He lifted his mouth a fraction. “Come to bed.”
The invitation was soft, alluring. Through the fog in her mind, she remembered that if she yielded, she furthered Burnley’s plot. And after what she’d learned about Ashcroft tonight, she couldn’t bear the idea of cheating him again.
Her heart would crack if she didn’t do something for him alone.
“Soon.” She rose and lifted her arms to slide the few remaining pins from her hair, loving the way he watched her so intently. Her hair tumbled down about her shoulders. “Take off your shirt.”
He obeyed with gratifying swiftness, tugging the shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor. She paused, admiring the hard strength of his chest and arms. He really was a formidable man.
The way he looked at her made her feel omnipotent, commanding, a queen indeed. Worthy of the dress, not just a masquerader in borrowed plumage.
“Now your breeches.”
He cast her a suspicious look. “You want me at a complete disadvantage?”
“Oh, yes.” She drew the answer out into a long hiss of anticipation.
Hunger flared in his eyes, and he stood. Within seconds, his breeches followed the shirt to the floor.
He was wrong about being at a disadvantage. She cleared her throat and forced out the words. “Lie back.”
With surprising alacrity, he obeyed. Her attention glanced across the birthmark that proved his parentage, then fastened on his penis, rising hard and ready. Moisture welled between her thighs. Curiosity tightened her throat and made her heart pound.
She couldn’t remember wanting anything as much as she wanted to taste him. Somewhere in her checkered relationship with Ashcroft, inhibitions had vanished.
Her gaze never shifting from that pulsing length, she knelt on the bed.
Although Diana was yet to voice her intentions, Ashcroft had no trouble reading what she meant to do.
This was far from the first time a mistress had promised to take him into her mouth. He’d discovered that particular path to bliss in his teens. He’d lost count of the women who’d serviced him since.
So why did this feel so ravishingly different?
It was a mystery he didn’t particularly want to solve.
Thought exploded to ash as her hand closed around his erect cock. Hot blackness overwhelmed him, and he shut his eyes.
“Oh, yes,” he breathed, as she rubbed her fist up and down his length.
He’d been hard all night. Hell, he’d been hard for her for a century. Amazingly, at her touch, he got harder, larger. He ground his teeth and battled for sanity.
The first time she’d touched him like this, she’d been hesitant, uncertain, fumbling. He’d needed to show her what to do. His lessons had clearly taken root. Stroke by tantalizing stroke, she built his blazing need to an inferno.
Feverishly, he caressed her thigh through her skirt. He cracked his eyes open as the silk slid under his hand. She knelt at his side in an uncharacteristically submissive pose. Except if anyone submitted, it was he.
She increased the pressure, and he released a deep groan.
A pleased smile curved her lush mouth. Her eyelids lowered so her lashes were dark gold fans on her flushed cheeks. It was the most arousing expression he’d ever seen on a woman’s face. The utter concentration. The undisguised enjoyment.
Arousal flared as she licked her lips. The gleaming moisture on her mouth made him think of other ways she could employ that busy, pink tongue.
Would she take him in her mouth? Or would her nerve fail?
Sizzling suspense conspired with pounding need to make him light-headed. His hand tightened on her thigh, crumpling her skirt, as his heart kicked into a headlong gallop.
Under cool silk, he felt warm, supple flesh. He wanted his hands on her skin without the barrier of clothing. He wanted to share the pleasure she inflicted with this slow seduction. And perhaps a modicum of the torment.
“Take off your dress. I’ll touch you while you touch me.” His voice was harsh with restraint.