She was vaguely aware of him backing her up. Her bottom struck something hard, the counter her addled brain realized. Then, with his mouth never leaving hers, he lifted her onto the polished wood, scandalously parted her knees so he could stand between them, nearer to her, and, with a low growl, began to plunder with more earnestness, exploring every hollow as though his life depended on his being able to describe her mouth in exquisite detail.

Aware of soft sighs and keening whimpers echoing around her, it took her a moment to realize she was the one making them. The sensations he was stirring to life within her were threatening to cause her to come undone.

He dragged his mouth over her chin, along her throat, and up to her ear, where he nibbled on the lobe before whispering, “May I have permission to kiss your breasts, Miss Trewlove?”

Dear Lord, she nearly melted into a puddle of desire on the spot. Scandalized, she knew what her answer would be. No. No. Absolutely not. “Y-yes.”

His mouth slowly trailed along the décolletage of her gown, while his hand glided up to cup her breast, to squeeze, to plump gently. Hooking a finger in the silk, somehow he managed to free the orb until it was straining toward him. He took her nipple in his mouth and began to suckle. Pleasure jolted through her. With a small cry, she dropped back her head and wrapped her legs around him, pressing her most intimate spot to his. Good Lord. Her actions were met by the hard ridge of his desire, and she wanted nothing more than to rub against it with no clothing separating their skin.

His tongue swirled over the areola soothing what he’d tasted. She was vaguely aware of her fingers tangled in his hair, her palms pressed to his scalp, as he once more closed his mouth around her breast. It felt wicked, so very wicked, to have so much of her flesh within the heated, cavernous confines, stroked lovingly by velvet and silk. She’d never known a sensation so sublime, so intoxicating, so . . . necessary. Her entire body called out for him to continue, to go further—even as she wasn’t quite certain what all the further might entail. Oh, she’d seen dogs rutting in the mews, and while she knew that was the eventual end of this journey, she hadn’t thought the getting there would include such a vortex of pleasure.