He was watching her. As if her gaze was important to him as he worked himself. As he touched his 'cock.' She inhaled on the thought of the word, looking back down. He'd pushed his shirt out of the way with his other hand and she could see the flat muscles of his belly flexing as he worked himself. A tangle of dark hair surrounded his navel, narrowing abruptly below to a thin line that disappeared into the thicket of curls around his cock. He sat, spread-legged, still dressed in white shirt and gold waistcoat, his scarlet coat spread wide around his thighs. His feet were braced against the floorboards and she could see his hips begin to move, thrusting up into the steady rhythm of his fist. He looked like a debauched satyr, all sex and male desire, and she had a sudden wish that he'd taken off 'all' of his clothes off. She wanted to see his nipples and his buttocks, wanted to discover the broad sweep of his nude chest.