Beneath a Waning Moon
Page 18
“I want you,” he whispered. “I want to see you naked in the firelight. I want to see your hair loose when you’re wearing nothing but your skin. Want to see it brush the top of your arse. I want to see it tickle the tips of your pretty tits, Josie. I want my mouth on every inch of you. Want to feel you around me. Hot and—”
Josie slammed a hand over his mouth. “I don’t want supper,” she gasped. “Take me to my room.”
Had he shocked her? Offended her? Tom swore. “Jo—”
“Take me to my room, Tom, and if you leave me without doing everything you just said, I’ll… do something horrible to you. I don’t know what. I can’t think right now. But I have a good imagination.”
He picked her up without another word and carried her out of the library, almost running over Henry on the way toward the stairs.
“Henry, tell Cook we don’t need supper.”
The lad’s cheeks turned red, and he muttered, “Perhaps a tray later, sir.”
“See that we’re not disturbed.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Murphy.” He nodded. “Mrs. Murphy.”
Josie, seemingly oblivious to the interchange, had her lips against his neck. Her skin was burning, but it was the healthy flush of arousal, not sickness. He carried her to her bedchamber on the second floor. The evening maid was bending over the newly lit fire and jumped when he practically kicked in the door.
“Out.”
“Yes, sir!”
She slammed the door on the way out, and Tom locked it behind her.
“We’re shocking the servants,” Josie whispered against his neck.
“If they’re not scandalized by the time this night is over, then I’ll consider it a personal failure.”
He laid her on the bed and immediately set to undoing the buttons at her neck.
“I hate this dress,” he muttered as he stripped it off. “Don’t ever wear it again. Wear your new clothes. All the pretty things you bought. You should have pretty things.”
“You can rip it if you’d like.”
Leave it to the woman to make him laugh when his cock felt like it was going to revolt in his trousers if it wasn’t released soon.
“Ripping corsets,” he said as he unhooked her at the back, “is seldom as comfortable or as quick as novels make it out to be.”
“Do you speak from personal experience?”
Her proper accent undid him. “You do ask the most inconvenient questions.”
“I consider it part of my charm. Good God, you’re right. Why are there so many layers?”
He finally removed everything but the thin cotton of her camisole. Her breasts pressed against it and he bent down, putting his mouth on them as she arched under his hands.
“Oh Tom!” she gasped. “That feels… I’m finding it very hard to describe at the moment.”
Teasing his tongue over the thin cotton, Tom lifted her and tried to remove all the skirts hindering him. “Much prefer the dressing gown,” he muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing. Take everything off if you don’t want it ripped.” He started removing his own clothes, more than ready to join her.
“I thought you didn’t believe in ripping clothes.”
“I’m losing patience with ladies’ fashions.”
He stripped off the blasted waistcoat and shirt, ridding himself of the excess clothing before he turned back to the bed.
“Oh, I…” Her face was burning as she surveyed his bare chest. “Oh, my.”
Josie lifted the edge of her camisole but didn’t pull it off. Clad only in the light cotton of her undergarments, she was as bare as Tom had ever seen her. He decided to wait to take off his trousers. Best not to scare the woman.
She was nervous, which he supposed was natural. He climbed into bed next to her and pressed soothing kisses to her shoulder.
“We’ll slow down,” he said. “I’m losing my head like a randy lad, aren’t I?”
She laughed nervously. “I lost my nerve when your shirt came off. You have a startling number of muscles.”
And scars. And burns. His human life hadn’t been an easy one. “I’m not so easy on the eyes as you, sweet girl.”
“You?” Her eyes widened. “You’re magnificent. Like one of those statues the Italians sculpt. And I’m so very thin.”
He continued kissing her shoulder, teasing the edges of the lace camisole with his callused fingers. “You’re good for my ego. I know I’m not a handsome gentleman. And you’re not thin. You’re…” His fingers drifted between her breasts. “Slender. Gorgeous. Like one of the willow trees in your garden.”
Her heart raced under his fingertips, but she said nothing. Tom’s fangs throbbed in his mouth, but he beat back his instinct to bite. Tonight was about taking care of Josie. Bloodlust had no place here.
“Can I see you?” He reached up to tug at the pins he could see in her hair. “Here now, sit up.”
She did, and he scooted her forward so he was sitting behind her. He leaned against the headboard, pleased at her shiver when he drew her back against his bare chest. “I’ve been dreaming about feeling all that hair against my skin. Let me take it down.”
“If you thought the buttons were frustrating…”
He laughed and her small breasts shook with the movement. He grew impossibly harder, and he knew she felt it because her shoulders tensed.
Josie slammed a hand over his mouth. “I don’t want supper,” she gasped. “Take me to my room.”
Had he shocked her? Offended her? Tom swore. “Jo—”
“Take me to my room, Tom, and if you leave me without doing everything you just said, I’ll… do something horrible to you. I don’t know what. I can’t think right now. But I have a good imagination.”
He picked her up without another word and carried her out of the library, almost running over Henry on the way toward the stairs.
“Henry, tell Cook we don’t need supper.”
The lad’s cheeks turned red, and he muttered, “Perhaps a tray later, sir.”
“See that we’re not disturbed.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Murphy.” He nodded. “Mrs. Murphy.”
Josie, seemingly oblivious to the interchange, had her lips against his neck. Her skin was burning, but it was the healthy flush of arousal, not sickness. He carried her to her bedchamber on the second floor. The evening maid was bending over the newly lit fire and jumped when he practically kicked in the door.
“Out.”
“Yes, sir!”
She slammed the door on the way out, and Tom locked it behind her.
“We’re shocking the servants,” Josie whispered against his neck.
“If they’re not scandalized by the time this night is over, then I’ll consider it a personal failure.”
He laid her on the bed and immediately set to undoing the buttons at her neck.
“I hate this dress,” he muttered as he stripped it off. “Don’t ever wear it again. Wear your new clothes. All the pretty things you bought. You should have pretty things.”
“You can rip it if you’d like.”
Leave it to the woman to make him laugh when his cock felt like it was going to revolt in his trousers if it wasn’t released soon.
“Ripping corsets,” he said as he unhooked her at the back, “is seldom as comfortable or as quick as novels make it out to be.”
“Do you speak from personal experience?”
Her proper accent undid him. “You do ask the most inconvenient questions.”
“I consider it part of my charm. Good God, you’re right. Why are there so many layers?”
He finally removed everything but the thin cotton of her camisole. Her breasts pressed against it and he bent down, putting his mouth on them as she arched under his hands.
“Oh Tom!” she gasped. “That feels… I’m finding it very hard to describe at the moment.”
Teasing his tongue over the thin cotton, Tom lifted her and tried to remove all the skirts hindering him. “Much prefer the dressing gown,” he muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing. Take everything off if you don’t want it ripped.” He started removing his own clothes, more than ready to join her.
“I thought you didn’t believe in ripping clothes.”
“I’m losing patience with ladies’ fashions.”
He stripped off the blasted waistcoat and shirt, ridding himself of the excess clothing before he turned back to the bed.
“Oh, I…” Her face was burning as she surveyed his bare chest. “Oh, my.”
Josie lifted the edge of her camisole but didn’t pull it off. Clad only in the light cotton of her undergarments, she was as bare as Tom had ever seen her. He decided to wait to take off his trousers. Best not to scare the woman.
She was nervous, which he supposed was natural. He climbed into bed next to her and pressed soothing kisses to her shoulder.
“We’ll slow down,” he said. “I’m losing my head like a randy lad, aren’t I?”
She laughed nervously. “I lost my nerve when your shirt came off. You have a startling number of muscles.”
And scars. And burns. His human life hadn’t been an easy one. “I’m not so easy on the eyes as you, sweet girl.”
“You?” Her eyes widened. “You’re magnificent. Like one of those statues the Italians sculpt. And I’m so very thin.”
He continued kissing her shoulder, teasing the edges of the lace camisole with his callused fingers. “You’re good for my ego. I know I’m not a handsome gentleman. And you’re not thin. You’re…” His fingers drifted between her breasts. “Slender. Gorgeous. Like one of the willow trees in your garden.”
Her heart raced under his fingertips, but she said nothing. Tom’s fangs throbbed in his mouth, but he beat back his instinct to bite. Tonight was about taking care of Josie. Bloodlust had no place here.
“Can I see you?” He reached up to tug at the pins he could see in her hair. “Here now, sit up.”
She did, and he scooted her forward so he was sitting behind her. He leaned against the headboard, pleased at her shiver when he drew her back against his bare chest. “I’ve been dreaming about feeling all that hair against my skin. Let me take it down.”
“If you thought the buttons were frustrating…”
He laughed and her small breasts shook with the movement. He grew impossibly harder, and he knew she felt it because her shoulders tensed.
