“It did,” he countered, sounding pleased with himself. “Your breath caught in your throat, and you seemed to tense.” He kissed the bare swath of her neck. Once, twice, thrice. His tongue darted over her flesh, and then he sucked. Gently at first, then with greater pressure.
Until she knew without question his fervor would leave yet another mark to join the rest he had already visited upon her flesh, a constellation of the ways in which he was her greatest weakness. All of it rendering her so painfully vulnerable to his touch.
Tohim.
She swallowed as he continued to devour her neck. “Is there a danger, then, in wanting one’s husband?”
He inhaled deeply, and then he kissed her throat again, open mouthed. Ravenous. She tilted her head back, enjoying his consumption. Reveling in it, in fact.
“There is every danger when I am the husband in question,” he said, startling her. His mouth continued its stinging path. Down her throat, straight to her collarbone. “Do you dare trust me, Leonie?”
Nay, she did not.
But something else inside her, something deep and elemental, said she did. And it was that voice which answered him now, rather than her own. “Yes. I trust you, Morgan.”
He tugged her dressing gown with one hand, and she helped him, shrugging it to the carpet. His other hand slid from her throat, his fingers tunneling into her nape where her hair hung in heavy waves.
“Sweet fool,” he said without heat, and then his mouth was upon hers.
*
She trusted him.
He had heard the honesty in her dulcet voice. And he tasted it now in her kiss, felt it in her responsiveness, the way all the tension and fight drained from her in his arms. He wanted to thank her, and he wanted to punish her all at once for being so naïve, for believing in him so easily when he was the last man she ought to gift with her unconditional faith.
His fingers tightened in her hair as he kissed her, his tongue plundering her mouth, hoping she would whimper, beg to be set free, push him away. Instead, she only clutched him closer, a moan of surrender coming from her. He swallowed the sound as he consumed her mouth, telling her his secrets with every movement of his lips on hers.
You should not trust me.
I am your enemy, my sweet.
But see how prettily you let me own you…
Damnation, her capitulation, her willingness to submit to whatever he wished of her, stoked the white-hot fires of desire burning within him. His cock was ready for her, the need to be inside her an almost palpable thing.
Still kissing her, he guided them both in the direction of her bed. He had kept her in his bed all night the first time, but he recognized the precedent was a dangerous one to set for himself, as much as for her. He could ill afford to develop a fondness for her beyond his need for her body. Tonight, he would have her in her own bed, and he could discreetly leave after he had his fill of her.
He whisked away her nightdress, and discarded his own robe. They fell onto the mattress as one, mouths joined, hands everywhere. Her heady, floral scent enveloped him as he filled his hands with her voluptuous curves.
He told himself he would make love to her more slowly this time. He would savor her. Torture her with pleasure until she was screaming for him, pleading for her release. And when the Earl of Rayne finally arrived back in London once more, Morgan would relish every moment of informing the bastard how easy it had been to make his innocent sister beg for his cock.
He tore his mouth from hers and kissed down her body, stopping to admire her creamy flesh beneath him. Her breasts were so damn beautiful. Her belly was soft, and the thought of planting his seed within her, of watching her swell with his child, made his cock twitch.
Damn.He was meant to prolong the pleasure. To make this last.
He cupped her breasts and then lowered his head to suck a nipple into his mouth, earning a moan from her. He wanted his name on her lips as she cried out her release. He wanted her to spend on his tongue.
Morgan suckled her other nipple, giving her another gentle nip. She was more decadent than any dessert. His to pleasure. His to torture.
Down her belly he went, trailing kisses, worshiping her with his mouth. He did not stop until he reached the prize he sought, the apex of her thighs. He kissed the top of her mound, his hands on her thighs, urging them apart.
“My lord,” she protested breathlessly.
“Hush,” he told her gently, soothing her with slow caresses as she opened for him. Her cunny was glistening, pink and perfect. “I want to kiss you.”
“Where?” she almost yelped. “Surely not…”
He would not argue the point with her, for he could not go another heartbeat without having the taste of her in his mouth. Instead, he dipped his head, showing her. He traced his tongue over her seam, up and down, slowly and tantalizingly. She tasted musky with a hint of sweetness. He found her pearl and flicked his tongue over it, gratified when she jolted beneath him.
