His splayed fingers pushed the mounded swells upward, exaggerating their already lush abundance, squeezing lightly. “So beautiful,” he murmured.

His eyes were smoky and warm with desire, mesmerizing her. With excruciating slowness, he brushed the taunting crests with his thumbs, making her bite back a whimper at the sensitiveness of her nipples.

“You like that, duchess?” His voice, male and sensual, washed over her. “You like it when I play with your tits? Answer me.”

“Yes … I like it.” Weakly she leaned back against him as he fondled her, watching her own seduction. His long, callused fingers tugged on the distended peaks until her face flushed, until arousal seared through her, hot and thick.

“I like it too. I get hard every time I even think of touching you,” Sloan admitted, his voice dark and husky.

“Are you hard now?” she whispered in return, shocking herself.

His eyes flared, bright and intense in the moonlight. “Why don’t you find out?” When she hesitated, he murmured in her ear, “I’m tired of doing all the work.”

Her senses trembling with need, she turned to face him. Her shaking fingers fumbled with the buttons of his trousers, but she managed to open them. Boldly then, her hand slid inside the parted fabric and closed over him, her palm soft and warm.

His eyes half shut, Sloan gave a soft groan. “Take it out.”

Willingly she obeyed. His erection was long and hot and throbbing. Heather shivered uncontrollably as wanting flamed inside her. She could only think of how Sloan would feel when he plunged into her, how his splendid arousal would fill her.

Bewitched, every nerve in her body on edge, she caressed him, stroking the hard, hot tumescence.

“You keep that up,” he rasped, “and I’ll spend in your hand.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

His smoldering gaze met hers with a promise of burning pleasure, but to her surprise he pulled back. “I would. I’ve got something else in mind for tonight.”

“What?”

“Punishment. You’re going to pay for teasing me all evening.”

“But I didn’t—”

“Sure you did, duchess. I had to sit through that interminable meal while you laughed and flirted with all your dinner partners and ignored me.”

“I wasn’t flirting.”

“But you paid me no attention. You’re lucky I didn’t slip under the table and come up under your skirts.” He grinned. “That might have been interesting.”

She watched him questioningly as Sloan moved to the damask wing chair beyond the dressing table. Sitting down, he tugged off the rest of his clothing and settled back, naked and relaxed, his upthrusting manhood blatantly masculine between his parted, sinewed thighs.

“Remember how I taught you to ride me?”

“Yes.” The word was a hoarse whisper.

“Why don’t you come here, and we’ll see how much you’ve learned?”