He had told himself, repeatedly and sternly, that Lady Violet was giving up enough in this madcap scheme of theirs. He had also warned himself not to take her innocence before their wedding day. Though he was manipulating her, and though he was not being entirely honest with her about his intentions, he owed her a proper bedding as man and wife, not some furtive coupling on their way to Oxfordshire.
But that did not mean he could not give her pleasure in other ways, and it was the devil in him, rather than the gentleman, who was leading her by their linked hands from the scarred kitchen table to the stairs. He gestured for her to precede him. Neither one of them said a word, the heat emanating between them enough to ignite tinder into an inferno. Her sweet voice was an echo in his thoughts, spurring him onward.
I like those wicked words, she had said.
Sodding hell.He had told her he wanted tofuckher, as if she were accustomed to such raw, coarse declarations. As if she had heard those words before, words not proper, not befitting a lady. It was entirely possible she did not fully comprehend his confessions to her. It was also completely possible—a fact, really—that he did not give a damn. He would teach her everything.
And with great, excruciating pleasure.
But first…
First, he could not travel one more step without kissing her. Without tasting her again, feeling her lush lips molding to his, opening for him. It seemed a dream she would be his; this complex, intelligent, fiercely lovely creature. That a future, which had been beyond his control mere days ago, was now once more within his reach.
He wanted to thank her. To praise her. To devour her.
Halfway up the steep stairway leading to the second floor, he was driven to the edge of reason by the sight of her nipped waist and the intricate braid of her dark hair before him. He laid the lamp he had been carrying carefully on the stair behind him. And then his hands found her waist, stilling her, pausing the both of them. With his gentle guidance she turned, facing him, one step above, which rendered them an equal height. They stood nose to nose.
He fell into her eyes, brilliant and verdant. She was a goddess, Demeter, the abundance of life and fertility, and he wanted her so badly, he ached everywhere. Need was a fiery beast, rampaging through him, making him bold, telling him to grasp, to claim.
His hands tightened on her waist.
Because part of him—the small, sliver of goodness remaining, buried deep within the rest—insisted upon playing the gentleman, he did not ravage her mouth as he longed to do. Instead, he requested permission.
He released her waist with one hand and dragged the backs of his fingers over her silken cheek. “May I kiss you?”
Her hands framed his face, and damn it if that innocent touch, those silken palms upon his cheeks, were not together the most erotic sensations he had felt in as long as he could recall.
“Yes,” she whispered, unknowingly echoing his thoughts. Her eyes fluttered closed. Those dark, long lashes fanned over her pale cheeks. “Always.”
How he wished he could believe that. How he wished he could be certain she would answer him thus each time he asked. But in truth, when she realized his intention to destroy her brother, her response would be far different. Likely a resounding, perhaps eternal,no.
But tonight was not the future, and neither would he dwell upon its uncertainty. Tonight was wild and free. Tonight was Griffin and Violet, entirely alone, with nothing and no one else between them.
No past.
No future.
Nothing but the present. Nothing but the fire burning between them.
His mouth was on hers in the next breath, precisely where it belonged. His hands were in her hair, holding her head in a gentle grip, angling her just the way he wanted. And her mouth was his for the taking. So take he did.
Hard and fast, lips melding, tongues tangling. She tasted of the sweetness of her red wine from dinner and the tartlet he had made for dessert and something else, a rich, delicate note that was undeniably hers. She tasted better than anything he had ever consumed.
And she was about to become his in truth.
He kissed her furiously, feverishly, spurred on by that knowledge, settling in his gut. She was perfection in his arms, not just beautiful, but intelligent and kind and interesting, and she had depths and scars within her that matched his own. She cared about him, when she ought not to. She believed in him, when believing in him was akin to her own ruin. She had followed him here. She trusted him.
His.
Hell, yes.
They kissed and kissed, slow and soft. Tongues. Teeth. Lips. It was all consuming. It was also not enough. He wanted more. He told himself he should not. But he could not stop. He was a conqueror, determined to take and claim.
And though they were paused upon the steps, he could not stop himself. He kissed his way across her jaw, to her ear. He kissed the shell, licking the hollow behind it until she quivered. He had never been so consumed with lust in his entire life as he was in this moment, and without ever having stripped her of one piece of clothing. She remained in full dress, all her layers of battle between them.
But those layers did not matter one whit. She could set him on fire with them, and the rigid cock in his trousers was ample evidence of that. He kissed her mouth again, harder this time, more demanding, his tongue surging inside to duel with hers.
She sucked his tongue.
