“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No.” She glanced at the bed. “Would you think me too forward if I suggested we go to the bed? My knees are a bit wobbly.”
Hew almost laughed. Dropping her towel was fine, but asking him to join her on the bed—that was too much? In answer, he picked her up and carried her to the bed. “Stop!” She struggled to make him put her down. “Your injury.”
“I don’t feel anything but your heat right now,” he said. He lowered her to the bed and came down on top of her. “And that’s all I want to feel.”
Hew lowered his mouth to Belle’s and took hers softly and slowly. He wanted to savor the feel of her lips and the way she responded to him. Her reaction was instantaneous. She kissed him back with a fever and intensity that tested his willpower. But before he could slide his hand between her legs again, she pushed against his chest. Hew raised his head, going still. “I’m crushing you,” he said, looking down into her dark eyes. “Or do you want me to stop? I’ll stop.”
She grasped his arms. “I don’t want you to stop.”
Thank God. The idea of walking away now was torture.
“I do worry about your wound.”
“It’s fine—”
She put a finger on his lips. “Lie on your back.”
Hew was about to object then wondered why the hell he’d do that. He rolled off her and lay on his back. Much as he hated to admit it, that did take the strain off his wound. It also gave him a view of her lovely body. The sun filtered through the pale material of the curtains in the bed chamber. Between that and the light from the fire, Hew’s gaze took in the blushing tips of her breasts and the honey-colored hair between her legs. She lowered to her side, propping her head on her elbow and reached over to smooth the hair back from his face. He usually wore his hair shorter, but between his work on the railroad accident and the extended time in London, it had grown past what he liked.
Belle’s fingers slid down his cheek to trace his smooth jaw. “I like how you look freshly shaven.”
“I like how you look naked.”
She smiled at him, bent, and kissed his jaw. Her lips traced the line of his jaw, making him shiver. Heat infused him as her breasts slid against the fabric of his shirt. As her lips met his mouth and the kiss deepened, Hew took hold of her waist and pulled her on top of him. She broke away and stared down at him, shocked. He grinned, liking the view of her above him. “You wanted me on my back.”
His hands cupped her hips and slid around to her bottom. When she moved in response, he almost groaned at the feel. He was still dressed, thank God, but he could feel her heat through the clothing. His hands slid up her back then down over her shoulders and skated over the tops of her breasts. Belle’s head fell back as he fondled her but snapped back when his hand slid to her belly. His fingers curled in her soft pubic hair, and her gaze met his.
“May I touch you here?” he asked, his fingers sliding lower.
“Do you want to?” she asked, voice quite breathless.
“Very much. You’ll like it, but if you don’t, say the word and I’ll stop.”
She nodded and he nudged her hips so she arched back slightly. The view that gave him made him slightly lightheaded. He placed one hand on her waist, anchoring her, and slid the other between them to stroke her sleek folds. She was damp and pink and slightly swollen. He moved slowly and deliberately, allowing her to adjust to the feel of his fingers on her before moving one finger to her entrance. He hovered there, circling it, until she opened her eyes and gave him a look that was a mixture of confusion and wanting. Her brown eyes were impossibly large and so dark as to be almost mahogany.
Hew pushed up and into her tight channel, feeling her grip him almost immediately. She gasped quietly then stared at him accusingly as he withdrew his finger. He entered her again and this time he slid his thumb over the small nub buried in her folds and stroked it gently as he plunged deeper. “Oh!” she said, and her head dropped back. Hew took his time, sliding in and out of her and teasing that nub until her breathing came heavy and she opened enough that he could insert two fingers. She moaned then and thrust her hips toward him. She was tight and her muscles gripped him as she neared climax.
Hew slid his fingers out again then gently inserted them, this time circling her using the wetness from her body. But instead of teasing her, he continued to circle and flick. She began to shake and her hips bucked. “Please,” she said, though she sounded confused as to what she wanted.
Hew knew what she wanted, and with a last stroke, he gave it to her. She cried out and her inner muscles clenched his fingers as her hips bucked and rolled. And then she fell forward to lay her head on his chest, her breaths coming fast and short. He withdrew his hand and stroked her, feeling the way her entire body vibrated. He could feel the thundering of her heart against his chest.
He'd missed this—this feeling of connection, of closeness. He wanted to further it by opening the placket of his trousers and filling her with his cock. But he was still in possession of some of his senses.
With regret, he resisted.
“What we just did,” she said, sliding off him and lying on her side. “Am I still a virgin?”
He turned to look at her. “You are. I touched you, gave you pleasure. Nothing you couldn’t do with your own hands.”
Her cheeks turned pink, but she didn’t look away. “Could I do the same to you?”
“You could.” She reached for his trousers, but he caught her hand. “But I can’t let you.”
“Why not?” Her tone was demanding.
“Because if you take these trousers off, I don’t trust what might happen next.”
“And what if what happens next is what I want?”
“Belle—”
“Listen to me, Arundel. I’m almost six and twenty. I’ll never marry. I want this with you—with someone I care about.”
He wanted this too. He dared not allow himself to think about how much he wanted her. “I care about you, Belle. And that’s why I won’t take your virginity. You could become with child, and even if you don’t, I’m obligated to marry you if I compromise you.”
“Compromise me? I’m not a duke’s daughter. I’m a shopgirl. No one on Fenchurch Street cares about such things.”
“I care. You’re worth so much more than you credit.”
“I’m a pock-marked spinster. No one has ever wanted me, and no one ever will.” She jerked up, and he caught her just before she could run. “Let me go.”
“In a moment.” Hew wrapped his arms about her from behind, knowing she had to be chilled now. “Let me explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain.” Her voice sounded resigned. “You have your principles.”
“It’s more than that,” he said, not knowing why he went on. He did have his principles. She wasn’t wrong. He didn’t have to explain further, but for some reason he wanted to. “I was married once,” he said.
She stiffened. “Once?” she asked.
He understood her confusion. Marriage was rather a permanent state. “She’s dead,” he said.