He was looking at her the way men always looked at Hermione, except somehow there was more. More passion, more desire.
She felt worshipped.
“Lucy,” he murmured, lightly caressing the side of her breast. “I feel . . . I think . . .”
His lips parted, and he shook his head. Slowly, as if he did not quite understand what was happening to him. “I have been waiting for this,” he whispered. “For my entire life. I didn’t even know. I didn’t know.”
She took his hand and brought it to her mouth, kissing the palm. She understood.
His breath quickened, and then he slid off of her, his hands moving to the fastenings of his breeches.
Her eyes widened, and she watched.
“I will be gentle,” he vowed. “I promise you.”
“I’m not worried,” she said, managing a wobbly smile.
His lips curved in return. “You look worried.”
“I’m not.” But still, her eyes wandered.
Gregory chuckled, lying down beside her. “It might hurt. I’m told it does at the beginning.”
She shook her head. “I don’t care.”
He let his hand wander down her arm. “Just remember, if there is pain, it will get better.”
She felt it beginning again, that slow burning in her belly. “How much better?” she asked, her voice breathy and unfamiliar.
He smiled as his fingers found her hip. “Quite a bit, I’m told.”
“Quite a bit,” she asked, now barely able to speak, “or . . . rather a lot?”
He moved over her, his skin finding every inch of hers. It was wicked.
It was bliss.
“Rather a lot,” he answered, nipping lightly at her neck. “More than rather a lot, actually.”
She felt her legs slide open, and his body nestled in the space between them. She could feel him, hard and hot and pressing against her. She stiffened, and he must have felt it, because his lips crooned a soft, “Shhhh,” at her ear.
From there he moved down.
And down.
And down.
His mouth trailed fire along her neck to the hollow of her shoulder, and then—
Oh, dear God.
His hand was cupping her breast, making it round and plump, and his mouth found the tip.
She jerked beneath him.
He chuckled, and his other hand found her shoulder, holding her immobile while he continued his torture, pausing only to move to the other side.
“Gregory,” Lucy whimpered, because she did not know what else to say. She was lost to the sensation, completely helpless against his sensual onslaught. She couldn’t explain, she couldn’t fix or rationalize. She could only feel, and it was the most terrifying, thrilling thing imaginable.