“I know.”
“Well?” There was more than a hint of imperiousness in her tone.
His lips curved. “Raise up for a moment.”
Her legs had remained to one side of his; bracing her weight on the chair arms, she rose just a little. He drew up the back of her skirt, lifted it and her petticoat and the back of her silk chemise to him, then slipped his hands beneath the froth of materials. Setting his palms to her naked bottom, he briefly gloried in the firm contours, satisfied to find her silky skin lightly dewed. Then, grasping her hip with one hand, he sent the other sliding between the backs of her thighs to gently cup her.
She gasped; her arms wobbled. He drew her down. She gasped again as her weight pressed her into his hand, fully exposed to his touch.
Francesca sensed the strength in his hand, felt his long fingers trace. Heart thundering, she wriggled, then shifted one leg to swing it over his and open herself to him, to his tantalizing touches.
“No. Sit as you were-demurely.”
Demurely? She was finding it difficult to breathe. Both his hands were under her skirts, one splayed across her stomach, gently kneading, while the other touched her intimately, explored her.
She could feel the slickness, feel how hot and swollen she was. Her naked thighs and bottom rested on the fabric of his trousers, a constant reminder of her vulnerability.
“Keep studying the tree.”
She dragged in a breath, lifted her head, and fixed her gaze on the collection of bare branches.
One finger pressed possessively into her. She clutched the chair arms, vainly bracing against the jolt. Her lungs seized. He stroked, then pressed deeper. She felt her body tense, had never been so aware of how her nerves coiled and tightened. An ache swelled inside her. She wanted more, much more.
Another finger slid in with the first. Her body reacted, eagerly, hungrily-she’d reached a point of strange detachment where she could feel, enjoy, yet also observe. He reached deeper, his bunched hand moving beneath her. Spine rigid, she shook her head wildly. “No!”
The movements of his fingers between her thighs, within her, slowed. “Demanding woman.”
His tone was deep, gravelly-taunting.
Then he pressed his fingers deep inside her and held still, hand pressed to her swollen softness.
“Are you still concentrating on the branches?”
Her gaze was pointed in that direction, but she hadn’t been seeing anything for some time. “Yes.”
“Some are knobbly, aren’t they?”
She looked, noting what he’d directed her eyes to see. She was dimly aware of him shifting, that the hand at her stomach had slid away, that behind her he was opening his trousers, releasing himself. Impulsively, she let go of one chair arm and groped behind her.
He slapped her hand away.
“You’re supposed to be concentrating on branches. Knobbly ones. Something nice and thick and smooth.”
There was only one nice, thick, smooth and knobbly object in her mind, and it had nothing to do with trees. Family trees, perhaps, not physical ones. The reason she’d come to the library floated through her mind, and out. She looked at the tree, forced herself to see it.
His hand returned, slipping under her skirts to curve possessively over her bare stomach. “Look at the tree. Concentrate on the branches.”
She didn’t understand but did as he asked, forced her mind as well as her eyes to focus on the naked branches, finding a thick, knobbly protrusion-concentrating on that.
He lifted her slightly, shifting her back, sliding his body beneath hers. Then he eased her down.
And she suddenly learned why she was looking at branches.
His fingers withdrew from her but remained between her thighs, guiding his erection. He entered her slowly, deliberately, drawing her to him, filling her relentlessly until he was fully seated within her, and she was fully impaled upon him.
And she’d felt every inch, every tiniest, most minute sensation, amplified by the fact that, with her mind and senses distracted, the anticipated had become the unexpected. He’d ensured her nerves were highly sensitized, sure to react intensely to the penetration. And they had. Eyes closing, she let her head fall back against his shoulder, sank her fingers deep into the arms of the chair. That slow claiming had been, not a shock, but a moment in which her sensual defenses had been down. She’d felt more. Experienced the illicit intimacy of their joining to the fullest.
There was more to come.