Seeking pressure against the ache, she twined her legs around his hips. But he didn’t comply. Instead, he shifted to one side, and a frustrated huff left her when she hadn’t the strength to pull him back.
“Shh . . .” he said against her lips, kissing her tenderly. “So impatient. Some experiments take time, you know. We have to gather information. Test the response of our subject.”
His hand eased down her midriff, covering her navel with his palm, his fingertips resting just above the thin layer of taffeta and cambric, and the shallow rise of her mons.
Anticipating the direction of his next touch, her body quivered with the barest amount of trepidation, her breath held captive in her lungs. But he altered course, skimming over to the curve of her waist. He gripped her hip in a tender massage as his lips nibbled softly into hers. And he reassured her endlessly until her own impatience caused her to list toward him.
She needed more. Ever astute, Raven already seemed aware of this. His dexterous hand followed the slope of her bent leg down to her hem . . . and beneath.
Jane started thinking again. She wondered if her woolen stockings were too chaste, too unworldly a garment compared to what he’d encountered before. Or if he thought her too small as he covered her kneecap and spanned the circumference of her thigh.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered as if she’d worried those thoughts aloud. “So soft. I never knew anything could be so soft, Jane. I want to take a bite of you. See if you’ll melt on my tongue like freshly fallen snow. And I want to kiss you here . . . all along this silken path . . .” The tips of his fingers brushed her bare inner thighs, almost tickling, almost soothing her trembling limbs. His lips glided back and forth over hers, matching the gentle up-and-down sweeps beneath her skirts. “I’ll stop whenever you ask. But please don’t ask. At least, not yet.”
His rough plea sent a surprising thrill through her and, giving him her full trust, she nodded in acquiescence. He reassured her with every kiss, and with every touch as his hand descended.
She felt the first brush of her damp curls with an acuity of a butterfly’s antennae. He continued with scholarly care, cataloguing every panting breath of his subject, collecting her responses to his tender exploration. Then he cupped her fully.
A breath staggered out of her and her knees reflexively clamped shut in shy embarrassment, even as her hips arched in invitation. The combination of movements effectively pressed him harder against her. And strangely, his breathing was now strained with erudite patience.
The way his hand molded to her, caused her pulse to bump against the curve of his palm. He pressed back and she bit into her bottom lip on the most excruciatingly lovely ache.
“Your hand feels quite different than my own,” she said in a hurry of hoarse nervousness. Staring up at his face, she saw his eyes close as he went still. At once, she worried she’d spoiled everything. “I didn’t ask you to stop.”
“I know. I’m merely taking a moment to savor the vision of my naughty little professor hiking her nightdress above her hips and playing underneath the coverlet.”
“Playing,” she scoffed but with a smile, wondering if he noticed that he’d said “my little professor.”
“Exploratory research, then?”
This time she rewarded him with a kiss, cupping his cheek. “Better.”
He inhaled deeply, satisfied in some way. Mouths locked in an embrace of their own, he shifted, rising up and angling his body possessively. And with one leg drawn over hers, his finger winnowed her curls with tender deftness, cultivating her pleasure until she forgot all about being nervous or scandalized.
All she wanted was him. She told him this secret in the way her lips and fingers touched his face and throat, his nape and shoulders. She wanted him to feel the affection spilling from her heart in heavy gushes and flooding every vein. So she eased her knees apart and heard his murmur of approval.
His studies resumed. He investigated the sensitive folds with expert care and long-fingered gliding strokes, teasing ripe flesh until the tips of his fingers were saturated with dew. Then he slowly delved inside the swollen seam on a hiss as if scalded by her heat.
Undeterred, he navigated an erotic path up to the tender throbbing pearl, chasing the pulsing sensation in furtive circles. Her gasp echoed in the library. The aged leather-bound tomes were surely scandalized, blushing in red and burgundy hues. But she didn’t care.
Her hips tilted eagerly. She wanted to skim through the lesson to reach the final exam. He eased that one clever finger away from the bud and she whimpered in protest before she understood he was following the narrow runnel down to the vulnerable opening.
Her senses heightened in helpless anticipation.
Then the blunt tip nudged inside and he cursed under his breath, the husky sound like a pained prayer. “You’re even softer here. Soft . . . and wet . . . and snug.”
He punctuated every word with another nudge, knuckles edging inside one by one, stroking the inner walls. Her body closed around the gradual invasion and he shuddered, his palm pressing against the inexorable pulse.
She was lost in the exquisite torture of it all and arched her neck to drag in a breath. In that same instant, his mouth descended to her exposed breast, overwhelming her nervous system with heady sensation.
He feasted on her pale flesh. The tight swirling flicks of his tongue matched the firm rotation of his palm against the throbbing bud, his finger driving deep into the narrow channel. A new restlessness settled inside her, drawing tight.
Her own explorations had never been this in-depth. Her fumblings had left her damp-skinned and frustrated. But this was so much more—a chemical reaction with perfectly measured components. Coupled with the application of this luxuriant friction, she felt on the verge of detonation.
Tingles scattered out from her core in cascading ripples, keeping her from being embarrassed over the slick sounds of her desire. She wanted this—whatever it was—too much. Her hips bucked involuntarily, riding counter to his rhythm. And Raven captured her lips on a groan as if the cataclysm were happening to him as well.
His finger thrust faster into the slick constriction, his palm rubbing in circles, urging her on and on until she could hear the crackle of her own blood rushing in her ears.
Every part of her exploded at once.
She shattered like a firework in the night sky, hanging suspended in the heavens beneath Raven’s skillful, unending caress as he dragged out every last flicker. Then he coaxed her into a slow, easy descent to the earth again.
She went boneless onto the map table, an awed sigh floating up from her lungs in a vapor that surely sparkled. Eyes closed, she said on a sigh, “Gunpowder must be so happy when it ignites.”
He chuckled against her throat, then dipped his head to press a kiss to her bare breast, spurring another voluptuous kick from her body. Just a small firework, but it made her smile nonetheless.
“Is that what it will feel like for you? Will you describe it while it’s happening?”
Slowly, he withdrew his hand, her body closing on emptiness. Then deftly he situated her clothes before gathering her in his arms. His mouth pressed to her temple. “I’m not going to strip you of your maidenhead in the library, Jane.”
She frowned, slipping her hands inside his coat and feeling the tandem, thundering beats of their hearts. “Whyever not? It seems like a perfect place to me, and I can feel your readiness for copulation against my thigh.”