting. Like hot chocolate on a cold morning. She wanted to lick him slowly before relishing tiny sips. But she never had control with him or chocolate. She knew she’d start gulping him down while his touch still burned her tongue.
She kissed him full and deep. She thrust her tongue into his mouth, then quickly lost that duel as he dominated her. She was stretched awkwardly in her chair. He had the room to push forward and to wind his fingers through her hair as he took control of her mouth and her kiss.
She tried to stay dispassionate. After all, she’d kissed other men. What made this man’s caress so much better than another’s? Was it the way his one hand was firm as he cradled her head and the other hand a sensuous stroke as he brushed down her neck and across her shoulder? Was it the way his tongue was unpredictable, first thrusting then stroking? A push then a nip while she scrambled to keep pace? Actually, it seemed that his total command of the situation was thrilling and…
He touched her breast.
She knew he would. While their kiss had gone on and her mind had spun its distraction, she had allowed his fingers to slip the shoulder of her night rail down before his fingers stroked over her bare breast. She had allowed it, and yet, everything seemed dizzyingly beyond her control.
He broke their kiss, dropping his forehead against hers while their breath mingled hot and sweet. But his fingers did not stop as he brushed the rounded swell of her breast, then slipped quick as a wink beneath it. She felt him lift her slightly, and his thumb brushed her nipple.
Lightning tingled up her body, lingering in her jaw for a second. Bizarre, she thought, and then he did it again. His thumb, back and forth across her nipple. This time the sizzle went low, heating her belly and weakening her legs.
“You must trust me,” he said as he pressed a kiss to her nose.
“I do,” she answered, though she’d meant to say, “of course not.” Of course she did not trust a lustful man in her bedroom at night. She was a proper girl and not a fool. But then he pressed his lips to her shoulder. A kiss. Another. Then the scrape of his teeth against her skin.
It was so delightful she shivered. What an odd reaction, she thought, but as soon as the idea formed it slipped away under the steady thrum of his thumb across her nipple.
“Trevor,” she whispered. She lifted her hand, meaning to push him away. Instead, she feathered her fingers into his hair, feeling the soft caress of his locks across the back of her hand. Soft curls. Sweet kisses, now on the curve of her breast.
He shifted until he was kneeling before her. He pressed his mouth against her skin and pushed her backward in the chair. Her head dropped against the ornate chair, and her pulse rushed close to the surface. She felt it in her throat, and yet she also felt the stroke of his thumb as if he touched the deepest center of her body.
Then he lifted her breast higher, bringing it to his mouth.
She had heard of this before. She wasn’t completely ignorant, and she often overheard ladies whispering together. Gentlemen liked breasts, they’d said. “Sucking on tits” was the phrase they’d used. She never guessed that she would enjoy it too.
That the press of his lips would set her to gasping. That her pulse would jump as his suction pulled at her. Or that she would grip his shoulders and hold him so that he would never stop.
He sucked. Sometimes he stopped, and his fingers twisted her nipple. Not painfully. Or yes, a little painfully, but in the most wonderful way. On the other breast. On both breasts. And then, yes, he took her nipple into his mouth again.
Her heart hammered, and she shifted restlessly. She wanted to draw him closer, but she hadn’t the thought. She felt his pull. Every stroke. Every caress. She felt it…
Everything tightened unbearably.
So tight. Like everything drawn in and held.
Until it broke.
Her belly convulsed, and her mind sputtered in shock.
Everything pulsed and writhed and rushed inside her. And it was wondrous!
It continued for a while, with her body throbbing, while everything else tried to grab hold. Her mind tried to understand, her breath tried to catch up, and even her belly, which quaked and quivered, tried to gather its dignity and pull her legs closed. Nothing worked except this flight of pleasure powered by the contractions of her belly. And in the end, she surrendered herself to the sensations, only to have them fade into a pale tremor inside her.
Which was when she opened her eyes to see him watching her. His eyes were wide and his mouth slightly parted. His expression seemed dazed, but beneath it all was a clear excitement. Not lust, but giddy joy.
Or was that her?
“Has that ever happened to you before?” he asked, his voice hushed.