How had he gotten so damn fortunate? Violet was a wild woman in his arms, beneath his touch. Her innocent desire spurred him on, her embracing of pleasure and passion, of him. He sucked her nipple into his mouth at last, drawing on it greedily, flicking it with his tongue until she cried out his name again, her nails raking his scalp.
His cock surged, and he knew he would not last much longer. He found the knot on her belt and made short work of untying it. The silken robe fell at her feet. He scooped her into his arms, and she was naked and soft and heaven. Just pure heaven.
He kissed her as he carried her to the bed. She kissed him back with just as much ferocity, her tongue sliding into his mouth. All he could think was,Yes, Christ yes!She was so perfect for him. Everything he needed. Everything he had never known he wanted. Here, in this moment, passion threatening to burn him down, he did not even care she was Arden’s sister, or that wedding her had bought him the time he needed to clear his name. All he cared about was her.
How, of all the women in the world, was the one who could save him, also the one who could bring him to his knees?
He stopped when his legs connected with the pliant give of a mattress, and slowly, breaking the kiss only because he had to, he lowered her to the bed. She lay back on it, green eyes drunk with desire. Her dark hair spilled on the pillow, fanning out in silken contrast against the pale ivory of the bed linens.
He shrugged out of his jacket and waistcoat and toed off his shoes and stockings before he joined her on the bed, still wearing his shirt and trousers. Even as consumed as he was by need for her, he remained aware of his scars, of how ruined his flesh was.
He did not wish to shock or repulse her. He would not even show himself to her this evening, but would wait until she had some time to acclimate herself to him in her life and in her bed. What she had seen before had been only a small slice. His entire body at once was grotesque.
He spared not another second of thought for himself when her long, luscious legs slowly drifted apart on the bed, and she revealed herself to him once more. The sight of all that glistening pink skin, the dark thatch of curls, the plump bud of her pearl…it was too much. He had to have her again.
Reverently, he skimmed his hands over her calves and thighs, parting them more to grant him greater access. The scent of her desire, musky and sweet, made his mouth water. He bowed his head, burying his face between her legs. He sucked and licked, tracing her seam, teasing the bundle of flesh hidden in her folds until she cried out, stiffening beneath him as she spent. And even then, he did not stop, not until she shuddered once more and her cream was on his tongue.
He kissed his way back up her body, lingering over the dip at her hip bone, then her stomach, before returning to her lush breasts once more. As he suckled, he slid his fingers through her slick folds, tracing her seam, until he reached the treasure he sought. Her pearl was swollen and smoother than silk. She bucked and writhed against him, making the breathy sounds he loved, the sounds suggesting she was desperate for him. On fire. Just how he wanted her.
Because the way he felt, mirrored her desperation. He needed this woman. Had to be inside her. Had to claim her. To make her his at last. For it had taken a lifetime to bring him here, to this bed, to Violet naked in his arms, and now that he was positioned between her legs, the only barrier between them a layer of fabric, he could barely wait a heartbeat more.
He kissed his way up her throat, finding the secret place behind her ear that drove her mad. And then he found her mouth. He kissed her hard and deep, kissed her with all his emotions, the raw need, the reckless want. Kissed with her on his lips and tongue, and knowing she could taste herself only heightened the yearning swirling through him.
He was so consumed in her, in the kiss, in wanting her, he did not feel her fingers working on the buttons of his shirt until she had it half opened. Griffin tore his mouth from hers and jerked away from her touch. He would not deny her much, but this, the sight and sensation of him, he was not ready for. No one had seen his scars before, and he was not prepared to show her. Neither could he bear the notion of her disgust and rejection.
“No.” The hand that had been pleasuring her swiftly grasped her wrist, staying her. “The shirt stays.”
“I want to feel you,” she said. “Your skin. I want to touch you, Griffin. Please.”
Her plea made his gut clench. His ardor began to cool. “You have no notion what you’re asking of me.”
“I know you have scars.” She cupped his face then, and her touch was so gentle, so tender.
She would not allow him to look away, to see anything but her. And he saw her then, saw her in yet another way he never had before. He saw her compassion. He saw her tenacity. He saw her unwavering and stubborn grit, and he admired that. He admiredher. But still, he knew what his body looked like beneath his gentleman’s façade. He was like a home that was impressive from the streets, but had been destroyed by a fire within.
In a word, hideous.
His face may be handsome enough, but his looks were not sufficient to blunt the other ugliness he had been marked with forever. Griffin was just as certain of it now as he had been more than a decade ago when his wounds were still fresh, and his compatriots had carried him to his freedom because he had been too badly beaten and starved to walk.
He ground his jaw. “Knowing I have scars and seeing them are not the same thing, Violet.”
“I understand that, and I have already seen some, if you will recall.” Her vibrant gaze searched his, but he knew not what she sought.
If it was bravery, she would not find it. This particular brand of courage had fled him a long time ago, and it was too late to call it back now. He did not want her to see his hideously marked hide, not on their wedding night. Not when she was a virgin and he would be rending her maidenhead, not for her first time making love. Later, perhaps, if he could stomach it.
But tonight…no.
He could not bear it. Would not be made to face the ugliness of what had happened to him, most of which he had buried deep inside himself. Most of which he never wanted to acknowledge or even think about ever again.
“Not this time,” he denied, unable to give her what she wanted in this. To do so would wreck him. “Not tonight. Tonight I want nothing of the past between us. No reminders of what once happened. Tonight, I want nothing but you and me and everything that makes you feel good.”
“Touching you makes me feel good,” she persisted, her thumb swiping over his lower lip once. Twice. “Turn down the lamps if you must. I just want to touch you without any barriers.”
Damn it.
She was weakening his resolve. Perhaps it was her husky voice. Perhaps it was the way she stroked his lower lip and held his face. Perhaps it was merely that she was herself, Violet,hisViolet, and she reached a part of him he had not realized even existed any longer.
“My skin is rough and puckered.”
