Scandalous Wager (a Whitechapel Wagers novella)

Chapter Three

He wanted her. He said he wanted her. Even if he only meant this moment, this breathless, incomparable moment, it would suffice. The memory of his words, his kiss, his body pressed against hers would warm her always.

He was hers for now, hot and blessedly real in her arms. She'd imagined this, dreamed of it, but her imaginings were nothing compared to his body molded with hers, his tongue, searing and wet, on her flesh. His scent, clean and woodsy and uniquely him, surrounding her.

Lizzy needed to touch him, feel his bare skin against her own. She slid a hand up to his neck, stroking the hollow there before slipping the top button on his shirt.

He lifted his head to watch her hands work. He didn't offer any help and then began to distract her-kissing her face, her cheek, her nose, and nipping at her lips.

Lizzy finally reached the last closure and slid her hands beneath the cloth.

Ian released a hiss of breath when she traced a line with her fingers across the carved muscle of his stomach, dipping into the dark patch of hair above the top button of his trousers.

"Lizzy." Her name was a plea from his lips, and the heat of his breath warmed her skin as he spoke. Emboldened, she slipped the first button of his trousers, then the next, and the-

Ian's hand closed over hers, stilling her progress. "If you continue, I will end up taking you against this door."

"Yes." It was the only word Lizzy could muster and her whole body thrummed with the sentiment. She wanted him here, now, with the battered door at her back and Ian before her, inside her, overwhelming all of her senses.

She reached to continue unbuttoning his trousers.

Ian reached too, framing her hips in his hands and then sliding his hands down to begin bunching her skirt, lifting, pulling, gathering her petticoats until his fingers grazed the bare skin of her thighs just above her stockings.

Lizzy gasped and dropped her head back against the door as he traced the edge of her stocking, sliding his fingers toward the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh.

"Your skin is so soft here." He danced his fingers delicately across her skin as he spoke.

"Please." She wanted him to touch her where no other man had, the center of her damp heat, her core that throbbed with a need only he could sate.

He slid his hand around her thigh and dug his fingers into her skin as he lifted her leg to his hip.

She made a sound when her foot left the ground and he grasped her face with his other hand, cupping her chin between fingers and thumb.

"Do you trust me, Lizzy?"

His dark gaze bore into her, and the desire she saw there stoked her own. But more than desire, she saw a question, uncertainty about what they were doing, what they were about to do. But Lizzy had no doubts. This was what she wanted. Nothing else mattered.

She nodded her head and opened her mouth to voice her consent, but he stopped her words with a kiss.

As he filled her mouth with his tongue, Ian pressed her harder into the door at her back, grasped her hand, and slid it between them. He pressed her palm against him, and Lizzy wrapped her fingers around his rigid shaft.

He was impossibly hard and soft at the same time. The silken skin beneath her fingers contrasted sharply with the unyielding stiffness. She longed to see him, taste him, explore every inch of him.

He pulled away from their kiss as she continued to touch him with exploratory eagerness. He pressed his forehead into the door and seemed to hold his breath as her fingers roamed.