Not marriage, not freedom, not the title, not security. She would choose him. Her kiss, when she brushed her lips over his again, was different, sweet, wistful, but also the kiss of a woman who felt deeply about the man with her.

She would choose him. She could tell him that—give him that.

Anna peered up at him. “Earlier, you said—”

“I say a lot of things.” He smiled at her, and to Anna, the expression was tender, a little like the way he looked at Her Grace.

“You said…” She looked abruptly away, flummoxed to find she was still capable of shyness when she was naked, straddling his rigid cock. “You said you would love to feel my mouth on your… on you.”

“I did.” His hands went still. “I would.”

“How does one do this?” she asked, a blush rising over her for him to see. But to her relief he didn’t tease, he didn’t remark on it, he just waited until she was facing him again.

“However you please,” he said levelly, “and only if you please.”

“Show me. I want to do this with you.”

“Get comfortable,” he said, shifting over to one side of the bed. “And stop whenever you aren’t comfortable. Take your time, and do what pleases you.”

“What if I hurt you?” Anna shifted to rest her cheek low on his abdomen and took him in her hand.

“You can’t, short of biting me and drawing blood, but even that can have a certain erotic appeal.”

His hand settled on her hair, and she took a moment to inhale the scents of clean sheets, clean man, and anticipation. She licked delicately at his erection, as if she were trying to decide what flavor he was. When his hand sifted through her hair to caress her nape, she relaxed and put her focus on the task. Tentatively, she licked him all over, little teasing swipes of her tongue, like a mama cat patiently grooming a kitten. Inside her own body, she lit fires with that tongue, his permission to indulge her curiosity as incendiary as the naked length of him in the bed.

And then she slipped her mouth over him, and brush fires instantly converged into a wildfire. She experimented, taking him deep into her mouth then more shallowly. Without a word, his hips began to move, slowly, as if he didn’t want to startle her. She was content to spend long minutes learning how to coordinate her movements with his, to let the fires rage and warm places in her gone cold longer than she’d realized. When her fingers wrapped around his wet length, he expelled a soft, pleased groan, as if passion was as much a relief to him as it was to her.

“Not much more, Anna,” he cautioned hoarsely. “I’ll spend…”

Well, that was the point, wasn’t it? When he was thrusting smoothly through her hand into her mouth, and his breathing was coming in short, deep breaths, she closed her lips around him and drew firmly.

“Oh, God… Anna… No…” His thrusts grew stronger, despite his words. His hand cradled the back of her head, holding her close; his cock actually pulsed in her mouth, and Anna wasn’t about to show him mercy.

“No…” he whispered again, even while his body shouted to the contrary for long, ecstatic moments. “Jesus…” He hissed, eyes closed, head thrown back, hips moving in convulsive shudders of pleasure. “Jesus, God… Anna…”

He went quiet but not quite still, his hand moving slowly over her scalp.

“And you say,” he whispered, “I should not trust you.” She let him slip from her mouth, and felt tears welling. He should not trust her, but he just had, profoundly. Even in her inexperience, she could divine that much.

“Come here.” He leaned up and tugged her to lie along his side. “I can’t believe you did that. I can’t believe I did that. A man doesn’t spend in a woman’s mouth. It isn’t gentlemanly.”

“But it is gentlemanly to spend on her stomach?” Anna asked in puzzlement. “Or to spend in her body, getting a bastard on her?”

“What was it the great philosopher once said?” He kissed her nose. “The position is not entirely consistent, nor does it make sense under all circumstances?”

Anna continued to frown. “Do you mean you yourself do not spend in a woman’s mouth, or that it’s like pissing in a well, a civil wrong?”

“Good heavens, you did have a brother, didn’t you? It isn’t quite like that. It’s like eating the dessert set aside for company, or stealing the crown jewels and seeing another blamed. It’s just… It’s too good,” he said. “Too selfish.”

“Of me?” Anna asked, still confused. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t want to stop, and you said I should stop only when I pleased.”

“Love,” he sighed, “you could not have pleased me more profoundly if you’d told me Val had sired legitimate twin boys. I have never experienced such generosity, never, and as soon as I recover my wits, I am going to get very, very even indeed.”

That was enough to settle her down and put a period to her questions. She closed her eyes and drowsed on his shoulder while he drifted into sleep, his hand still tangled possessively in her hair.

When Anna awoke, she felt replete with the same sense of sweetness she’d had after her encounter with Westhaven in the library. He was wrapped around her, her back spooned to his chest, a sweet breeze wafting in from the open window.

His hand closed gently around her breast, though his breathing did not change. Anna closed her eyes and let the pleasure of that single, soft caress drift through her body. He did it again, and she sighed audibly. A few moments later, his thumb brushed over her nipple, then again.

Take your time, he’d said.

As the earl’s hands began to wander—up and down her back, over her buttocks, back to her breasts—she thought over their last encounter in this very bed. She’d lain still, feigning sleep then, too.

What a waste of a night, she thought on a sigh.

“You are awake,” the earl murmured, his lips closing over her earlobe.

“I am,” Anna said as Westhaven’s mouth sent slow ripples of awareness through her body. “But without motivation to get up and seize the remainder of the day.”

“There will be no getting up,” he remonstrated, his hand sliding between her legs. “And the only thing you’ll be seizing is me or the pleasure I owe you.”

Anna tried to peer over her shoulder at him.

“You owe me nothing.”

“Ah, but I do,” he said, nudging her onto her stomach. “And a gentleman always pays his debts.”

Anna didn’t typically sleep on her stomach and found the position mildly disconcerting. She couldn’t see him, could feel only his hand stroking down her back, over her buttocks, back up again.

“Relax, Anna.” He kissed her nape. “This will take a while. Let your legs fall open, and just enjoy.”

She closed her eyes and felt the caress of his hand dancing over her like the breeze, but better. He knew where to touch, how much pressure to use, when to tease, and when to gratify. His fingers explored her sex from behind then drifted away to trace the long muscles on either side of her spine. He caressed her buttocks with slow, almost pensive attention to the tension in the muscles there then pressed another series of kisses to her nape and shoulders.

She shouldn’t let him, she thought… Whole afternoons, but not for them. This was their afternoon, their only afternoon, and then she’d be gone, betraying all the trust he showed her, taking his respect for her and tossing it back in his face.

“On to your back, sweetheart,” Westhaven whispered in her ear. When she lazily complied, he started all over again, the same stroking and studying and teasing, but this time his attention wandered from her breasts to her face, to her sex, to her neck and shoulders, and back her breasts.

“Spread your legs for me,” he coaxed, but when Anna did, he remained content to tease at her breasts with his fingers. Only gradually did he let his hand drift down in slow, smooth sweeps, then to rest over her sex. He turned his body, and though she didn’t open her eyes, Anna felt him crouching over her, his mouth settling contentedly over a nipple.