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to wait? “Not yet though?” she whispered tentatively. “Shouldn’t I wait until we’re together in the bed?”
    “One now.” He laughed gently. “It will make my thrusts all the more delightful.”
    One now? She hadn’t known there could be more. He seemed to think so. She hadn’t even given him her name, but she felt so close to him. The intimacy was breathtaking.
    Her fists flailed, bumping his neck, but he didn’t appear to mind. Wonderful feelings grew inside. There was agony, too, but in a good way. How that made sense, she didn’t know. She knew real pain from her illness. This was an ache, but a glorious one.
    “Yes,” Sutcliffe encouraged her, but the word came rough, bitten-off. Then, softly, “Pleasure yourself.”
    Octavia had to close her eyes. This was what she did beneath the covers in her own bed. Not in front of a man she’d watched lecture in front of a crowded room. She moved against him, thinking he would stay still. But he didn’t. Once she had rocked back and forth, panting and feeling pleasure build, he began rubbing her. Matching her rhythm.
    She couldn’t reach the peak standing up, could she?
    It didn’t matter what she wanted, what she thought she could do. Her body ached for more. Her legs rocked of their own volition. She went faster and faster.
    Sutcliffe helped her, spreading his fingers, rubbing them along the sides of the mysterious nub that felt so good.
    She was going to melt. Or go up in flames.
    She was clinging to him and sobbing and moaning. Her hips rocked like wild. She was going to dissolve in front of him, or die. He was watching her breasts jiggle and bob. He could see her at her most intimate moment. . . .
    She didn’t care. It was too good.
    Then . . . oh God . . . pleasure exploded inside her. Her body rocked with it, and she would have lost her balance, but her fists were pressed to his chest. He caught her mouth in a kiss, his tongue playing with hers. She couldn’t kiss him back. All she could do was moan and cry out against his mouth.
    The peak buffeted her, and she rode it with her eyes shut. She was riding on his hand, and it was the most scandalous, delicious thing.
    He gave a soft groan, a gentle laugh at her squeals and cries and sobs.
    Shared pleasure was wonderful. Much better than being alone and making up fantasies.
    Then he set her on her feet. “Get into bed, love.”
    It was both soft suggestion and harsh command. On shaky legs, she obeyed. The house belonged to a duke, and even though it was a second home meant for his parties and orgies, the bedroom was a beautiful room. An enormous bed stood in the middle of it, topped with a soaring bed canopy of tasseled silk. Pillows were mounded upon a soft, embroidered coverlet.
    Octavia glanced back at Sutcliffe as she approached the bed. He hooked his thumbs in the waist of his trousers and pushed them down. She had dreamed of seeing him naked. She had just thrashed around in ecstasy against his chest. But she felt far too shy to stare at his completely nude body.
    She tugged at the counterpane. Tugged and tugged until she pulled it free. Then she slid underneath. Her skin was on fire—but with blushes. Her legs still tingled, and she felt achy between her legs. She had never brought herself to that intense, climactic moment more than once.
    She didn’t feel tired, though. She wanted more.
    Sutcliffe had stepped out of his trousers. He threw them over a chair. Long, relaxed strides brought him to the bed. Octavia peeked at him from beneath the covers. She’d drawn them up, over her nose.
    This was the body she had drooled over for weeks. It was glorious to watch him move, to watch his lean legs casually swallow up the distance between them. Each step made the muscles of his thighs bunch, then relax. His stomach was flat, beautiful defined with bands of strong muscle. He had lean hips. His arms were undeniably strong, with taut, hard forearms, and bulges that brushed his chest when his arms were