When the first stocking was free, Elaine lowered it to the floor again and then repeated the procedure with the opposite leg and stocking. The tent in Owen’s trousers was quite a sight to behold, straining against his buttons in a manner she couldn’t recall ever witnessing before.
As she methodically removed the stocking from her calf, Owen gripped the arms of the chair so tight his knuckles nearly turned white.
Watching his reaction was all it took to make her breath falter. Elaine’s pulse raced through her veins and she trembled from the heat of his stare. Somehow, she kept her wits about her enough to smile at him.
She inhaled and tried to calm herself enough to speak. “I thought it might be nice to slow down some.” Grazing tentative fingers over the insides of her thighs, she drew ever nearer to her sex, his eyes following her trail the entire way. The tips of her fingers disappeared beneath the hem of her nightrail for a moment. “Is this all right?”
“ This is torture,” Owen growled.
Elaine laughed then, surprised at the husky quality of her own voice. She dropped both feet to the floor and glided across to him. Immediately, he reached out for her, but she batted his hands away. “No touching. Not yet.”
He groaned and locked his hands even tighter to the chair arms.
She knelt at his feet and pulled off his boots, tossing them to the side of the room so they’d be out of the way. Then she undid the buttons on his coat and waistcoat and lowered them over his shoulders. “Care to help me get these off?” she asked when she couldn’t get them past the death-grip he had on the chair.