Staring at him, Beatrix clamped her hands lightly on his thighs. Instead of standing, she hitched her body higher against him.

Her mouth came to his, gently inquiring. He felt a little shock, a sudden pitch of his heart as if it had remembered to start beating again. Beatrix’s lips were soft and hot, teasing in the way he had taught her. He felt lust come raging up, dangerously fast. Her weight was on him, her br**sts, the mass of her skirts compressed between his thighs. He surrendered for a moment, fusing his mouth to hers and kissing her the way he wanted to take her, deep and hard. Beatrix immediately went pliant, submissive, in a way that drove him mad, and she knew it.

He wanted everything of her, wanted to subject her to every craving and impulse, and she was too innocent for any of it. Tearing his mouth from hers, Christopher held her at arms’ length.

Her eyes were wide and wondering.

To his relief, she levered away from him and stood.

And then she began to unfasten her bodice.

“What are you doing?” he asked hoarsely.

“Don’t worry, the door is locked.”

“That isn’t what I—Beatrix—” By the time he had lurched to his feet, her bodice had listed open. A thick, primitive drumbeat started in his ears. “Beatrix, I’m not in the mood for virginal experimentation.”

She gave him a purely ingenuous look. “Neither am I.”

“You’re not safe with me.” He reached for the neckline of her bodice and yanked it together. While he fumbled to fasten it, Beatrix hiked up the side of her dress. A tug and a wriggle, and her petticoat dropped to the floor.

“I can undress faster than you can dress me,” she informed him.

Christopher clenched his teeth as he saw her push her dress below her hips. “Damn you, I can’t do this. Not now.” He was perspiring, every muscle hard. His voice shook with the force of suppressed need. “I’m going to lose control.” He wouldn’t be able to stop himself from hurting her. For their first time, he would have to approach her with absolute restraint, give himself release beforehand to take the edge from his lust . . . but at the moment, he would fall on her like a ravening animal.

“I understand.” Beatrix pulled the combs from her hair, tossed them into the pile of discarded lavender silk, and shook out the gleaming sable locks. And she gave him a look that caused every hair on his body to lift. “I know you think that I don’t understand, but I do. And I need this as much as you do.” Slowly she unhooked her corset and dropped it to the floor.

Dear God. How long it had been since a woman had undressed for him. Christopher couldn’t move or speak, just stood there aroused and starving and mindless, his eyes eating up the sight of her.

As she saw the way he watched her, she disrobed even more deliberately, drawing the chemise over her head. Her br**sts were high and gently curved, the tips rose colored. They bounced delicately as she bent to remove her drawers.

She stood to face him.

Despite her audacity, Beatrix was nervous, an uneven blush covering her from head to toe. But she watched him closely, taking in his reactions.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, slim and lithe, her legs sheathed in pale pink stockings and white garters. She devastated him. The sable locks of her hair draped over her body, hanging down to her waist. The little triangle between her thighs looked like rich fur, an erotic contrast to her porcelain skin.

He felt weak and brutal at the same time, desire pumping through him. Nothing mattered except getting inside her . . . he had to have her or die. He didn’t understand why she had deliberately pushed him over the edge, why she wasn’t frightened. A rough sound was torn from his throat. Although he made no conscious decision to move, somehow he had crossed the space between them and seized her. He let his splayed fingers travel over her back, down to the curve of her bottom. Pulling her high and tight against him, he found her mouth, kissing her, almost savaging her.

She yielded completely, offering her body, her mouth, in any way he chose. As his mouth possessed hers, he reached farther between her thighs, forcing them to part. He found the tender pleats of her sex. Parting the softness, he massaged until he found wetness, and slid two fingers into the supple heat of her. Gasping against his mouth, she strained higher on her toes. He held her like that, tightly impaled on his fingers as he kissed her.

“Let me feel you,” she said breathlessly, her hands working at his clothes. “Please . . . yes . . .”

Christopher fought with his waistcoat and shirt, sending buttons scattering in his haste. When his upper half was bared, he enfolded her in his arms. They both groaned and went still, absorbing the feel of it, their skin pressed together, her br**sts softly abraded by the hair on his chest.

Half dragging, half carrying her to the settee, he lowered her to the cushioned upholstery. She landed in a slow sprawl, her head and shoulders propped against one corner, one foot coming to the floor. He was there before she could close her legs.

Running his hands along the stockings, he discovered they were made of silk. He had never seen pink stockings before, only black or white. He loved them. He stroked along her legs, kissed her knees through the silk, untied the garters and licked the red marks they had left against her skin. Beatrix was quiet. Trembling. As he let his lips stray near the inside of her thigh, she squirmed helplessly. That wanton little movement of her h*ps maddened him, made him frantic.

He unrolled her stockings and stripped them away. Drugged with arousal, he glanced along her body up to her passion-drowsed face, her half-closed eyes, her dark cascading hair. He pushed her thighs open with his hands. Breathing in the erotic perfume of her body, he ran his tongue through the soft triangle.