Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

T he marquess had noticed something about her. The shock at the very idea of a man so self-assured, powerful, and sensually appealing deigning to notice her did not ease the panic churning in her stomach, tempting her to cast up her breakfast of eggs, ham, and toast. Lily Layton held her smile in place through sheer willpower. The Dowager Marchioness of Ambrose prattled on, completely oblivious to the turmoil Lily currently endured.

Her diary was missing.

Her thoughts raced, trying to remember if there was anything within its pages to identify her as the authoress. She’d been careful to leave no trace of her identity as she poured out the improper cravings in her body and soul onto paper. But how could she have been so careless as to not realize it had slipped from her basket when she’d taken her morning stroll? Lily blamed it on the shocking news she had received prior to indulging in her early walk. Lady Ambrose no longer desired Lily to continue as her lady’s companion.

Sometime after the death of her second husband, the local vicar, the marchioness had imperiously ordered Lily to move into Belgrave Manor and attend to her. The vicar had been a puritanical, social-climbing despot who had done everything to ingratiate himself with Lady Ambrose. The marchioness had tolerated his reverent obsequiousness, and she had been incredibly kind and courteous to Lily. She’d accepted the position of companion to the marchioness, for her widow’s portion had been only one hundred pounds, and the cottage she had resided in with Robert was needed for the new vicar.

Lily had staunchly insisted that the position must be a paid one, though she was quite aware of the graciousness of Lady Ambrose. She’d had nowhere to go. Her parents could not afford for her to return home to their small cottage and be an added burden to their already strained resources.

Lady Ambrose, bless her heart, had acceded to Lily’s exorbitant request for three guineas a month for her services. She had been saving whatever she could, but she had not put away enough to ensure a future for herself that would not rely on her choosing another husband. The last thing she wanted to do was marry for the third time, especially if another husband required children.

Familiar pain and grief welled in her heart, and she had to push it away before the tide of despair could suck her under.

“It is time, my dear Mrs. Layton, for you to secure your future.”

Lily lowered the teapot carefully onto the beautifully designed French rococo table. “I am not sure I comprehend your meaning, your ladyship,” she said with a small smile that felt too tight. Though the marchioness meant well, Lily did not appreciate her future being decided by anyone but herself.

“Come now, surely you wondered why I no longer require your companionship. You are delightful, to be certain, but it would be selfish of me to keep you to myself when you need to set up your nursery with another husband. I’ve recently found an unmatched happiness with Lord Clayton,” she said, blushing prettily and patting her elegantly arranged coiffure.

Viscount Clayton had been paying particular attention to the marchioness, and Lily had suspected they were lovers. Lady Ambrose tended to blush whenever she met his gaze, and, once, she had even seen the viscount sneaking from her bedchamber at dawn. Lily had been quite happy the melancholia that had weighed the marchioness down seemed to be melting away. She was still a very beautiful lady, with only a few streaks of gray in her dark hair and some soft wrinkles on her face. Her beauty was ageless, and Lily was pleased when the sparkle had returned to her hazel eyes.

She did feel a pinch of pain at being discarded so easily, but she brushed it aside. It was not as if she had planned to reside at the manor for the rest of her life. She had hoped to stay only until she had saved enough to open her shop in London and had made a few notable connections through the marchioness.

It seemed like an impossible dream on most days—becoming a premier modiste with a shop on Bond Street or Cavendish Square or even High Holborn. She would specialize in riding habits and rival even the most notable dressmakers with her unique and elegant creations.

“My lady, it is kind of you to think of me, but I am quite happy here at Belgrave Manor with you.”

“You need a husband to help you manage, my dear. It’s the way of the world.”

Lily barely resisted scoffing. “That, I assure you, Lady Ambrose, is the last thing I require. I do not need a husband to supervise my life and restrict my dreams and passions. I’m five and twenty. I quite believe I am capable.”

A twinkle appeared in the marchioness’s eyes. “My dear, there are those husbands who happily allow their wives freedom.”

“I am more interested in safeguarding my future using my skills and intellect, my lady. Husbands do not last forever, and I may marry a third time and find myself widowed again, with my future unsecured.”

“ Pish !” The marchioness waved aside her protest. “I’ve seen the longing on your face when you think I am not looking. I’ve already hired another companion, and Miss Julia Waverly will be here by the month’s end. I will host our local ball early this year, and you will find a suitable gentleman from the village. You are young, with very pretty eyes and lovely smile. It will not do for you to waste away here.”

“Thank you, your ladyship, but—”

“I’ll not hear your objection,” the marchioness said with a harrumph. “I’ve seen the looks you’ve been casting at my son.”

Dear God in Heaven.

Lily could only stare at Lady Ambrose, frozen in indecision. “You are quite mistaken, my lady. I cannot imagine a more ludicrous notion. If you have seen me staring, I assure you, I have only been admiring the cut of his jacket or studying the richness of the material. You know I am forever fascinated with fashion, and I am quite determined to be a sought-after modiste of the ton .”

The marchioness could have no idea that Lily’s dreams had been filled with the marquess doing wicked things to her body with those firm and sensual lips. She had never acted inappropriately within his presence. In fact, the man hardly acknowledged her. It was as if he did not see her, so faded was Lily into the background of their lavish lifestyle. She was simply the hired help with the lovely euphemism of lady’s companion.

The marchioness pinned her with a searching glance, her lips pursed in a moue of disapproval. “You must come to the ball on Friday, my dear,” she said, giving a benevolent wave of her hand.

A ball! A shimmer of excitement went through her. “My lady—”

“Sir Ellington is in attendance, and I’ve detected the keen regard he pays to you. Mr. Crauford also seems decidedly interested. He is the grandnephew of Baron Hayford, so Mr. Crauford is not without connections, and he commands two thousand pounds a year. My dear, I don’t believe you will be able to secure better.”

“Oh, no, my lady. The offer is most kind of you, but I must politely decline.”

“Nonsense. If you are worried about your wardrobe, I have the most delightful gown that with only a few alterations will fit you quite well. If you are a seamstress worth her salt, two days should be sufficient to make the changes to your satisfaction.”

Lily stood and strolled to the window overlooking the lake. She did not like the fierce burn of excitement that had flared through her. She had never been to a prestigious ball before—only several country routs, which had been immensely delightful.

“Your ladyship, I appreciate the kind offer, but I truly have no desire to attend a fashionable ball.” Liar , her heart cried softly. It was vastly appealing, but what would be the point? She did not belong to that extravagant world.

“Every young lady wishes to attend one of my balls,” the marchioness rejoined with an arrogant lift of her chin. “If you have any hopes of capturing Mr. Crauford’s attention, Friday’s ball will see it done. When he sees how you comport yourself within high society, he will be more apt to court you, despite your having no dowry or suitable connections.”

There was little point in reminding the marchioness that she did not desire marriage. She had already endured two, and despite the saying, the third time would not be charming, pleasant, or amiable, but a reoccurrence of banality and shame at her wanton heart. However, Lily could not ignore the opportunity that attending the ball presented. This could be her chance to impress the ladies of high society with her designs. She could alter the gown in several ways, ensuring she outshone many there, and perhaps they would be compelled to ask after her dressmaker. That was the way to foster the connections of which she had been dreaming.

“Thank you, your ladyship. I believe I will accept your offer of the ball gown.”

The marchioness nodded approvingly. “Wonderful, Mrs. Layton. The dress is from last season, and I only wore it once, for I did not find the color flattering. The soft rose would look quite charming on you, my dear.”

She rang the bell, and a maid hurried in shortly after. The marchioness ordered the gown to be delivered to Lily’s room and also for a picnic hamper to be prepared.

Lily smiled. “Do you need me for the rest of the morning, my lady?”

“You may have the rest of the day.” She cleared her throat, her cheeks flushing pink. “Lord Clayton and I will be having a light repast in the south gardens before joining in the outdoor games.”

Lily dipped into a quick curtsy and departed, belatedly realizing the marchioness had required her presence less of late. Their afternoon readings had been canceled for more than a week now, and their last weekly jaunt into the village had occurred almost two months ago. She faltered, pressing a hand to her stomach. How had she not noticed? Because of her inattentiveness, she had less than a month to plan for her unencumbered future.

She pushed open the door and collided with Lady Lucinda, the marquess’s younger sister, a petite, blue-eyed brunette with slender curves, a winsome smile, and a most charming personality.

“Oh, dear me!”

Lily smiled. “Lady Lucinda, how are you today?”

Her eyes twinkled, and Lily had the sneaking suspicion the girl had been eavesdropping.

“Dear Mrs. Layton, may I prevail upon you for assistance?”

“In regard to …?”

A generous smile curved the girl’s lips as she considered Lily with an odd sort of anxious scrutiny. “I need you briefly in the music room. I am trying to practice my steps for the waltz, but Mr. Potter doesn’t seem inclined to indulge me today.”

Lucinda waited expectantly, and Lily stared at her for several seconds, embarrassed but delighted at the girl’s kindness. “You are very thoughtful, Lady Lucinda, but it is very unlikely I will be asked to dance at the ball. And you should not eavesdrop.”

Lucinda flushed. She had a romantic soul and was quite naive in the matters of the heart, and Lily loathed the day the girl would realize marriage was not all that she imagined it to be. Lady Luciana was eager for her debut and had spoken of little else for the past few weeks.

“Please, Mrs. Layton, indulge me. It will also help me prepare for when I am launched into society. I want to be as graceful as a swan when my beaux twirl me about the floor. And you just may be asked to dance. Imagine how mortified you would be if you had to decline because you are unable to.”

Lily smiled at her earnestness. “I’ve been persuaded, but not now. Perhaps in a few hours.”

Her entire face lit with her smile. “How glorious. You will not regret it!”

“You are welcome, and I thank you for thinking of me,” Lily said, smiling. She hurried to her room to collect her bonnet. She would also select a book from the library so that, under the pretext of reading outdoors, she could surreptitiously search for her diary. That was all she would direct her attention to now, for she could not imagine the ghastly effect of her personal reflections falling into someone’s clasp, especially if they discovered that Mrs. Lily Layton, widow of their beloved vicar, was the author of such sinful thoughts.

Several hours later, Lily stared at the ceiling of her bedchamber, unable to settle. Worry had wrested her slumber away, and she feared it would not return. She had retraced her steps several times, and there had been no sign of her diary on the lawns, the sitting benches, or on any table or mantel anywhere. She had even searched the library shelves and tables in the event someone had mistaken it for a book and thought to return it. There was nowhere else to look, and she hated the tight band of anxiety across her chest and the tears forming behind her eyes.

Once again, she tried to calm her racing thoughts and recall everywhere she had been. Suddenly, she stiffened and slowly sat up on the bed as something came to her. Early this morning, she had taken a walk through the secret passages before attending to the marchioness. Sometimes the darkness of those hallways was a haven hidden away, where she could breathe and allow herself to be wicked in her imagination. That was also the place where she had, quite by accident, come upon the open portal that gave her a direct view of Lord Radbourne’s guest chamber.

She pushed from the bed, relief and hope rushing through her veins. Perhaps it had fallen out of her basket there. Though she suspected a secret panel led to her bedchamber, she hadn’t located its entry despite her numerous searches. But there was one she could enter through in the library. She slipped from her room, comfortable with the dark, almost running in her haste, down the long hallway and then the stairs, her voluminous cotton nightgown wrapping around her legs.

A few moments later, she paused at the library door and stood still, allowing her senses to detect if there was another presence within. Confident the house was asleep, she gently opened the door. There was a fire burning low in the grate, but the room was blessedly empty. Lily closed the door behind her and hurried over to the bookcase. Shifting several books on the third shelf in the far-right corner, the bookcase moved and revealed the beginnings of a dark staircase. Lily grabbed a candlestick from the mantel, lit it from the fire, and proceeded into the passageway.

The bookcase closed behind her, the draft of wind almost putting out her lone candle. The flames flickered but then held firm. With a soft sigh, she turned left, moving toward the east wing where most of the guests resided. After several minutes of searching, the hollow feeling of despair surfaced once more. Her diary was not on the floor of these hidden corridors.

A loud moan had her faltering. Lifting the candle high and looking around carefully, she blushed at realizing she was once again standing by the portal in front of Lord Radbourne’s chamber. There was a thump, what sounded like a giggle, then a lusty cry.

She closed her eyes, denying the urge to spy on the earl and his lover. The first time she had heard the sounds, she had opened the small wooden panel, not certain what she would find, for she had never imagined that bed sport elicited such lustful cries. Her shock had been profound when she’d found the earl’s mouth buried against Lady Wimbledon’s snatch. Lily’s sensibilities had been distressed, aroused, and she’d been rooted to the spot, unable to pull away from the intimate display.

A discordant sound rode the air, and she stiffened. She frowned, listening. There it was again. She strained to hear, and Lily almost fainted as footsteps sounded along the passage of the secret corridor where she stood. She inhaled sharply, clutching the candlestick tighter.

Someone was coming.

The awareness settled like heavy stones against her chest, crushing and frightening. How could she explain being in the passage that allowed her a scandalous peek into the earl’s bedchamber? Dear God, why had she given in to the wanton urgings and sinful temptations of her heart?

The footsteps grew closer, but she stood frozen in indecision. If she hurried away, whoever it was would hear her scampering and perhaps rush after her. The candlestick slipped from her nerveless fingers with a thunk onto the floor. She held her breath, sure the earl and his lover had heard. Thankfully, the light was out, so she pressed against the wall, hoping she had not been seen and the person in the dark with her would walk by, leaving her unnoticed.

“Ah … we meet at last,” a rough, low voice drawled, distressingly close.

A moan of denial and shock hissed from her.

Dear God, I’ve been discovered.

“I never really thought I would encounter anyone … but here you truly are,” the voice continued, the merest hint of amusement and perhaps intrigue coloring his tone. “Have I shocked you speechless?”

He had poleaxed her senses, for he intimated he had expected to find someone here. In all her months of exploring these dark, secretive corners, she had never encountered another soul. The fact that he had arrived without a candlestick hinted of his familiarity with the winding passages.

“Who are you?” she demanded, her voice husky from apprehension.

“A kindred spirit.”

“I hardly believe that to be possible.” He stood just a few feet away, and she had to look up to where his voice came from. Even in the blackness, she could tell he was tall.

“Permit me to ask your name,” he said smoothly.

“A jester, I see.” As if she would ever be silly enough to reveal her identity. She had pitched her voice low to disguise it. She wondered if he’d done the same.

“I’ve never been accused of being overly humorous before.”

She clenched her hands into fists. “No, I will not provide my name.”

He chuckled. “Ah, you would prefer anonymity.”

“I would prefer for you to let me pass unmolested.”

There was a pause. “I do not prevent you, my lady,” he said with a heavy tinge of regret. “You are free to leave.”

Yet her feet did not move, and she remained pressed against the wall, ignoring the chill of the stone. Who in God’s name was in the dark with her and why was she lingering in his presence? He could ruin her reputation. Though she hadn’t consented to remarry, she hadn’t fully given up on the notion. She sometimes wished for a companion, a friend, a lover, and a happy home, but she wanted it with a man who would not make her ashamed of her sensuality and wanton cravings, and a man who would not terribly mind that she could not produce issue. If ever there could be such a man.

“Or you could stay … and we could just be ,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with something dark and all too enticing.

His emphasis had her mouth drying. That dangerous, forbidden thrill shot through her again. The very one that had caused her late husband to slap her across the cheek and call her a whore on their wedding night.

He’s gone , the temptress lurking inside whispered.

“Who are you? No—” Lily hurriedly amended. “No names, please. Do you know who I am?”

There was a moment of tension. “No.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Truly?”

“Yes.” His voice rang with sincerity.

“Do you wish to know?” Not that she would ever tell him, but she was beyond curious as to his presence.

“Only if you wish to tell me more. I know you’re a widow.”

“I beg your pardon?” How could he know such a thing? Did he suspect her identity and only toy with her? Anger at the notion seared Lily, and anxiety burned inside her.

“There are no young ladies present in the manor who would dare to be so bold to tour these dark hallways. That would be quite extraordinary, wouldn’t you say?” There was an odd vein of amusement in his tone.

“What else do you know?” The question was harsh.

“Relax,” he urged. “I know you’re a lady, without a doubt one of Lady Ambrose’s guests. But which one?”

Some of the tension leaked from her. She wasn’t a lady, and if he thought it so, it would be much harder to decipher her identity.

“I will not insist on more until you are ready to tell me.”

Which she would never be. “You are in no position to insist on anything.” An untrue statement, for he had all the power in this exchange. He could easily overpower her and drag her to the library.

“I will cajole politely, then.”

There was that hint of provoking amusement again.

She thought about that for several seconds. “What do you want?”

There was a low chuckle of anticipation that made her shiver. Good heavens.

What does he want?

Her heart jerked. Could it be that he wanted to spy on the earl as well? Shameful heat scorched her body, and she was absurdly grateful for the cool darkness. “Why are you here?”

“I read your diary.”

For precious seconds, she couldn’t breathe. “I beg your pardon?”

The very air around them went remarkably still.

“I found your diary … and read it. That’s how I knew where to find you.” His voice was as dark as she imagined sin would be incarnate.

Her heart was a tattoo against her breastbone, and she could only stare in the direction of his voice at a complete loss. Then fury rushed through her. “Those were private thoughts! You, sir, are no gentleman,” she snapped, being very careful to keep her voice low and disguised.

“Ah.”

There was a wealth of meaning in that single word.

“I regret the discomfort I’ve caused you, but I do not believe I can proffer an apology, for without reading your diary, I would never have found you. I had the thought that perhaps there was a woman with whom I could experience the things I’ve long wanted to do with a lady.”

She bit into the softness of her lip, desperately wanting to ask what things. She should be running from this situation, even if there was a risk of revealing her identity when she spilled from the secret chamber into the lighted library.

“Your restraint is admirable,” he said, his voice roughened with provoking amusement. “I’m fairly hopping on my toes to tell you my desires.”

The dratted man was a still, menacing figure of darkness before her.

“Perhaps I do not care.”

“Are you the author of the diary … or an unwitting reader like myself?”

Apprehension skittered across her nerve endings and mashed painfully with the arousal writhing through her body. Lie , a voice inside warned. “Why is that important?”

“That author would desperately want to know all my lewd fantasies—she is fearless with her desires.”

Oh, the way Lily had always wanted to be with her hidden thoughts—fearless and free. Surely this man was not a gentleman of society? Gentlemen expected ladylike demureness from their wives. Who was he to possess such an unrestrained mind?

“You do not think her, the author of the diary you found, a whore?”

“No,” he clipped icily.

“That is unusual,” she said softly. “And what … frightful desires do you possess?”

“Are we to have a frank conversation, then, my lady?”

“I’m …” She caught her slip just in time. It was so instinctive for her to refute that she was a lady whenever someone granted her the honorific in error. The sneaky scoundrel. He did want to know her identity. “We are, my lord.”

A pulse of silence, then he made a low groan of appreciation.

The sound of a consistent slapping and thumping reached them, and Lily flushed in mortification when she realized it was the earl and his lover, and the thumps were of the headboard against the wall.

A guttural moan issued from the earl as his lover begged for more, some shocking demands spilling from her lips. Lily’s breathing roughened. She was afraid and aroused beyond measure.

She sensed when he moved closer.

“Ah, Lady W and Lord R.”

Her knees weakened. How mortifying, he had read that particular entry.

“Do you like watching?”

She blushed, grateful the darkness hid her reaction. What must he truly think of her? “To ask such a private question is not the mark of a gentleman.”

“Why don’t we leave all expectations of gentlemanlike and ladylike conduct … in the library.”

Blast her irrepressible heart for being so captivated by the scandalous notion.

“Do you like watching?” he repeated.

“ Sir , I—”

“We are strangers in the darkness,” he murmured. “There are no rules here.”

The breath left her lungs. “I …”

“Don’t speak, just look.”

Her heart jerked, but she stood still, trying to understand the weakness assailing her and the growing persistent throb in her core.

“Allow me,” the stranger murmured, the warm heat of him brushing her body.

He shifted the small portal, and as if the chaotic cravings controlled her, Lily slowly turned toward the opening.

The earl was between his lover’s spread legs, and his mouth was pressed against her feminine channel.

The man behind her stepped closer. “Tell me, why do you like watching?”

Embarrassment assailed her, and Lily clenched her hands into tight fists. “I don’t—”

“Let’s not quibble, my lady. I know you do … I could tell from your journal. You’ve walked these halls, and you have watched Lord R and Lady W. You stumbled upon them once … and you went to your room and pleasured yourself with your fingers … didn’t you?”

Dear God . Her heart stuttered in the most painful rhythm, and Lily drew in a trembling breath. “Yes.”

“Since then, you haven’t watched them … why not?”

“I …” She had felt confused, embarrassed, and too needy. “My mortification overwhelmed me.”

His fingertips danced over the nape of her neck, and a tingling shot straight down below her navel. Her entire being focused on that single sensation.

“There is no need to feel shamed by the need to watch … to see the myriad of expressions on her face as her cunt is ravished. There is a voyeur in all of us, from the maiden who wishes a glimpse of a bare-chested man to the gentleman who desires to see the delicate flash of a lady’s ankle, the shadow between her succulent cleavage, the flash of curls covering her most intimate parts. We all hunger for a taste of something forbidden, only some of us have the audacity or courage to act on those needs.”

Lily couldn’t fight the awakening of the wanton part of her soul. The temptress inside lifted her head and reveled in his sensual assurance. “An inexplicable longing filled me when I saw Lord R and Lady W, one I could not overcome. I lacked the courage to keep watching, certain I would be taken over by a desire that could never be assuaged.”

His fingers skimmed across her hips lightly, and instead of pulling away, she leaned into his bold and improper touch. A rough sigh of appreciation dragged from his throat. Lily understood. Her acceptance of this stranger’s touch meant she was open to scandalous pursuits, which had been his intention to discover.

The touch of his hands on her hips burned through her nightgown. She had never been so conscious of another before.

“The earl and his lover would have reveled in the knowledge that you watch them.”

That notion was positively indecent … and thrilling. “How do you know?”

She felt his smile against her shoulder.

“The earl and I have shared Lady W … and I know their carnal desires.”

Lily gasped.

“Tell me,” her mysterious stranger coaxed. “I want to know your cravings.”

Lily knew without a hint of any doubt that her life would never be the same if she succumbed to the lust in her heart. But she didn’t want to return to that realm of uncertainty, of restraining one’s passion and true heart.

“I enjoy seeing Lady W’s expressions of pleasure. Sometimes I do not know if she writhes in pain … or delight. I love the nuances I see on her face; I revel in the cries that spill from her throat, and I ache when I see her come undone for the earl. I want to be her. I want to feel such bliss … and I want to be splayed wide and taken while others watch me.” The confession felt as if it was wrenched from the hidden recesses of her soul, where she had interred her most depraved urgings. She closed her eyes tightly, bracing for some manner of repudiation.

Instead … a hum of approval echoed in the dark.

Lily’s entire body weakened, washing with heat at the feel of him against her back.

“Are you watching?”

She snapped her eyes open and wetted her lips. “Yes.” Her voice sounded hoarse and so unlike her that Lily didn’t have to work hard to disguise her tone.

They watched together in silence as the earl adored his lover in the most carnal manner Lily had ever seen. “Do you do that?” She almost fainted as the words spilled unbidden from her.

“Do what?”

“What the earl is doing.”

“Licking his lover’s quim?”

His wicked words erotically stroked her senses. “Yes,” Lily whispered.

“Most assuredly,” replied the stranger.

His roughened voice made her ache for things that often left her blushing when she thought about them. Her heart picked up its rhythm as temptation and impossible desires beat at her. How many nights had she lain awake dreaming of passion and wicked deeds?

You harlot.

No , the woman inside her roared at the ghost of her husband’s voice. No more.

“Do not try to find out who I am.”

“I swear it on my honor,” came the stranger’s immediate reply.

“And I do not want to know who you are.”

“As you wish.”

A sigh of longing pulsed from her. “I want … I want …” Words failed her.

“Tell me.”

She couldn’t speak through the tight knot in her throat. He waited, and she distantly admired his patience. Lily closed the portal, shutting away the image of the earl twisting his lover to sit atop him. She wanted to ask about every scandalous thing she had wondered but had been told was too shocking for a lady to know … even a wife. “What is the most improper and unladylike word you know for what happens between a man and woman … when they are in bed being intimate?”

“Tupping, swiving, prigging … but my personal favorite is fucking.”

Oh . Thick anticipatory silence blanketed them. She could not bring herself to say her shameful needs.

“There is freedom in the darkness. Say what you want. Take what you want.” His voice was a whisper of velvet across her skin.

Freedom in the darkness . He was the devil. This stranger was the only man to ever ask what she wanted. He was in a position of power, he could simply take her if he wanted, and no one would be the wiser.

The darkness whispered around her, safe and sheltering, yet also electrifying and dangerous. “I want … I want your mouth on me there ,” she whispered, stepping off the edge of recklessness into the freedom her heart had been hungering for.