“I’m glad you came,” she said, her voice low.
He tried to smile, but his lips wouldn’t cooperate. “You doubted I would?”
She seemed to have no trouble making that charming smile of hers appear, dimples and all. “I did worry you would be embarrassed over what we discussed … that perhaps out of my sight you might get cold feet.”
Roger’s face grew warm as he realized it had been a near thing. She was the first person outside his family or Iris he’d revealed his stammer to. It stood to reason that a part of him feared how that revelation would impact this arrangement. He wanted to believe her acceptance of him was genuine, but experience had made him wary.
Until now.
Miranda had paused halfway across the room, hands hovering over the knotted belt of her robe. “Would you like to set your lamp down?”
Roger followed her gaze to a bedside table and strode to it to rid himself of the lamp. When he turned it was to find Miranda standing with her back to him, the loosened dressing gown slipping off her shoulders. His gaze followed the downward path of the garment, the slopes and planes of her back and shoulders curtained by the drape of her hair. He held his breath until his chest burned as it paused just where her waist gave way to her hips, before inching down to reveal full, plump buttocks, soft, creamy thighs, and shapely legs. His breath came out in a rush, and all the blood in his body seemed to surge straight to his groin.
Miranda kept her back turned to him. However, Roger felt the distinct impression of eyes upon him. When he shifted his gaze from the tempting sight of her lush bottom, he found a cheval mirror against the wall, angled perfectly to display the front of Miranda’s nude form. His pulse thumped like a drum in his throat as he met her stare in the glass, finding her eyes mirrored back at him in the reflection. Then, he allowed himself to take in the rest of her—full breasts tipped with dark pink nipples, the soft curves of her belly and waist, the thatch of dark curls cradled between her thighs.
Roger’s chest heaved with every strained breath, his head spinning as he took inventory of every place he wanted to press his lips, every inch of skin he wished to taste.
She remained where she stood, obviously waiting for something. For him, he realized.
He walked toward her with slow, measured steps, fingers twitching in anticipation of the first touch. Miranda tensed when he paused just behind her, his clothed body lightly brushing against her naked one. Then, she sank into him with a sigh as he rested his hands at her waist.
Roger’s eyes slid shut at the feel of her bare skin—soft and smooth, undulating with pliant curves of supple flesh. Her head fell against his shoulder as he allowed his hands to explore, smoothing inward over her belly, then downward toward her thighs. Miranda let out a soft sigh and pressed into him, her back against his chest and her buttocks pushing against the rapidly swelling organ in his breeches.
Burying his face in the sweet-smelling tendrils of hair tickling his jaw, Roger inhaled her scent—a slightly woodsy, citrusy orange blossom that made him want to lick her from neck to toes. He felt his way upward, his fingers itching to be filled with the weight of her breasts.
Miranda gasped when he cupped them, arching her back and simultaneously pressing her nipples tighter against his palms and her buttocks more firmly against his aroused cock. The moan that escaped her lips when he squeezed her breasts sent another surge of heat and desire jolting through him. His hips shifted of their own accord, grinding his erection against the swells of her buttocks. The tip of his cock was already wet, his bollocks drawing up tight to his body. He hadn’t felt such potent desire in years—had forgotten how reckless and uninhibited it made him feel. There was no need to worry over his speech or her perception of him, no need for talk. His hands spoke to her body like words could not, and she communicated her pleasure and her wants back to him, a silent vibration thrumming through his veins.
“Yes,” she whispered when he lightly pinched her nipples. “Yes, please …”
She brought both hands up to clutch at his nape, squirming and writhing against him as he toyed with her nipples, awed and pleased with the way they hardened between his fingers. He opened his eyes to study their reflection in the mirror, enraptured by the pink flush kissing her cheeks, her parted lips, and her undulating body which created the most erotic friction between them.
Roger pressed his lips to her shoulder and fought not to spend in his breeches. If she kept this up, he wouldn’t last another minute. He felt ready to explode, overflowing with unfulfilled need and a desperation to finally experience this base, primal act.
“Touch me here,” she panted, drawing his gaze back to the mirror.
Roger’s belly clenched at the sight of her slender fingers stroking over the dark brown curls of her mons—teasing through the coiled hairs, showing him where she wanted his touch. He kept one hand molded to her breast, the thumb and forefinger absently toying with the tip as his other hand drifted down her body. Miranda moved her own hand and braced her feet apart to allow him access. A strained groan wrenched free of his throat when his fingers encountered the velvety flesh between her lower lips—soft and delicate and dewy with her arousal.
He slid his middle finger along her slit to explore the sleek folds and taut opening, unable to help delving one finger into her channel. Wet heat gripped him, the satiny glide of her flesh around him making his knees week. His cock throbbed for want of taking the place of his finger, learning the sensation of being inside her body.
Roger withdrew his finger, but Miranda bucked her hips, urging him to continue. She moaned when he lightly circled the tiny nub of her clitoris, smearing it in the wetness he’d coaxed from within her.
“There!” she exclaimed, fingers tangling in his hair and nails digging into the back of his neck.
He concentrated his efforts on the small knot of nerves, delighting in the way she shivered when he pressed and rubbed. Tremors wracked her body as he learned and explored, discovering what drew those soft moans of delight from deep within her chest.
“Miranda,” he rasped, trailing soft, short kisses up her neck to her ear. “Tell me how to please you.”
He punctuated the plea by nipping at the tip of her ear, which she seemed to like very much. Roger filed it away in his memory, along with every minute detail he’d learned in the past several minutes. He might not have the skill to match the man who had come before him, but he would not be daunted by that. Having always been an astute learner, he was confident that under her tutelage he would become well-versed in the ways of pleasing a woman.
Turning to face him, she braced both hands on his chest, staring up at him with eyes gone dark with lust. “Take me to the bed.”
Hands braced on her hips, he began backing her toward the waiting bed. Their lips met in a heated kiss as they went down onto the counterpane, tongues surging against one another, teeth nipping, breaths tangling together. Roger braced himself over Miranda as she pulled the knot of his cravat loose, peppering kisses along his cheek and jaw, then his exposed neck. They became an awkward tangle of limbs as she began wrestling him out of his coat. Roger shifted and rolled his body to help, but found himself panting for breath by the time the garment had been cast aside. Crouched between her parted legs with the scent of her arousal on the air, he felt as if he were slowly dying—the air being squeezed out of him by the restriction of his clothes. Every accursed layer was keeping him from Miranda.