Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

B y God. Griffin honestly didn't know if he could. Kiss her again and stop, that is. Holy Christ, seeing her in her shift was nearly killing him. Her body so lithe and graceful. Her skin like silk. Her breasts nearly visible beneath the delicate lace of the shift. He was barely able to breathe, let alone think. Kissing her again might send him to his grave, but if that was her condition to leave here tonight without going any further, then so be it.

He let out a deep, shaky breath and stepped toward her. She lifted her face to his. The masks covered their cheeks, their eyes, and their foreheads, but their lips were free. Free to do this.

Griffin slowly lowered his mouth to hers and touched her lips so gently he barely felt it. The moan deep in her throat made his cock ache, and his arm snaked around her waist to pull her tight against his rock-hard body. His mouth shaped her lips and gently, slowly, coaxed them open. When they did, his tongue slid inside her wet warmth. She moaned again and Griffin closed his eyes. The satin of their masks rubbed together, and then the kiss exploded. Her tongue moved to tangle with his and her arms moved up his chest to wrap fiercely around his neck. Before he even knew what he was doing, he had walked her backward to the bed and lowered himself atop her. Her shift had pushed up to her hips and her right leg snaked around his calf to hold his body against hers. His hips moved of their own accord. He pressed against her intimately, nudging again and again against the softness between her legs. The sounds of pleasure she was making in response to his thrusts were driving him wild.

"Yes, please," she moaned. Then she grabbed one of his hands and moved it down to her nearly bare hip. "Touch me," she begged.

He should stop. But he couldn't. His hand moved along the silky skin of her hip, along her thigh, and came to rest between the juncture of her legs. "I shouldn't?—"

"Touch me," she begged. "Please. I need you."

He closed his eyes and moved his fingers to slowly stroke her tender, wet flesh. She was ready for him. She wanted him. It would be so easy to undo his breeches and bury himself inside her. But he couldn't do that. He wouldn't do that to any drunken woman. And certainly never Meredith. But he could give her some of what she wanted tonight. He could make her feel good.

His fingertip found the little nub hidden between the folds of her sex. He found it and carefully stroked it once, twice.

Her head pushed back against the mattress, and she moaned deep in her throat, exposing her neck to him. "God, yes," she breathed.

Griffin clenched his jaw. Sweat beaded on his brow. This was going to kill him, but now he desperately wanted to give Meredith what she'd come here for. Pleasure. Intense pleasure. All of it.

He stroked her again and then settled his fingertip into place, drawing tiny little circles against her swollen nub. Her leg tensed against his calf and her eyes rolled back. A look of pure ecstasy was pinned to her face. Her breathing hitched with every stroke and her arm was locked tight around his neck.

He wanted to kiss her everywhere, to rub his heavy, needy cock against her, but he was mesmerized by the look on her face. Meredith taking her pleasure. He'd imagined this a thousand times before, but it was more glorious than anything he'd ever conjured in his dreams.

Her breathing came in short pants and her leg trembled with tension as he kept up the gentle pressure. Round and round and round went his fingertip. Then he slowly moved his hand down to slip a single finger inside her.

"Yes," she cried against his mouth, arching her back.

Griffin closed his eyes and swallowed hard. She was so wet, so ready. His finger found the rough spot on the inside of her slick inner wall that he knew would drive her wild. He quirked his fingertip, pressing against the spot. Just enough pressure to?—

"Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God." Meredith clutched at his arm and her cries of pleasure reverberated through his body, centering on his swollen cock. Each breath, each moan, made him harder. And even though he hadn't had his own release, a pleasure like he'd never known spread through his body.

Meredith was sobbing into his ear. Her body was shaking. Tremors echoed through her. He'd just given her a climax. A climax that had made her scream and clutch his shoulders while her body quaked beneath his. He smiled to himself.

Breathing heavily, he pulled himself away from her and stood, not trusting himself unless he put space between them immediately. He spent several seconds staring down at the floor, willing his cockstand to subside while he concentrated on setting his breathing to rights .

A few moments later, Meredith shifted on the bed, and he turned back to look at her. Her face was filled with…astonishment?

"That was…" Her voice was shaking. Her eyes were wide. "I've never felt anything like that."

Griffin frowned. He wasn't surprised, but he hated to hear it. "I hope you don't regret that in the morning," he said, giving voice to his greatest fear.

She shifted to sit up and patted the space beside her on the bed. He stepped back and lowered himself to sit next to her. She pushed herself up to her knees, gently turned his chin toward her face, and kissed him softly. "I will never regret that. There's not enough brandy in this world." She gave him a sexy smile. "Thank you."

Griffin remained motionless on the bed while Meredith spent the next several moments pulling on her gown and buttoning it. When she was dressed again, she turned to him and winked. "Until next time, Mr. Sapphire. Next Thursday night?"

Words failed him. All Griffin could do was nod.

He watched her go, a hundred thoughts racing through his head. What the hell had he done? There was no coming back from this. What could he possibly do next time? If he revealed his identity, he would risk angering Meredith so much she might never speak to him again. If he didn't reveal himself, she would expect them to go further. To make love. If he didn't come back to the club, she might find another man. Another man like Marsden. Or worse.

Damn it all to hell. This was an untenable situation. He never should have come here in the first place. He never should have got involved. Meredith was a grown woman. Where she went and what she did and with whom weren't his business. Fine. His heart might shatter if she took a lover, but that didn't give him the right to do what he'd done .

Damn it. He'd had a plan. Court her. Woo her. Make her fall in love with him. Give her the dream of her first Season. And when she was ready, when she'd finally come to realize that they were the perfect match for each other, drop to one knee and propose to her at the Midsummer Night's ball. But none of it was going according to plan.

Griffin scrubbed a hand through his hair again, cursing himself for being seven times a fool. How in the hell would he ever make this right?