More Cillian.
***
If it wasn’t for the way she’d flung her arms about him as though clinging to him for dear life, Cillian might have had more control.
A little voice in the back of his mind reminded him she was innocent.
And he wasn’t.
Not in the manner people with a long memory thought, of course, and he was hardly a rake, but he’d experienced a lot more life than Ivy. He needed that voice to keep him from following the raw edge of his desire. He honed in on that voice. Ivy deserved soft things—soft, sweet, gentle moments. He wasn’t certain how capable he was of giving her them, but he’d damn well try.
The bed. That was the first soft thing he’d give her. He wasn’t about to kiss her against the hard wood of a door.
Cillian maneuvered her onto the mattress, following her as she shuffled back, her soft hands clinging to his face. He kissed her every inch of the way until he had her where he wanted her, sprawled out and beautiful upon the bed.
A few lamps were lit in anticipation of Ivy coming to bed. The glow suffused the room and highlighted the shimmer in the curls escaping a complicated hairstyle he couldn’t name. Her breasts rose and fell against her bodice, and he debated banning those silly bits of fabric she wore around her neck from the house. With breasts like hers, it seemed sinful to cover them up.
He cupped one and she issued a slight moan and rose into his touch. Cillian held back a groan and pressed an urgent kiss to her mouth.
Were it not for being so lost in her kisses, he’d grin to himself and congratulate himself on being such an excellent teacher. The woman had gone from an innocent peck to kisses that made his blood boil in minutes.
Or perhaps Ivy should get the credit for being a perfect student.
Either way, he was reaping the benefits. He could kiss her all day if she wasn’t writhing against him and begging for more.
Literally.
“More,” she whispered, and it was almost the undoing of him.
It almost killed the voice in his mind dead. Another competing one popped up.Why should you not make love to your wife? She’s asking for more. Are you going to give it to her?
All he knew was he wasn’t going to deny her. But he refused to be like the cold, callous husbands of old who would do the deed with little care for the welfare of their wives. He couldn’t give Ivy much—an estate teetering on the brink and an ageing husband with one eye. But he could give her this. He could give her care and caution and pleasure.
A hand to her bodice, effectively pinning her in place, he broke the kiss and worked his mouth down her neck. He gripped the silken fabric covering her breasts then flattened his mouth to the soft rise of skin there, peppering kisses all along the line of her dress. At the same time, he dragged her skirts high until his finger met smooth stockings and finally warm flesh. The scent of arousal filled the air and Cillian felt the need to run to Shah and ask him to slap him.
Surely he had to be dreaming?
Cillian glanced up at Ivy who watched him intently, curiously.
Shah be damned. Even if this was a dream, he didn’t want that man involved.
This was about him and Ivy, and no one else. This was about how trustingly she looked at him, how willingly she gave herself up. He couldn’t recall the last time anyone behaved so with him, even if they knew nothing of his past. Slap an eyepatch on a dark Irishman and it was enough to scare most people away.
“Cillian.”
She uttered his name the moment his fingers touched her damp curls. He looked up to see her eyes fluttering closed when he delivered the first bold stroke. She gasped and lifted her hips marginally and he shifted onto his side to gain full access to her. He loved her with his fingers until her legs trembled and he finally slid one inside her tight warmth.
Her eyes flew open, her fingers curled about his arm, and she uttered, “Oh my.”
That was one way of putting it. When he’d met this pretty girl, he’d never anticipated someone so responsive could be behind those wide eyes. She moved her hips with his touch, practically taking away any of his job. It had to be about the most erotic thing he’d seen in his life, this woman making love to herself with his hand.
But there was only so long he was willing to let her do the work.
Cillian slid down and urged her skirts higher, giving him a better view of her. She stiffened slightly when he removed his hand and settled between her legs.
“Cillian?”
He ignored her, answering with his mouth to her inner thigh instead. He breathed her scent deeply and felt the shudder run through her body. When he exhaled again, he blew gently at the apex of her thighs, and she shivered again.