She was pacing the room, which consisted of ten strides in one direction, turn, and ten in the opposite. If she were careful, she could keep from brushing against the arm of the wider chair.
Sebastian watched her for a moment, then, with an insouciant grin, selected the narrower seat and sank into it in a blatant show of rudeness whilst she remained pacing. "I can think of other, more pleasant ways to blow off steam," he commented. "If you come over here."
She stopped pacing. "Unfortunately for you, that is the last thing I'd like to do right now. Did you know that George Starcasset would be there tonight?" She stood to the side of his chair looking down at him. His shirt gaped open in a long, narrow vee, and she could even see the sprinkling of golden and bronze hair peeking through. The intimate view made her stomach tingle in that special way, and she had to think about looking away before she did.
Right into his hot amber eyes.
"Come here, Victoria," he said, and reached out to tug her into the chair. "This has gone on long enough; and I can tell you are in no mood for prevaricating, even if you don't realize it."
She fell—let herself fall, to be truthful—across the hard edge of the chair, sprawling across his lap. One arm curled around the other side of the chair, finding a grip on the edge of the back, and her hip jutted into the side over which she'd tipped. Her other hand found its own place to hold on just behind Sebastian's ear… but she wasn't thinking about the smooth wood under her fingers, nor the shiny but worn brocade upholstery.
No, she was kissing Sebastian with the same fervor she'd seen in his eyes moments before she closed her own.
The twinge in her belly sparked sharply and shot low as he released the arm he'd yanked and slid the cup of his thumb and forefinger up under each breast. She arched into his hands and adjusted herself on his lap so that she sat on one hip, legs bent. She could feel the rhythm of his thumbs over her ni**les sending shivers through the thin material of her gown, and the warmth of his chest, textured with hair, under her hands.
Victoria pulled his shirt apart, opening it so she could see those broad, golden shoulders. He liked the feel of her fingers spread over the hair on his chest: She could tell by the way he closed his eyes and let his head sink back against the chair. His skin tasted warm and a little salty, smelled like clove and rosemary and man, and she could even feel the pulse thumping in his neck beneath her lips.
When she would have brought her hands farther down, to pull up the rest of his shirt, he caught at them, opening his eyes with a lazy smile. "What's the hurry, my dear? We've both waited a long time for this." Grasping her shoulders, he pulled her forward for a long, slippery kiss, sliding his hands over the tiny sleeves at the uppermost part of her bodice and pulling them down.
With them went the front of her gown, and her br**sts tipped out from her low corset, loose and warm and trembling.
A year ago Victoria would have been mortified at the thought of straddling a man in the parlor, her gown being pulled down to her waist as Sebastian worked the buttons at the back. But she was not an innocent, and neither was Sebastian a proper gentleman.
And he'd been right: She was in no mood to feign disinterest. She needed something tonight—something after everything that had happened in the last weeks.
When he kissed one of her br**sts it was a soft, gentle buss, so delicate that it was barely more than his breath; but it made her tighten up, and little bumps erupted, radiating from where he touched her. He did it again, gently nuzzling, and sent the same sensations coursing through her. Like a lazy wave, lapping gently, insistently, through her, unfurling warmth and liquid down where she straddled him, her gown caught and stretched under her knees.
Her head tipped back, and she steadied herself with hands on solid, square shoulders. They were warm and smooth and solid. He kissed her again, his mouth harder now, his lips wet and hot against her nipple. His breath spread wide over her breast as he breathed deeper and rougher, his fingers clamping her skin more closely now.
Victoria felt herself straining below; the warm burning between her legs where it pressed against him. She rocked a bit, he groaned, and she rocked again.
"And I always thought our first time would be in a carriage," he murmured, working her gown and shift up from the hems so that they bunched around her waist, and skimming his fingers over the tops of her thighs under the bundle of silk, lace, and linen.
Reaching behind her, he fitted his hands under her skirts and around the back of her hips, drawing her forward, closer, so that she fell against him in the chair. Her br**sts pushed into his chest and he moved to touch the top of her head, tilting it to the side so he could kiss the long tendon that stretched from jaw to shoulder. Her vampire bites were long healed, but the sensitivity in her neck was still sharp; sharper than before she was bitten, and when he closed his mouth over the smooth skin, she felt everything focus there.
So different from the ugly, evil fangs that drew out her life force, yet frighteningly similar. Everything slowed as Sebastian nibbled and bit and licked, long and smooth, from ear to shoulder and back. Victoria was shaking, wanting to twist away from the intensity, yet wanting to push herself into him, wanting more. Her eyes had closed, her hands fallen from their grip on the chair; she was lost in the tailspin of pleasure.
Then he slipped his fingers down and beneath her skirts again; they found their way through the slit in her drawers, where she was hot and pounding and wet. They brushed over her swollen flesh and she seized up, catching her breath at the opulence. How had she forgotten this? Pleasure surged from one of her centers to the other, from his lips and tongue to his fingers, stroking and sliding. His palm cupped her from the front, pressure built, and yet his rhythm did not waver.
She felt his breath faster against her br**sts, heard it rasping in her ear as his mouth fell away from her skin.
Skillful, oh, his fingers were skillful… teasing her to the edge, then drawing aside to let her slip back; then back in, gently probing, slick and sure, until finally he let her go over.
Victoria caught herself before she cried aloud; some part of her remembered they were in the parlor, and she buried her face in his shoulder as the orgasm shuddered through her.
So long. It had been so long.
She was weak and lazy and alive. Her fingers shook along with her breath, and she realized his hands were moving at his own waist and she put her attention to helping him.
When she would have removed his shirt, he stopped her, pushing her hands to the bulge in his trousers, and murmured, "No, here, if you please," with a bit of strained, wry humor in his voice. "Victoria."