“How?” she asked, truly curious.

“You are certainly direct,” he said with another laugh. When she drew a breath to apologize, he held up a hand. “I like your directness, Thomasina. I’ll touch you like I did before.”

She smiled wider. “Oh good. I liked that. Though when I did it myself it wasn’t quite as, er, intense as it was when you did it.”

He stared a beat, two, and then cleared his throat. “You touched yourself since that night?”

“Every night since.” She tilted her head. “Was that wrong?”

“Definitely not,” he croaked, and sounded like he was having difficulty breathing. “But I would very much like to stop talking now and just—”

He interrupted himself by grasping her waist and tugging her against him. His mouth came down again, this time a little less gently, and he devoured her as she lifted into his naked body and opened herself to everything that was about to happen. He pushed her toward the bed, but when her backside hit the edge he stopped, drawing away, the only sound in the room their shared panting breaths.

He lifted his hands to the bow that held that scandalously sheer gown together and tugged one end. It fluttered open and the gown parted. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and then opened them before he reached out and slid a hand beneath the parted fabric. His fingers touched her skin, resting against her shoulder, and she whimpered shamelessly, for it was like he had shocked her with something electric and now she was alive in a way she’d never pictured before in her rather sheltered life.

She wanted more.

He gave it. He pushed the gown away, it fluttered to the floor, and now they were naked together and everything felt more…present. Urgent.

Did he feel it too? She thought he might by the way his gaze flickered to hers—there was a question in his stare. A moment where he almost looked as confused as she felt by the intensity of the desire between them.

He seemed to recover fast enough. He smiled, that little wicked half-smile that only seemed to be for her, and then he slid his hands down to her waist, his fingers skimming her skin until she dipped her head back with a hiss. Then he lifted her onto the high bed. Their faces were even now, and he took advantage by stepping into the space between her legs and kissing her once more.

She cupped his cheeks, tilting her head for better access and sighing as she relaxed with the rightness of this moment. There was no fear anymore, no concern. He would take care of her. She knew that as well as she knew her own name or her hair color or the flavor of her favorite biscuit.

She also knew something else in that moment as he laid her back against the pillows and took a spot beside her on the bed. She loved him.