17. Chapter Seventeen

Evan ran the tip of his tongue over his lip, leaving behind a glistening sheen that bespoke of sweet decadence. "I know what I would like to do," he said in a husky baritone that promised carnal delights.

The scent of citrus and mint wrapped Kat in a sensual cloud, replacing all rational thought with unfathomable longing. Hopefully, he meant to kiss her right this minute, for if he did not, she would wither away to nothingness. To the devil with everything but this man who sat beside her. This enigma, who she'd thought was a scoundrel, protected women and sketched and painted like a master. He turned her world inside out, making her cast aside her austere nature and embrace life.

His thumb traced tiny circles on the back of her hand. It seemed a harmless enough gesture. He was simply comforting her. So why did she feel those circles deep inside her, as if he was touching her quim? Stars, Beth had taught her naughty words.

"Evan," she whispered, brushing her hand over his forearm, her action entirely to ensure this was not one of her fantasies. Thank the heavens, he was indeed there with her, all flesh and blood and lean, sinewy male perfection.

"Please," she begged.

"Katrina." His raspy moan stoked flames in her core.

God willing, any second now, he would kiss her. She closed her eyes and waited, anticipation adding to the warm glow enveloping them. Their ragged breaths mingled, creating a sensual harmony.

From her neck to her shoulder, his fingertips languidly grazed her skin, exploring and teasing, reducing her to a raw sphere of want.

"Please, kiss me," she begged.

A throaty rumble of male longing tickled her ear. "Yes, my princess." His kisses trailed along the path his fingers blazed.

As wonderful as this was, she needed his lips on hers, in the same way he'd devoured her that first night.

His words caressed her already sensitive skin. "'Tis as if you are made of silk."

Sighing, she tilted her head to the side, inviting him to lavish her neck. She'd never again begrudge him his experience with women. Not when it led to these expert ministrations.

Both a master at art and seduction, he separated his lips between each kiss, occasionally gifting her skin with a warm breath as he slowly worked his way up and down her neck. She clutched his waistcoat, digging her nails into his back, encouraging him with pleas of, "Oh, yes."

He halted at her ear to nibble, then blew a seductive breath, raising the hair on the back of her neck.

Any defense she had left cracked, releasing a dormant wild feline. She clasped her mouth around his neck, drew his skin into her mouth, and sucked much harder than any proper woman should.

What in the heavens did the man bathe in? Because she wanted to lap it up. Every last salty, citrusy, minty bit of it.

He chuckled, then moaned. "Do you mean to mark me, my princess?"

Whatever that meant, she might. Especially if it involved ravenous suckling. She again pulled his skin into her mouth.

"Fuck," he moaned.

She'd always hated that indecent word—but not from Evan in the throes of passion. She bit and sucked, doing her best to elicit another filthy utterance.

Using the tip of his tongue, he licked from the bottom of her neck upward, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. "Delicious," he murmured before nibbling his way back down. Once he reached the grove where her shoulders and collarbone met, he suckled. He was gentle, quite unlike the inner beast she currently embraced.

"Do you like that, Katrina?" he asked.

Oh, my stars. "Yes!" She reeled with pleasure.

At long last—thank the heavens above—his lips touched hers, then pulled away. He tapped and retreated. Over and over again.

She may be inexperienced, but she knew from his sensual smirk that the fool was taunting and reveling in her writhing body. She'd allow him this moment of cockiness before she commandeered the upper hand. Threading her fingers through his hair, she pressed her lips to his.

"I'm so fucking hard." Wrapping her in his arms, he thrust his tongue into her mouth and ground the unyielding bulge between his thighs against her hip.

Hah. Indeed, he was. Hard. She'd won. He was hers.

As their tongues tangled, she followed his lead. At first tentative, she grew bolder with each tap and swirl of her tongue. Eventually, she brazenly nipped at his lips as she tugged at his hair.

She should stop. Someone might walk in on them. But she couldn't find the strength to care, especially now that he fiddled with the buttons on the back of her dress. He made quick work of her already loose stays. She gasped as the air hit her breasts. Her stays slid over her shoulders, then pulled around her waist.

"My God," he murmured. "I knew they'd be beautiful." He cupped her breasts and lifted them.

Trembling from need, she could no longer hold her body upright. She collapsed against the back of the settee. Thankfully, he didn't allow the distance between them. With his gaze glued to her bosom and both his hands caressing her breasts, he pressed against her.

She fought the urge to close her eyes because she wanted to watch as he stroked her areolas. He was so attentive. So beautiful. So thorough. Heavy lids hung over his eyes as his thumb and forefinger drew circles around first one nipple, then the other. The nibs came alive, pebbling to stiff peaks.

She'd been transplanted to heaven.

He gently flicked a tip with his tongue. Once.

"Stars."

Twice.

"Yes!"

The third time, she hissed.

He took the nipple into his mouth, alternating between licking and sucking as he squeezed her breast. "Do you know what you do to me?" He moaned before drawing a line with his tongue to her other nipple. Desperate groping replaced his gentle touch. "Like perky rose buds ready to bloom."

Gentle caresses and flowery words were lovely. Rough, needy hands and filthy utterances were beyond delicious. And the combination… Oh, my!

He pulled back to gaze into her eyes. His emerald irises had glazed over, cloudy intoxication darkening them. She brushed her finger over his now puffy lips. His deep rumble landed in her core.

"Katrina, we have to stop."

But she did not want to stop.

"I cannot fuck you in your brother's library in the middle of the afternoon."

For the first time in her life, fucking held a lot of appeal. But since she was uncertain what all that entailed, this was nice, too. Although perchance, just maybe, he could be persuaded to—what had Beth said?

"He places his mouth on your quim and licks and sucks and does all sorts of wonderful things." Because that sounded a hundred shades of colorful, and her quim pulsed with need. If only she were brave enough to request her wants out loud.

Mayhap she'd settle on her second choice.

"Kiss me," she demanded as she tugged on his lapel.

Instead of obliging, he rested his forehead against hers. "I must be at the field soon." He pulled back. His gaze traveled to the wooden clock above the fireplace, and he sighed. "I did not sleep last night."

Maybe because he'd been sketching a million pictures of her. Stars. That meant he'd been thinking about her the way she'd been thinking about him. Therefore, they should embrace until the world ended. She lunged for his lips.

With a quick turn of his head, the incubus evaded her. "Please don't make this more difficult for me."

Difficultfor him? Every inch of her hummed and ached.

He untangled one of her hands from his coat, then the other. It was as if she were a ragdoll as he pressed on her shoulder until she faced away from him. Neither of them said a word as he laced her stays, situated her dress on her shoulders and fastened her buttons.

He rested his chin on her shoulder to whisper in her ear, "Katrina, you turn me inside out. I do not understand my own mind right now. I must sleep, then think. But first, I must change into my whites and play bloody cricket."

For a moment, she was too stunned to move. By the time she'd swiveled to face him, he'd departed the library, leaving her with a shameful dampness coating her inner thighs.