After several long, drugging moments of this sweet torment, he released her wrists and slid his arm around her waist, hauling her up so they were both on their knees, her back flush against his sweat-slicked chest. The new position seated him impossibly deeper, and she cried out, her bound hands reaching back to clutch desperately at his hair.
His lips found the curve where her neck met her shoulder. “Mine,” he growled against her skin, punctuating the word with a particularly deep thrust that made her shudder. One hand cupped her breast, thumb circling the sensitive peak, while the other splayed possessively across her stomach, holding her tight against him as he moved.
She turned her head, seeking his mouth blindly, and he captured her lips in a searing kiss, swallowing her keening cries. Her fingers tightened in his hair, holding him to her as if afraid he might pull away.
“I need...” she gasped against his mouth, “I need...”
“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured roughly, his hand sliding lower. “I know exactly what you need.”
The tension coiled tighter and tighter between them, a living thing that threatened to consume them both. Sensing they were both near the precipice, he gently lowered her forward and carefully turned her onto her back, his fingers making quick work of the silk at her wrists. He tossed the cravat aside and gathered her close, settling between her thighs once more, their eyes locking in the lamplight.
This. This was what he'd needed—to see her face, to watch her come undone. Wrapping his hands underneath her knees, he heaved her closer to position himself better before thrusting inside her again.
“How far are you?” he asked shakily. “Are you about to shatter with me inside you?”
“I’m… I’m almost there,” she gasped. “Just on the brink.”
Groaning, he shuttled hard inside as his hand snuck between her and his thumb found her pearl, rubbing the slick nub in time with his thrusts. The tether of control she had snapped, and she began thrashing beneath him. He rubbed her faster and faster, as his hips snapped harder and harder.
Heat sizzled up his spine and his blood as he drilled himself inside her snug sheath, deeper and deeper still, taking what was his, what she’d never given to any man before.
“Cass—”
With a tight press to her bud, she went rigid, her back bowing off the rumpled sheets like a seraphic goddess. Her cries of completion rang through the air as her body contracted hard around him. With a thick roar, he withdrew and shot hotly over the sheets in a release that seemed to go on forever.
Finally, he felt the last shudders die, and he at last could suck in a breath. Weakly, he sank to the pillows beside her.
Cecilia was a deliciously wanton sight, her golden hair lay in a tangled mess over the pillows, her skin flushed red, and her lips were swollen from his kisses. Reaching for her, he cradled her into his arms, and she willingly went. Smiling, he kissed her temple.
“I hope that was all you thought it would be,” he murmured in her ear.
Her eyes fluttered open, and the echoes of blissful pleasure inside her eyes made his chest puff with pride.
“It was better than I could have ever imagined…” she said breathlessly.
She chewed on her bottom lip, and he curled a brow. “What?”
“I—” she paused. “Now that I know how this feels, I—I may have judged you too—”
She didn’t get a chance to finish as he roared with laughter.
When Cecilia woke later that night, Cassian was not far off; he was at his desk, working by lamplight. Quietly, she took the opportunity to admire him in secret. He was dressed in a dark silk dressing gown, and with his dark hair brushing his collar, he looked very mysterious.
The soft glow of the lamp brushed his skin golden, and she watched as he methodically worked. His eyes flickered down a line in a book near him before he continued to write.
He paused to rest the pen on the blotter, then reached back and rubbed the nape of his neck. As the strong planes of his neck were bared, Cassian asked, “See something you like, darling?”
Cecilia felt like a child caught sneaking sweets from the cook’s cupboard. “You knew I was watching?”
“Of course,” he stretched languidly, revealing glimpses of his trunk-like forearms and the corded muscles across his shoulders. “Every good rake has developed a sixth sense for who is watching them.”
She sat up in bed, taking the blanket with her; sitting against the headboard, she finger-combed through her tangled hair. “I suppose being a rake… comes with its benefits.”
The scrape of his chair made her wince a little. He padded barefoot to her side and leaned in to cage her chin. He twisted her head and skimmed his fingers over a tender, red mark on her neck. She shivered.
“I’d say.”
He shed his robe and climbed into the bed, and Cecilia straddled him. Instantly, his large hands dropped to her hips.
