It was a good thing they were in a moving carriage or she would have torn his clothing off already. Her breasts felt sore and achy, but in a yearning way, while lower down that place throbbed, clamoring for attention. His attention.

It had been far too long since she’d been touched like this. Her own ministrations were fine, but there was nothing to compare to having a passionate partner.

She heard a moan, low in her throat, as his fingers moved up her arm to her neck, teasing in between the fabric of her cloak and her bare skin.

She shifted, thrusting her body up closer in an implicit wish for him to touch her more, on her breast. Squeeze her nipple, if he were so inclined.

Oh, please be so inclined, she pleaded.

He stroked her skin, his thumb resting on the pulse at her neck. She ran her hands down his neck, rubbed the broad expanse of shoulders. Goodness, he was huge.

Was he huge everywhere? If forced to guess, she would say yes.

Dear Lord.

And then his fingers were dipping into the top of her gown, sliding down to the curve of her bosom, and she wanted everything. She wanted him to strip her bare, to plunge into her, to ride her to climax. Her climax, of course. He would have to wait for his.

The thought would have amused her if she weren’t so focused on what he was doing—his fingers had found her nipple, and he was playing with it, sliding his fingertip across the taut peak. She shuddered, and arched her back, her mind frantically trying to do the necessary equation for coupling inside a coach.

He was too big to manage it satisfactorily, she would imagine.

Although he would likely take her up on the challenge, which would be pleasurable in and of itself—to watch as he twisted that huge body to successfully enter her. To push her into the carriage seat as he thrust into her.

He was kissing her more urgently, his fingers rubbing her nipple, then sliding around the globe of her breast as she ached and yearned and wanted everything from him right now, despite the logistical problem.

And then she couldn’t take it any longer, not without feeling as though she were going to explode, and not in the way she longed for.

She drew back from him, staring up into his face. He was gazing intently at her, his eyes sparking with passion, his mouth wet from her kiss.

“That was even better than I’d thought it might be,” she admitted. She was annoyed that she was speaking in a breathy voice.

“So you’ve been imagining this?” His voice was ragged, the masculine equivalent of breathy.

Good to know they were equally affected.

“Yes, of course,” she replied. He closed his eyes for a moment, as though savoring her words.