He leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Didn’t have to. You told me what you wanted. Before everything happened, when you weren’t enraged with me yet. I remember the look on your face when you were describing the exact room you’d want for yourself. To work in. If you ever convinced your father to trust you. I always knew you’d convince him. Never doubted you.”
Before, she would have scoffed. Now, she turned with hard determination in her eyes, shoulders pushed back. “Here. I want you here, Richard Clark. In this room you made for me.”
His throat was dry like a biscuit baked too long. “I didn’t… it simply happened… Here? There’s no fire. You’ll get cold.”
“You’ll be my fire.”
And that was enough. It snapped him into action. He picked her up by the waist, delighting in the little squeal she gave when her feet left the ground. He plopped her down in the desk chair—a large, winged thing designed for comfort—and twisted it around to face him. He wouldn’t let himself undress her here. No matter how many flames his body produced, a natural reaction to touching her, she would still be too cold for comfort. He’d wait for himself. For the pleasures of her body unguarded beneath his own. But he could still give her what she wanted. What he wanted, too. A pleasure for them both.
He hit his knees before her. Curiosity and excitement flared in her green eyes, and he rucked her skirts up, revealing her soaked stockings, the limp ribbons holding them up, the creamy pink skin of her lush thighs. He kissed one, dragged his teeth along the other.
She shivered, and he gave her a little push. She teetered off-balance so easily, falling into the chairback, her hands clawing around the arms for balance, security. And he scratched his nails up her thighs, held her gaze tight and forever as his hand snuck under the sodden folds of her skirt and chemise. He found her crisp curls and began a circular search for—ah. He’d found it, and it produced immediate results. She threw her head back, moaning, stirring his blood and his cock.
He dragged his lips along her warm inner thigh. “So soft. So lovely. And so very much mine.”
Her hands tangled in his hair. “Kiss me.” Her voice breathy and low.
“Oh, I will, hellcat. Don’t you worry about that.” He kissed her as high on her inner thigh as he could, the scruff on his cheek grazing her sex. She must have been sensitive already because her breath hitched, and her body quivered.
“You… you cannot… not from… down there.”
He looked up, fingers splayed across the top of her perfect thighs. “Have you taken a lover before?”
“N-no. I tried. I was…” A blush, fierce and fast. “Concerned about the ramifications.”
Of course. Smart. A shame. But alsogood. That meant she was his. Only his. What did she call him? Que bruto? Yes, he felt like a brute. “I’ll take care of you. No ramifications. If you’re mine, I won’t let a damn thing happen to you that you don’t want. Do you understand?”
She swallowed, nodded, seemed almost passive and gentle for a moment. Then her fire returned, and she pushed his head back a bit with those fingers tangled in his hair. The force enflamed him, drove his desire higher.
Matching desire flashed in her eyes. “You are mine, too. I accept nothing less. No other lovers for you.”
“Never.”
“Or for me.”
“Better not.”
“As long as this lasts.”
Forever. It must last forever. “Do you trust me?”
She laughed, a real thing composed of sunlight and joy. “God help me, I do. I trust, I think, no one more than you.”
“Then release me, hellcat,” he growled, “and let me kiss you.”
She did, and he returned his mouth to her inner thigh, worshipping for but a moment before he gave her what he’d promised—a kiss.
There went her hands in his hair again as she gave a little shriek, her hips rolling as her muscles contracted. He swept a tongue across her, groaning. “You are wet and ready, and my cock is too.” He kissed her again, and again, and again, loving each little squeak and moan that seemed to tether them more tightly together. Her noises and her wiggles a spool of twine being unwound around them, winding them up instead. No escape from this.
Didn’t want that anyway. He wanted her plentiful flesh in his hands and the taste of her arousal on his tongue. He wanted to know that each sound and move she made meant she didn’t hate him. Needed to show her he didn’t hate her. Never had. Never would. He could feast on her forever, but she was losing control, gulping for air and clawing at him, and hell, he was hard and aching. But when she cried his name, shattering, clenching around the fingers he’d slipped inside her, he hardened further.
She went limp, and he dragged her into his arms, carried her up the stairs, each step painful, and set her limp body on the floor of his bedchamber, the fire still roaring nearby. She blinked at him, and he chuckled. She seemed to get this way after her climax—all docile and sweet, from hellcat to pussycat because of him. Adorable in either state.
He’d adore her more naked.
He trailed his fingertips up her arms, skimming across the gooseflesh that ranged over her skin, up the sodden sleeve of her gown, her collarbone, her neck, to cuff her throat just below her chin and tip her face up.
“I… I’m throbbing,” she whispered. “Down there.”