As one, he rolled them so that he was astride her. He was already hard for her again. He took her mouth in a long and steady kiss as he fitted his cock to her slick cove, and when he slid inside, he knew he was home.
*
She woke tochill-night air licking at her bare skin and large, hot hands on her hips. She had not moved from the sated sprawl in which she had fallen asleep on her stomach, legs outstretched, head cradled by her pillow. The hands caressed her, thumbs drawing slow, steady circles of seduction on her skin. She gave a low moan of appreciation and undulated her hips, seeking Crispin. His reverent touch roused her from sleep. In the blissful darkness, she did not have to worry about tomorrow and what it would bring.
Though she had not meant to confess her feelings for him, she was glad she had. Even if they could never have anything more than these stolen moments together, she wanted him to know how strong and true her feelings for him were. This, along with her body, was all she could give.
“My sweet, Cin.” The rasp of his whiskers as he rubbed his cheek over her bottom made a fresh surge of wetness pool between her legs. He kissed first one cheek of her bottom and then the other, humming his pleasure as he went along. The kisses moved to the cleft at the top of her backside, traveling up her spine. He spoke in between each well-placed press of his beautiful mouth. “You.”Kiss.“Are.”Kiss.“Mine.”
Part of her knew the gravity of the folly she had committed in falling in love with him. In responding to his knowing touch and wicked lips. In wanting him with such a rampant, desperate ferocity that she ached and throbbed and even now let out a low moan, arching her back so as his lips reached her shoulder, her bottom pressed against his long, hard length.
Every intimacy she permitted dragged her deeper beneath his spell and farther from the reason she had come to Whitley House. She longed for this man. She had no defenses against him. Not even her sense of honor or her desperate loyalty to her father, could shake the way she felt for him.
She was wicked, and this was wrong. But wrong had never felt more right.
He licked her shoulder blade, then caught her skin in his teeth and gave her a nip that was more pleasurable than painful. A sigh escaped her.
“I never want to leave this bed.”
Ah, if only they could remain thus forever. Just the two of them, free of the shackles of their pasts and presents and futures. If only she could confess all to him, reveal her duplicity and the reason for it. Ask him for his forgiveness, help him to clear his name and emerge unscathed from the cloud of suspicion haunting him. Find a way to save herself and Father from ruin.
He kissed a path to her nape. “Or rather,” he growled against her skin, “I never want you to leavemybed, for that is where you belong.”
Nor did she, but such thoughts inevitably led her back to the utter hopelessness of her situation. But she had determined not to allow the outside world to intrude upon them for the remainder of this blissful night, and it was not yet dawn. She moved her bottom instinctively against his rigid cock.
“Did you mean what you said?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep and desire. The thick length of his arousal slid against her from behind.
She bit her lip to keep from speaking. Raw need settled in her core as a pulsing ache. She wanted him again. But still, she would not admit her feelings for him again or even think it, for she could not bear to fall any deeper in love with him than she already had. If he ever found out how deeply she had betrayed him, he would never forgive her.
Nay, all that belonged to them—all they could have—was this final, stolen night of passion. It would have to be enough to warm her for the many long, cold years ahead of her. Years without him.
The notion left a hollow, desperate sensation inside her breast.
“I want to be inside you now, love, and I know you want it, too. But I will not give you what you want until you tell me.”
“Please,” she begged, squirming against him, wanting him inside her, wanting to tell him she loved him again and yet too desperately fearful to admit it.
He kissed her ear. “Are you going to say it or do I need to punish you?”
His low voice made desire trill down her spine. But she could not capitulate. Already, she was drowning in her love and need for him, in her desperation to keep him. She could never have him in the way she wished, and one day she would lose him forever.
“It does not mean what you think it does,” she forced herself to say. “I will not change my mind and become your mistress.”
He kissed back down her throat, nibbling on the curve of skin where her throat met her shoulder. His fingers dipped inside her folds at the same time, long and strong and sure. “You are so wet for me.”
She was, and though his frank assessment brought a fresh wave of heat to her cheeks, it also sent a new pang of desire straight to her core. She opened her legs wider, moving against his hand.
“I want you,” she whispered, still denying him his wish, for she needed to maintain a barrier between them more than ever.
His clever digits played over her flesh before sinking inside her.
“Mmm,” he murmured his appreciation, crooking his finger so that it reached a secret place that sent a surge of desire rushing through her. Her passage tightened, and already sensitized by their earlier, frenzied bout of lovemaking, she was painfully close to release. “That is not enough, I am afraid. Tell me, and I will give you what you want.”
He withdrew, and she squirmed restlessly, seeking his questing touch or his hardness, whichever she could have. But she would not say the foolish words again. “I want you inside me.”
He bit her shoulder. “Say it, Cin.”
I love you.
