He dropped his head and kissed her thigh. Her inner thigh.
Betsy closed her eyes, embarrassment striking a blow again. With his face so close to her leg, he could see her most private parts. They should be making love under the sheets in the dark. She should hold herself still instead of quivering at every touch of his lips. Her legs went rigid.
“Bess,” he said, his voice encouraging.
“Just give me a moment,” she said, her mind rabbiting in fearful circles. “I just need to . . .”
“That’s not important,” he said. “Not between us, Bess.” But he ran his hands down to her ankles in silent, tacit acceptance of whatever she decided.
Betsy closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his breath.
If he was no gentleman, then she was no lady. At least when they were together.
She would never leave him; she knew that with every instinct she had. He was her Prussian, not her duke. Shared pleasure wouldn’t change her character and turn her to a faithless woman. Still, she had to conquer this insidious fear or she would diminish his pleasure.
“How did you know what I was feeling?” She propped herself up on her elbows, curiosity trumping mortification.
“I know you,” he said, pressing a kiss on her left knee. His hair slid over her bare skin, making her shake. His hands traced higher, caressing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.
Betsy sank into mindless need, raw desire. She wanted him to move his hands higher. She wanted his lips to touch her thighs, and higher. She even wanted him to look at her.
To lick her.
Men and women did that service for each other, and according to the ceiling of the auction house, cherubs were intoxicated by the act.
“Are you planning to kiss me, ah, intimately?” she whispered.
“I was.” He met her eyes, the hunger in his making her dizzy. “We can wait until you are more accustomed to bedding.”
“I would like to kiss you that way,” she said, the words stumbling out of her mouth.
He froze, his fingers tightening on the full curve of her upper thighs. It gave her courage, because his eyes didn’t look scandalized. Quite the opposite.
“We don’t have any pillowy clouds,” she said. “I’d like to act out any number of angelic postures.” She began to sit up. “In fact—”
“No.” His hands slid forward, pinning her legs to the bed.
She cocked an eyebrow. “Dictatorial, are we?”
“Always, in the bedchamber.” He said it without apology, although he added, “If I do something you don’t care for, tell me.”
“Those two statements are in opposition,” she teased.
He growled and then rose on his hands and knees and moved to kiss her. Breathless moments later, Betsy returned to sanity to find she was shaking with impatience and muttering pleas under her breath.
A half hour later, after Jeremy had reacquainted himself with her breasts, and began leaving kisses on the curve of her stomach, her pleas were breathless.
“Couldn’t we do that later?” she begged, looking down without a shred of embarrassment at the man who had positioned himself between her legs, and was doing things with his thumbs that made her breath catch and turn to cries.
Proving her own courage, to herself and to him, she put it in words: “I’d be happy now to find myself deflowered.”
He glanced up, eyes full of wicked laughter. “You’re rushing your fences, Bess.” Holding her gaze, he leaned forward just enough to lick her. A long, slow, lap.
Betsy tried to keep her mouth closed, but a needy whimper escaped her.
“You taste wonderful,” Jeremy said, his voice guttural.
She fell back, shaking, and put an arm over her eyes. He was holding her legs apart so he could lick her. She’d never felt anything so acutely in her life. Shudders wracked her body, and when one of his fingers slid inside, she called his name, clenching tightly around his finger, her legs restlessly moving against the sheets.
“What did you say?” Jeremy asked.
She dropped her arm and gasped, “More.”
“Like this?”
He eased a second finger inside her and she arched her back, breath shuddering in her chest, pushing against his hand because it wasn’t enough.
Jeremy said something in a low growl and his fingers slipped from her. She cried out, reaching down for him, but suddenly he was there, above her, and in a single, smooth stroke, he slid home.
For one moment, Betsy went still around him, her eyes widening with surprise. He was so much larger than his fingers.
“It doesn’t hurt,” she said, shocked. And again: “It doesn’t hurt.”
She daringly bumped her hips upward because he was still, his eyes searching hers.
“No?”
That joyful smile again, the one that she saw so rarely.
“Time to try for more than not hurting,” he muttered.
In answer, she nudged him again, her body burning to feel more. He drew back and claimed her again with a devastating thrust that brought fire in its wake.
A groan tore from his lips. “You feel . . . Bess, love, I’ve never felt anything like you.”
She tried to answer but words didn’t seem to have a part in a world narrowed to sweaty limbs and sobbing breaths.
He withdrew and thrust again. Betsy arched up, clinging to his shoulders, sucking in air, writhing in an attempt to get closer. She felt graceless and desperate, uncertain how to play her part.
He grabbed one of her knees and pulled it against his side, showing her. She was completely open to his every stroke now, and each made fire lick through her.
How could she ever have imagined she could lie still while making love? Every thrust made her nerves dance, and as he fell into a smooth rhythm, pushing deep inside her and then withdrawing, she kept shifting her hips upward, hanging on to him.
Behind her closed eyes, relentless pleasure was building like water trapped behind a dam, so ferocious that she was almost frightened.
“I’ve never felt like this,” Jeremy rasped, his lips brushing hers. “You were made for me. We were made for this.”
Betsy kissed him back, her hips rising to meet his thrusts, ragged cries escaping her lips. His movements were smooth and relentless while her hands flew over all the parts of his body she could reach, caressing him, loving him.
Still the pleasure built and built, until the moment came when the dam cracked and broke. He bent his head just in time and his lips covered hers, his hips moving faster and harder. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as waves of pleasure shook through her body.
She came back to herself, finding that sweat had slicked the backs of her legs and her body was shaking.
Jeremy was braced above her, his shoulders gleaming with sweat. He smiled at her, eyes slumberous, heavy lidded. “That looked like fun.”
His voice sounded as if he was barely holding himself in check. Betsy had a sudden realization that Jeremy never let himself go. Perhaps that’s why he gave way when fireworks exploded around him.
No, that was too simple.
“Rapture,” she whispered. She turned her head and rubbed her cheek against his sweaty shoulder because tears were misting in her eyes. “I love you,” she whispered. She wrapped her arms around him and then, daringly, her legs, and let her head fall back so their eyes could meet. “You feel so hard, and so right that I ache.”