"She tugged on his cravat, loosening the fabric before scraping her nails down the skin she revealed. He shuddered at her touch, closer to the edge than he would admit. 'But this is the last night we’ll have this chair.' She pulled the shirt out of his breeches, reaching up under the layers of jacket and shirt to stroke the hard muscles of his stomach, letting her arm just barely graze his shaft in the same teasing way that had driven her mad only a few moments earlier.
He groaned in response, tried to push her hand away. He only succeeded in pushing her hand closer to his cock, and she felt the way it strained toward her, imprisoned in his breeches. 'I’ve dreamed of this chair too, Ferguson,' she whispered."
Heiress Without A Cause -- Sara Ramsey