“That’s not true.” Tommy kissed the corners of Philippa’s lips. “Everyone likes different things. The mystery is part of the pleasure. Even with acts most parties adore, each person will have their own preferences. I’m not trying to punish you. I want to grant your desires.”

Philippa could not bear to describe her forbidden images aloud. There had to be a way to turn the tables. “Then…what I want…is for you to try things, and if I like them, we shall keep doing them.”

Tommy’s slow grin melted Philippa’s knees. She suspected her desperate bargain had not been so clever after all, but rather opened the door to a new kind of sensual torment. Her blood thrummed faster.

“As you wish.” Tommy trailed the tip of her finger up the back of Philippa’s hand, over her wrist, and up her arm, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. “You like kisses. Shall we begin there?”

Philippa managed to nod. She wanted that very much.

Tommy raised Philippa’s hand and pressed a soft kiss to the palm. Barely lifting her mouth, she moved to the sensitive skin on the inside of Philippa’s wrist, lingering there for a long moment as though drawn to the scent and taste of the rapidly fluttering pulse point there.

Leisurely, teasingly, Tommy’s kisses made their way up Philippa’s arm to her shoulder. Tommy touched her tongue to Philippa’s clavicle before lowering her lips to the ridiculously high shelf of Philippa’s bosom. Her breasts swelled and tightened in anticipation of Tommy’s warm lips against her flesh.

Lips…and tongue. Tommy was not just kissing her but tasting her. Slowly. Reverently. As though savoring the flavor of each new inch and curve and crease. But most of Philippa’s bosom—the best, most interesting parts that yearned to be touched—were hidden away.

“You can take off my stays,” she said in a rush.

“I shall be delighted to.”

Rather than turn Philippa around, Tommy stepped closer and kissed her. Their bosoms touched. Philippa could feel it now, the tips of her nipples straining through her shift to brush against the curved silk of Tommy’s waistcoat.

It was wanton and wonderful.

Tommy took her time unlacing the ribbon, as though committing every detail of the moment to memory. Philippa was doing the same. The first loop. The second. The soft scrape of cording sliding against gooseflesh as Tommy exposed each new inch.

When Philippa’s stays were loose enough to set her bosom free beneath the linen shift, her nipples tightened in the cool air. Or perhaps it was because she was rubbing them against Tommy’s chest as they kissed.

Knowing the hard peaks of her breasts were now clearly visible, Philippa cast her stays to the floor beside the bed.