Jackson…” she whispered. “I love to hear my name on your…

““Jackson…” she whispered. “I love to hear my name on your lips,” he rasped against her ear. “Say it again.” “Jackson…this isn’t another lesson…is it?” She had to know. She had to be sure. “It ought to be,” he growled. “God knows you didn’t learn the first one very well, or we wouldn’t be here together, alone.” When he lifted her onto the table, knocking off some of the books, she gasped. “I’ve never been good with lessons.” He brushed a kiss over her lips. “Perhaps you haven’t had the right teacher. Or the right lessons, my lady.” “Celia,” she countered, burying her hands in his thick, raven hair. He had the most beautiful hair, soft to the touch, with lovely waves that spilled wantonly over her fingers. “If I’m to call you Jackson, you must call me Celia.” His eyes turned molten gray as they locked with hers. “Celia,” he breathed. Then he brought his hands up to flick open the buttons of her redingote and pull out her lace tucker so he could toss it aside. She caught her breath. “Wha-What are you doing?” “Continuing your lessons.” He spread open her redingote gown to expose her undergarments. “I want to taste you. Will you let me, sweeting?” Sweeting? That alone would have softened her resolve, for no mad had ever called her such a lovely thing. But the fact that he was asking for what Ned had tried to force from her melted her resistance even further. “I’m willing to repeat a lesson as often as it takes to learn it,” she said, shocking her own boldness.””

— Sabrina Jeffries