Page 79 of A Portrait of Love

He grinned. “No, that I was using to taste you.”

She shook her head, as if in defeat. A good sign, that.

He nuzzled her again. This time, he felt her body soften against his.

“That’s good,” he whispered, nipping her ear lobe. “Relax.” He loosened his arm and stroked down her side. She was wearing not only a nightgown, but also her dressing gown. Far too many clothes. Still, he could work around that.

He made himself be patient, stroking her body in languid motions, avoiding any of those areas that might cause her to react skittishly. He petted her like a cat; like a long, slender, lovely cat that he resolved to make purr.

“Does your head hurt?” she asked, just when he thought she might have fallen asleep she felt so relaxed against him.

“No, I’m lucky that way. Or maybe unlucky, depending on how you look at it.” He let his hand drift off her arm and onto her hip. She stiffened and he moved back up her arm; she relaxed again.

“What do you mean lucky?”

“I mean if I had a sore head after drinking a barrel of wine I might not do it the next time. But I’ve always woken up feeling as fresh as a daisy.” And hard, so bloody hard. He pressed his hips against her bottom and she jumped.

“Shhhh,” he murmured, petting her, this time lingering on her hip. “Does this feel good?” he asked when her body remained tense.

She nodded.

“There is no harm in making each other feel good, Honoria.” He stroked again, inching closer until the front of his distended breeches rested in cleft of her heart-shaped bottom. She shuddered.

And then she pushed back ever so slightly.

Simon felt like throwing his head back and howling in triumph. Instead, he kept stroking.

“Did you sleep?” she asked after a few moments, her quickly heating body telling him that she was not as cool as she sounded.

“A little. Did you?”

She shook her head, and Simon allowed his fingers to graze her pelvis, ghosting close to her sex, but never touching her.

“Why not?” he asked, moving his fingers into safer waters for a moment, just until her heart stopped pounding against her ribs hard enough to break them.

“I couldn’t.”

“Oh?” he breathed the word behind her ear, and licked her, a nice, long lave up the back of her neck. She tasted salty and sweet and made him almost insane.

Her body thrummed under his mouth and her breathing stopped.

“Honoria, breathe, darling.” He ran his hand lightly over her mound, the heat of her scorching even through two layers of clothing.

She shuddered and pushed back against him.

Simon had to catch his lower lip in his teeth to keep back his groan. This time, when he stroked, he also tugged up her nightgown a little.

“You were telling me why you couldn’t sleep, sweetheart.” He felt her jolt at the endearment and smiled.

Stroke, tug.

“Oh. Well, because.”

Stroke, tug.

“Because?”

Stroke, tug.