Elizabeth proceeded him into the bedchamber remained by the door observing her, studying her with the quiet concentration of a chess player evaluating the board and determining his next move.
He didn’t think she would go through with it. Elizabeth could tell that by the faintly cunning look in his eyes.
And perhaps she would not had she known in that very moment, he wouldn’t allow it to go that far.
The viscount didn’t intend to make love to her, of this she was certain. They were locked in a game of who would blink first.
Abruptly, he closed the door and Elizabeth turned toward the bed, unwilling to watch his approach, terrified she’d lose her nerve. But she could sense when he stood behind her, still for a moment as if just breathing her in. He smelled of musk and soap and him.
She started when his hands came up and his fingers brushed her nape. It took her a moment to realize he was removing her necklace. His touch was warm and light and her senses went wild.
“I want you naked with not a thing between us.”
The warmth of his breath feathered her ear. Her nipples peaked as if he’d laid the flat of his tongue on them. Her center grew moist just thinking about him putting his hands on her, parting her, rubbing her.
This had to stop.
“Beautiful.” His praise came out on a breath.
“The necklace?” she asked, intending to tease but her voice cracked too much to carry off such levity.
“That too.”
If she turned her head, he would kiss her. She could hear it in the cadence of his breathing and the way he now crowded her, so close his waistcoat brushed intimately against her satin clad back. And how she wanted him to kiss her. But of course she could not. She couldn’t allow this to go further.
“Turn around.”
Elizabeth gave an involuntary shiver. It wasn’t a request. It was a graveled order, velvet over melted steel.
Like a marionette controlled by the master manipulator, she turned slowly unable to stop herself. She’d thought of naught else since they’d last kissed. Anticipation thrummed through her as she waited, forcing her hands to remain at her side. Just one kiss. It wouldn’t go beyond a kiss.
Derek lowered his head, his mouth drawing ever closer to hers. “I want you,” he said in a voice fashioned to make a woman instantly wet between her thighs. He fitted his mouth to hers.
Elizabeth automatically reached for the muscled hardness of his shoulders. The feel of him, the taste of his lips sent her already racing heart into a frantic gallop. Her lips opened wider to permit and welcome his searching tongue.
The touch of his tongue against hers had her moaning. He emitted a sound between a laugh and a groan, then his hands were around her, cupping her bottom and pulling her solidly against him. She gasped at the feel of his erection at her center. She could feel him hard and thick through the layers of satin and Indian muslin.
The wanton in her welcomed the undulation of his hips as he ground against her. He did it ever so slowly, like a man who knew how to draw out the pleasure for his mate and extract just as much in return. Elizabeth widened her stance, twining her arms around his neck, as she tried to get closer.
“Damn, I knew it would be this good, feel this good,” he muttered darkly, almost as if he resented the fact.
Elizabeth didn’t want him to talk. If he was speaking, that meant he wasn’t kissing her, and that she could not bear. And one kiss was all they could have.
She brought his lips back to hers with a hard tug and nipped his bottom lip with her teeth, then went about soothing it with her tongue before drawing it into her mouth.
She sucked. He had taught her this, that not only were such intimacies possible but so pleasurable. A harsh groan seemed to originate from the depths of his soul. It spoke of sweet agony and pleasure so acute, it couldn’t be tempered or contained.
Time no longer held relevancy. They could have been kissing for seconds, minutes or hours, Elizabeth couldn’t be sure. She only knew she never wanted to stop, and she wanted his hands on her breasts—her bare breasts. The ruched peaks of her nipples threatened to bore holes through three layers of fabric.
As if sensing her need, or perhaps acceding to his own, he began removing her gown, releasing the buttons securing it in the back with deft flicks of his fingers, while his mouth continued to devour hers.
Elizabeth permitted it, welcomed the unveiling with an unabashed eagerness that should have made her heat with embarrassment. But as he pushed the blue bodice to her waist, then proceeded to loosen her stays, the slight chill wafting her bared flesh did nothing to cool the fire of his touch. Only when he had her upper body exposed did he lift his mouth from hers, his hooded gaze focused on her breasts with undisguised lust.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice throaty and raw.
As if touched by the potency of his regard, her nipples tightened up further into two pointy rose pebbles of need. She wanted his hands on her, his mouth on her. And she thought she’d have her wish in the matter of seconds. But when his hand came up, it wasn’t to cup the weight of her breasts, but to take her hand in his. He walked backwards until the lean muscled back of his thighs hit the mattress. His eyes glowed with sensual intent as the candlelight by the bedside caught his handsome features in a luminous, liquid light.
“Remove your dress.”
It was the most darkly seductive order she’d ever received. She knew she should put a stop to this before they reached a point of no return. But the demands of her body overrode reason and she began pushing the dress from about her waist.
Derek perched himself on the bed and watched her, his throat working convulsively when he swallowed, the vein at his temple pulsing in tandem with each exhalation of breath.
Her dress landed in a rustle at her feet, soon followed by her lace-edged chemise. She didn’t allow herself to think, because in a situation such as this thoughts could be dangerous and chart the error of her ways. But in that moment, she didn’t want to be right or proper or strong in her will, she wanted to give into her body’s demands.
However, when she was down to only her thin undergarments, she shot a nervous glance at him. His nostrils flared and his pupils dilated. He looked like a man mesmerized, so completely entranced, he’d slipped into another realm of reality.
“The rest.” His voice scraped the floor of his throat. “Remove the rest.”
Derek pushed aside the warring factions within him—his brain and his cock—forcing himself not to go to her and strip her himself. That wouldn’t do at all for he needed to remain in control.
Somewhere between arriving at the house and standing in front of the bedchamber door, his conscience could no longer be smothered or shushed. And Derek found he couldn’t so callously seduce her and take her virginity. So instead, he’d challenged her, taunted her, certain her offended very proper virginal sensibilities would send her running pell-mell from the place.
But she hadn’t. Which had surprised him. And then he’d been painfully aroused.
Her hands hesitated on the band of her drawers, her nervousness betrayed by a discernible tremble. She inhaled and his gaze was instantly riveted to the thrust of her breasts, firm, full and rose tipped. His breath suspended and his cock felt as if it would explode.
Then she was pushing the offending garment to the floor. Derek took in the cluster of brown curls at the notch of her thighs and wanted to groan at the unfairness of it. A haze of lust blinded him to everything else but her.
“Come.” This time he could do no more than grunt.
She came to him all sultry innocence with her gently rolling hips, on long slim legs and he wanted nothing more than to spread her on the bed, free himself from the constraint of his trousers and sink himself as far into her as he could go. But he could not. He would not take her virginity. He would not risk getting her with child. But by God, he’d take some pleasure with her. That much he’d allow himself. That much he was owed.