His hand still gripped her wrist, trapping it against the wall, even as his body pressed against hers intimately. She could feel the hard planes of his muscles, the core of steel underneath it all. How had she ever worried he might die of a simple knife wound? In this moment, he seemed invincible.
“I think you want me as much as I want you—even against our better judgment.”
Oh, no. He would not get away with questioning her judgment. She’d proven without a doubt that he was the idiot.
“Oh, really?” She yanked her wrist free of him. “Watch me use my better judgment and walk away.” But she couldn’t walk away, not with him trapping her against the wall. “Move back.”
He lowered his head and slid his lips over her temple. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” he whispered in her ear, his breath making her shiver. His lips slid over her ear and his tongue darted out to nip at her earlobe. Belle gasped, heat flooding her and making her knees weak.
His mouth—that mouth she’d known was skilled but hadn’t expected to completely vanquish her every sense—skated down her neck, kissing a path of fire in its wake. His hands, meanwhile, had not been idle. They pushed the shoulders of the robe off to allow his lips to tease and tantalize the skin there.
“I’ll stop whenever you want,” he whispered against her skin. “Just say the word.”
She would say the word. She would say it—oh! His hand cupped her breast, fondling the nipple through the thin fabric.
“You can say it now or you can wait.” He parted the robe, revealing her breast. “Until I take your breast into my mouth.”
How could she stop him, knowing what he was about to do? She bit her lip, letting her head rest against the wall as he sucked and teased her nipple with his tongue.
“Do you want to say anything?” he asked as his hand slid over her belly and toward her center.
She did. She would tell him to stop. Her head was saying stop but her mouth wouldn’t seem to obey. And her body—her body was in full on revolt. It wanted Hew’s touches, his kisses, him.
“You called me an idiot.” He slid to his knees, pressed his mouth to her bare belly, and made her gasp. He looked up at her. “But you are an idiot as well.”
She shook her head.
“Oh, yes you are.” His mouth traveled lower, and he slid a hand between her legs opening them wider. “Because you don’t realize how beautiful you are. You don’t think you deserve this.” He bent and pressed his mouth to the curls at her center. “You don’t think you’re worthy.” His breath tickled her, made her shiver. “You don’t think any man will ever love you.” He licked her then, making her cry out as his tongue rasped against her most sensitive parts. “You’re wrong.”
She wanted to ask what he meant by that. What was he saying? It couldn’t be—he couldn’t be saying—but in the next moment every coherent thought was robbed from her mind. He spread her wider and pressed his mouth to her, licking and teasing until her hips were bucking and her whole body seemed to thrum in time to his strokes. She should tell him to stop. She should be embarrassed by what she was allowing him to do, but she liked it. She was glad she was not some high-born lady who couldn’t cry out as the pleasure rose within her. She was happy she’d been born in a flat over a shop on Fenchurch Street so she could pound her fist against the wall as his tongue slid over her and her entire body tightened in response. Belle didn’t think she could stand any more, and just as she had the thought she slid over the precipice, bowing away from the wall and making a sound she had never known she could make. It was something between a moan and a scream.
When she finally came back to herself, she was shaking, her knees weak, and Arundel had a hand pressed against her belly to keep her upright. He was still on his knees before her, and she rather liked how that looked. She would have told him that too if he hadn’t loosened the pressure of his hand so that she slid to her knees before him.
“Tell me you didn’t want that,” he murmured, voice husky.
“Go to hell,” she said.
“Oh, I’ll go to hell.” He grinned. “And I’ll take you with me.”
She couldn’t resist that grin, and when he reached for her, she went with him, allowing him to press her to the floor and cover her body with his. One of his legs slid between hers, opening her. Belle kissed him, pressing her center against his leg to ease the ache rising there again. He would think her completely insatiable. Perhaps she was. But this time she would not be the only one naked. Her robe was still on her arms, but completely open to reveal her body. Now she slid his shirt up, unfastened the buttons, and tore it over his head. Her hands slid up the wide expanse of his back, careful to avoid the bandaged area of his wound. His mouth had claimed hers, but she broke away and kissed his neck, his shoulders. She wanted to move lower, to kiss his chest, his belly, but he took her lips again.
Pressed so tightly together, she couldn’t fail to be aware of him, thick and hard against her belly. Once when she’d been waiting on the docks to meet with an importer, she had heard two whores talking. They’d been sitting on two barrels, sharing a bottle of gin between them. They either hadn’t known or hadn’t cared that Belle was there. One of them was recounting the first time she’d had carnal relations. “There’s a reason they call it a prick,” she said. “It hurt like the devil.”
Belle, who had been all of fifteen, had felt her cheeks heat and ducked her head. The whores had laughed and passed the bottle.
Now, a decade later, Belle remembered that conversation and wondered if Hew’s prick would hurt her. She couldn’t imagine him hurting her, couldn’t imagine that his touch would ever be anything but pleasurable.
Belle slid her hand between them and down over his belly. When she reached the waistband of his trousers, he jerked his head up, breaking off their kiss. “Belle—”
“I want to touch you,” she said.
“Not a good idea.” But he didn’t stop her hand from moving lower.
“Fair is fair,” she said, and slid her hand over the wool material of his trousers. He was thick and hard and hot. As her hand passed over him, gripped him, she felt his member jump. “Did that hurt?” she asked.
“It’s the best sort of torture,” he said through a jaw clenched tight.
She wanted to feel his skin, wanted to know if it was as hot as she thought it would be. She reached for the buttons of his trousers, undid one.
