Lydia Dare - A Certain Wolfish Charm

He watched as Emory trailed his finger across her cheek. She didn't shove him away. Perhaps she'd enjoyed it. Then Emory took her hand in his. He'd wanted to jump through the bushes that separated them and carry her away. But he held himself back, watching her reaction.

Now she had the nerve to look at him as though he'd done something wrong. He would show her. He would show her what

he

could do for her. He would show her what she'd be missing if she chose anyone else over him.

He bent at the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder.

"What are you doing, Simon?" she gasped.

"Do be quiet, Lily love. Or you'll draw a crowd. I'm sure you don't want that, since I'm about to have my way with you."

"You will do no such thing," she gasped.

"Watch and see, Lily." He chuckled to himself as he slipped his hand beneath her skirt and clutched the back of her thigh. She hit at his back with her fists. The blows were more annoying than painful, like a bug that flies in your face but never stings you. He strode further down the darkened garden path.

As soon as they were far away from the light of the assembly hall and any wayward strollers who might also want to take advantage of the cover of darkness, he stopped and put her down. Her face was red, the silky skin of her neck and shoulders blotchy.

She moved to walk around him. "I am going back, Simon. I don't know what you think you're doing."

He stopped her by grabbing her wrist and spinning her around. He ran his knuckles across her cheek. His hand shook with the effort it took to go slowly. "Did his touch feel like mine?" he asked.

"You're being ridiculous, Simon." She stomped, but she also leaned her face into his hand. He knew she didn't intend to, but she stretched into him like a cat who wanted to be stroked. And stroke her, he would.

He cupped her face as her hand came up to hold his. His lips hovered over hers, barely brushing them as he said, "Tell me my touch is better."

She tried to fight it. He knew she did. He saw the battle as it played across her face. She failed miserably.

"Tell me," he breathed as he brought his free hand up to cup her breast. His thumb brushed her nipple. Her eyes closed, and a breath rushed from her.

"Yes," she said quietly, looking into his eyes as his lips touched hers softly. But she still hadn't said it. She hadn't done what he wanted.

"Yes, what?" he teased as he brushed her nipple again.

"Your touch is better," she acquiesced before pulling his lips firmly against hers.

Simon took the time to tease her, to play with her mouth. He touched his tongue to her lips. They opened, and she tentatively met him. He tilted his head so he could delve deeper. She pressed back.

Simon groaned against her mouth and pulled her hard against himself. He cupped her bottom, pulling her belly against his arousal so she could feel every inch of him.

Simon removed his coat and spread it in the shadows beneath a tree. Her body was supple and pliant as he picked her up and laid her gently upon the coat, anxious to cover her body with his own and sink into her.

Slow, Simon

, he chided himself.

Gently, he pulled her gown off her shoulder and replaced it with his lips. Her skin felt like silk and smelled better than the sweetest ambrosia. He fought the beast to maintain control, to make it good for her.

He tugged her sleeve down further and, in doing so, bared the swell of her breast. He dropped slow kisses against the fevered flesh. Her breaths rushed in and out, causing the plump flesh to tremble. One more tug, and her breast popped free.

Simon groaned and waited a moment simply to feast upon the sight of her. Her pert breast, round and full, was topped by a perfectly peaked nipple. He looked into her face as he touched it with his tongue. Her eyes closed briefly.

"Open your eyes, Lily, and see what a happy man I am," he said quietly. She did and touched her hand to his hair to hold his head in place as she arched her back.

"Again?" she asked quietly.

He laughed as he took the peak fully into his mouth. She squirmed against him. He used his free hand to uncover her other breast, where he began to wreak similar havoc with no more than his fingertips.

Lily began to purr like a kitten beneath him. Her hips rose to press against him. "I'll take care of that for you, Lily. I promise," he whispered as he bunched her skirts in his hand. They rose higher and higher until he felt the silken smoothness of her stockings. Then he walked his fingers slowly up to touch her bare skin.

She stilled as he ran his thumb along the crease between her thigh and stomach, following it to rest his hand against her drawers. They were already wet with the dew of her passion.

Without even looking beneath her skirts, he let his instincts guide him as he found the ribbons that held her drawers. He quickly untied them and slid his hand inside. All the while, his lips continued to play relentlessly with her breasts.

Her legs spread of their own accord when he touched her. He trailed one finger through her slit, feeling how wet she was. He groaned, "So sweet, Lily."

She laid her head back against the ground as he slid one finger inside her. He would allow her to close her eyes this time, wanting her to give in to the sensations, to realize how wonderful it could be between them.

She arched her hips toward him when he pressed deeper. She closed around him like a silken glove.

"Simon," she cried softly. "Please."

She probably had no idea what she was even asking for, but even an innocent knew there had to be some release from the sweet torment he was trying to inflict upon her.

His thumb rubbed once across her nub, and she arched toward him, pressing his finger deeper. He wanted to be inside her but not until he'd given her pleasure. Then he would do it again.

He stroked across her center again and took up a rhythm of small circles. He reveled in the fact that she responded to him so beautifully. She rocked against his hand, her cries soft and mewling.

And he knew when it was about to happen, when she was about to topple over. She closed her eyes tightly and threw her head back and forth, the pins falling from her hair across the ground. Then she pressed against his hand one more time and exploded. Her body pulsed, milking his finger as he swiped across her heat time and again, wringing the last bit of pleasure from her center. She cried out, clutching his arm. And she said his name. He felt immense satisfaction when she cried, "Simon!"

She stilled beneath him, slowly coming back to reality. Her eyes opened apprehensively, as though she was afraid of what she'd see when she opened them.

"How was that, love?" He couldn't help but smile at her.

Her breaths returned to normal. Her pulse began to quiet. But that was all right. He could bring her back up. But then she began to tug at her bodice, covering her breasts before she rolled away from him. She quickly stood up, smoothing down her skirts. Her hair tumbled wildly about her shoulders, the pins long since forgotten. Then she looked down at him, confusion clouding her pretty face.

"That's not all there is, love," he said, tugging her hand to bring her back down.

"Are you happy, Simon?" she asked quietly. Before he could even answer, she said, "You certainly should be. Because, despite my desire

not

to be your mistress, you made me your whore instead."

Eighteen

What had she done?

Lily clutched her skirts in her hand and ran back down the darkened path toward the assembly hall. Simon called after her, but she paid him no attention. Tears began to stream down her face. He'd never marry her now.

She found Emory Hawthorne on the bench where he had left her, a cup of punch in his hand. When he noticed her tears, he dropped the cup and raced toward her. "My God, Lily, are you all right?"