“Oh!”
He chuckled. “Will you run now, Bea?”
“Never.” To prove she could not be cowed, she kissed him, a clash of teeth and curses and grasping for one another.
“Hell,” he hissed, lifting away from her. Not too far. Just enough to look down at her, to show her every violent emotion passing through him. His cheek twitched, and then his hand shot out, grasped her own hand, and moved it between their bodies. He placed her right where her belly pressed against him. He held her palm against his shaft.
Long and hard, and she knew what that meant. She had aroused him as he’d aroused her. Seemed hardly possible.
“Will you run now?” he ground out, eyes slamming closed as if the feel of her hand on him was near torture.
Good. She wanted to torture him. She squeezed. He cursed.
“No, Richard Clark,” she said, “I will not stop. I play to win.” She took his free hand. Placed it on her breast.
“Beatrice, you unknowable hellcat.” Each word rushed together as he dropped his face into the crook of her neck and bit her. Gently. A nip as his hand massaged her breast, as his thumb sought out her nipple and thrummed over it, circled it. “Give up, she-devil?”
“I’ll give up when you do.”
His lips wandered lower, and he scattered kisses along the bared tops of her breasts, still wet but drying quickly from the heat of their bodies. His lips wandered even lower, dragging across the soaked muslin. Then his teeth closed around her pebbled nipple, and he sucked. And she cried out, tangling her hands in his hair as the aching between her legs boiled to an exquisite crisis. She bucked her hips against his shaft and whispered his name.
He lifted his head, all challenge gone. Nothing in his gaze but… awe? Hungry need? “You need release, hellcat. Are you close?”
She bit her lip, moaned.
“Are you close?” he repeated, sucking at her breast once more.
Another moan slipped through. No controlling them.
“You are.” He shifted, slipping his leg between hers. He rubbed his thigh into the aching center of her. It felt so damn good, and when his hand spread low across her belly, and his fingers raked into the layers covering her cunny, she almost cried from the painful pleasure of it. He’d found that small bit of her that pulsed the most and teased it. So good. So right.
“More?” he growled.
“More!” She ground her center against his hard thigh.
“More?” His whisper hot on the shell of her ear.
“Yes, please. Oh, yes.” The words barely audible.
“Please? From Beatrice Bell? Might be the most erotic thing I’ve ever heard. No need to beg, hellcat. I can’t say no.”
Ifpleasehad turned him inside out, his words did the same to her.
I can’t say no.
Everyone had always been able to say no to her.
But not this man. Her nemesis. The bane of her existence. Her equal in anger and cutting cunning.
He, somehow, could not sayno, and as he told heryeswith kisses down her neck and clever fingers rubbing perfect pleasure between her legs, she broke into a million tiny pieces of light.
She held him tight as her body shook, wave after wave of indescribable sensation rocking through her.
His hand in her hair at her nape pulled her face away from his chest. His eyes ravaged her, devoured her. “Don’t look away.”
As if she would. Her final stand. Her final victory against him—to take this pleasure for her own without hesitation.
On a groan, he curved around her, lifting his knee hard against her quivering center. When she cried out, he said in a husky whisper near her ear, “I will never see a more exquisite sight than your body wrapped around mine, than your mouth slack from the pleasure I gave you. I will never witness a miracle more divine thanyou.”
