Slowly, he removed each silk stocking from her legs. He kissed his way up her gorgeous body, intent upon his goal. She sighed and shifted restlessly against him, seeking, he knew, to assuage the ache blossoming between her thighs. He was rigid too, both from the dominance she had allowed him to exert over her, and the lush press of her body against his, the sweet scent of her—lemon, bergamot,his—the knowledge of what he was about to do…
Control, he cautioned himself again.
“Give me your wrists,” he told her then.
Leo’s demand tookBridget by surprise. She had expected something else. More kisses on her mouth and throat. More wicked teasing. But she sensed something else in him tonight, a wildness, the veneer of his civility worn thin. A savagery that somehow had its root in the emotions and desires burning between them. It was something she didn’t entirely understand, but she was not afraid of it, nor of him.
Wordlessly, she did as he bid, offering them to him, palms upturned, arms outstretched. He looped first one stocking around her right wrist, tightening the knot, and then the other around her left. Wordlessly, he guided her wrists over her head, fastening each stocking to the carved spindles in the headboard.
She made no effort to stop him or object. The position she was now in was reminiscent of waking up after the catastrophe at Harlton Hall, when she had been wounded and at his mercy. Her wound had healed, and how odd to realize she was more at his mercy now than she had been on that day.
This time, he held her heart in his hands.
He caressed her arms, lingering at the puckered flesh where the bullet had marred her forever. Lowering his head, he pressed a reverent kiss over the evidence of their tumultuous beginnings. “I am sorry for shooting you that day.”
His apology startled her. “I would have done the same, had I been in your position. But I would have aimed differently.”
He kissed his way to her shoulder. “Ah, but then I would not have my beautiful wife tied up beneath me now, would I?”
No, he would not. He had spared her, and when he should have seen her clapped into prison, he had saved her by marrying her. Then he had gone and made her fall in love with him. He had made her want things she did not deserve and could never have. An ache burned through her, underscoring the heavy desire pulsing in waves from her core, a reminder this too was fleeting. That her time with him was limited.
“Are your bindings too tight?” he asked, tracing her lips with his fingers, just a ghost of a touch, but one that nevertheless made a spark simmer to life within her.
“No.” She caught him in her teeth, delivered a playful nip to the fleshy pad of his forefinger. “Am I your prisoner again, Leo?”
He flashed her a wicked smile, melting something inside her. “I’m tempted to keep you tied to my bed all night, but you are no prisoner, darling. This is purely for pleasure. I want you at my mercy.”
“I already am.”
His head dipped, his lips claiming hers in a kiss that was fierce and hungry. “Desperate for me.”
“That too,” she admitted without shame, breathless.
Their gazes met and held. “Good.”
His lips moved over hers. They kissed and kissed. Somehow, being unable to touch him heightened her pleasure. His tongue was in her mouth, his hands coasting over her body until a great, swelling pang of need radiated from her cunny to her breasts. She writhed against him, making her nipples graze the muscled wall of his chest, grinding her wet sex against his hardness. The head of him glanced over her pearl, making sparks of fire lick up her spine.
“More,” she begged.
He bit her lower lip. “Ask nicely, Duchess.”
She undulated her hips again, seeking more of him, more connection, more friction, more anything. More everything. Her body had taken control of her mind, and it existed only to be pleasured by this man. To be beneath him. To be touched by him. Loved by him. “Please.”
His fingers dipped into her folds, giving her the pressure she wanted, rubbing over her in fast, delicious whorls. He kissed his way to her ear, licking, biting. “You are mine forever, banshee.” Down her throat next, sucking, raking his teeth along her sensitive skin. He reached her breasts, suckling one peak into his mouth.
“Yes,” she cried out, the hot suction sending a surge of wetness to her core. She felt it seep from her, and then his finger was there, slicking the moisture over her channel, delving inside her. His thumb found her pearl as he stroked, bringing her to the precipice with such ease.
“Say it,” he urged, quickening his pace, a second finger joining the first. He sucked her other nipple. Nipped it.
“Oh, Leo.” She clenched on him, the first spasm beginning to unfurl. Bliss, white-hot and uncontrollable, tore through her as she gave in, riding his fingers, watching him suckle her breast. “I am yours. Forever.” Her voice cracked. Her body cracked—perhaps even her soul cracked—as the rush slammed into her. Pure, molten release.
And then his fingers were gone, replaced by the thick head of him. Her legs opened wider, hips tipping to welcome him. He slid home in one quick, deep thrust. They sighed as one at the beauty of it.
He was inside her, and she was stretched wide, filled. The last strains of her climax ebbed. But then he kissed her again, and he moved, withdrawing almost entirely so only the tip of him remained inside her. For a moment, her flesh was hungry, bereft, longing. He slammed into her again.
“Forever,” he whispered into her mouth, withdrawing his cock.
In his low, delicious baritone, it was a promise, a prayer, and a benediction all in one. “Yes.”
