He stood suddenly, throwing back his chair with such force, it toppled over. She rose to her feet as well, watching him as he stalked around the table. His anger enhanced the severity of his features, making him somehow more beautiful than he already was. She found herself in his arms, precisely where she wanted to be, one of his large hands splayed possessively on her lower back, the other caressing her cheek in the whisper of a caress. Her nipples went instantly hard, an ache beginning between her thighs and blossoming outward.
“I feel guilty because I want to do it again,” he said grimly.
And then, his mouth was on hers. The kiss was not soft or gentle. But neither was it rough or angry. It was searing. Claiming. The way their lips fit together made her sigh. She kissed him back with all the fervent need rising within her to a brilliant crescendo.
A violent sweep of his arm on the table behind her upended the remnants of her breakfast, and she did not care. He moved them as one while he consumed her mouth. Her rump met the beveled edge of the table. He caught her lower lip between his teeth and gently nipped her, pulling back just a bit to gaze down at her.
His expression was inscrutable aside from the undeniable desire she knew he must see reflected in her own countenance. For a beat, she feared he would withdraw from her entirely. That he would push her away and resume the detachment he had been treating her to all morning.
But then, he guided her onto the expanse of table he had so ruthlessly cleared. His fingers tightened in the skirts of her gown and chemise, lifting them to her knees. He kissed her again, slower and deeper, and then he settled himself between her legs.
He was going to take her, she realized.
Here.
On the breakfast table, where they could be interrupted by a servant at any moment. She should be horrified.
Instead, heat coursed through her. A steady throb of want pulsed in her sex. Oh, how she needed him inside her. It was stronger than hunger or thirst. Powerful and wicked. He kissed down her throat, his long fingers tightening in her chignon and pulling her head back to allow his exploration.
His hand was hot on her skin, sweeping over the bare flesh above her garters and stockings. He sucked on her neck, and she felt it in her core. Her body was aflame, overwhelmed by sensation. His subtle dominance undid her. When his touch dipped between her legs, stroking her needy flesh, she moaned.
He found the sensitive nub hidden within her folds and teased it with slow, steady circles. It was too much. It was not enough. She jerked into his hand, wanting more. His lips moved to her ear.
“You want me,” he murmured.
“Yes.” Her acquiescence became a gasp when he sank a finger inside her.
But she did not want his lips grazing her ear. She wanted them on hers. Catriona grasped a handful of his cravat and yanked his mouth back to where she wanted it. On a growl, he kissed her harder. His thumb moved over her pearl.
A frisson licked down her spine. He curled his finger, touching a place inside her so deep and delicious, she lost control. Her body seized, a frenzied rush of release washing over her. She whimpered into his mouth, into his kiss, surrendering.
On a growl, he slid his finger from her channel. Between them, he undid the fall of his breeches with hasty, efficient movements. And then his thick tip was glancing over her folds. He thrust against her pearl, sending another miniature shower of spasms through her. His tongue was in her mouth, his hand still fisted in her hair as he ravaged her lips.
Movement in the hall beyond the door caught her attention briefly, sending a swift bolt of fear through her, followed by a wicked jolt of something else. Somehow, the notion of them being caught, of Alessandro about to slide into her body as the door opened, titillated her.
The near interruption did not matter.
Nothing mattered.
Because he guided himself to her entrance. One pump of his hips, and he was inside her, filling her. And it was good. It was so good. With his mouth on hers, his grip on her hair, his staff sliding in and out in a delirious rhythm, she could not control herself. She spent, the pleasure quaking through her almost violent in its intensity.
He thrust harder. Faster. The table, heavy as it was, shook beneath the force of his movements. Her fingers bit into his shoulders as more exquisite decadence rocked her. His lips clung to hers. On another low growl, he stiffened, the warmth of his seed flooding her as he lost himself as surely as she had.
But she had no time to luxuriate in the languor that overcame her whenever he made love to her. For he jerked away from her almost at once. With swift, efficient movements, he adjusted himself, fastening his breeches before restoring her skirts.
She sensed his inner withdrawal just as surely as she felt his physical one. “Alessandro,” she said.
“Not another word,” he bit out. “I have done my duty to you for the day, and now if you will excuse me, I must see to the rest.”
“Alessandro, please,” she called after him, hating the way he could not bear to face their intimacy without resorting to a cool, aloof stranger. Hating the guilt he felt. Hating the past he had known with another woman, the love he had given her.
But her husband ignored her pleas. He did not even meet her gaze. He merely turned on his heel and strode from the chamber, leaving her perched upon the table where he had placed her, the carnage of their abandoned breakfast all around her.
Wondering how they had gotten to this place.
Wondering if they could ever get beyond it before it was too late.
*
