But she wanted to touch him, wanted to run her fingers through his dark hair, pull his mouth up to hers, wrap her arms around his broad shoulders, kiss him again.

His mouth tugged again and again on her breast. His thumb flicked achingly back and forth against her other nipple. She moaned again and strained against the bonds.

“Easy,” he said hotly against the soft flesh of her breast. “We’ve barely got started yet.”

Her breath left her body in a whoosh. Her eyes rolled back in her head. “Barely even—” Her breath was a rush of heat and lust.

“That’s right.” His grin was positively wicked.

One hand left her breast while his hot, wet mouth still tugged at the other.

She shuddered as his free hand moved down, down, down, outlining her legs beneath her silvery skirts. He found the bottom of the fabric and flipped it up, his hand moving slowly back up her leg, along her stockings, only this time it skimmed along the hot skin of her inner thigh.

A tremor racked Jane’s body. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. He was going to touch her. There.

His hand slowed as it made its way unerringly toward the juncture between her thighs.

She tugged against her bonds again, but it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t have stopped him even if she could have. It was delicious torture to be unable to touch him. Instead, she mentally begged him to find just the right spot.

And he did. Oh, God, he did. His finger stroked against her once, twice, before settling between the slick folds and finding the—sweet Jesus—exact right spot. Jane bit her lip. Her hips arched off the settee.

His mouth never ceased its gentle assault on her nipple and a pressure built between her legs. Ecstasy shot down from her breast, making the exquisite torture worse, much worse.

His finger slowed, then stopped.

“No,” Jane cried out.

Then the tip of his finger touched that perfect spot again, the one that made her eyes roll back in her head. “Yes, Garrett, yes,” she breathed.

“Yes, what?” he murmured against her breast, nipping at her skin.

“Yes, please.”

His finger circled that spot, again and again, while her hips rocked in a rhythm she was completely helpless to stop. She strained against the bonds that held her wrists, her teeth clenched, her eyes closed.

“God, Jane, you’re so hot. So hot and wet and—” He groaned. His erection pressed tightly against her outer thigh. She wanted to rip her bonds away and reach for him, feel him, stroke him. But the circling of his finger couldn’t be denied. She arched her back again, pressing her breast more fully into his demanding mouth.