Still, he needed to know something.
She broke the kiss, her breaths ragged, her heart pounding. “I will not be your mistress.”
This was…she did not know what it was. All she knew was that she wanted it, and him, quite desperately.
“I do not give a damn about that.” His gaze was almost obsidian. It was dark and stormy, scorching her. “All I want is you.”
“Then have me,” she told him.
On a growl, his lips claimed hers. But only for a moment. He ended the kiss abruptly, before sinking to his knees on the carpet before her. She frowned down at him, heart beating against her breast like the wings of a dove as it took frantic flight. He lifted the hem of her skirts to her waist, exposing her to him. She was nothing but boots, drawers, and stockings.
“You are a goddess,” he said roughly. “Hold your skirts in place.”
Her legs were shamelessly splayed, and though she was still covered, cool air kissed her core through the split in her drawers, sending an erotic charge through her.
“What are you doing?” she asked, confused.
From what she understood, he needed to release his member and join it with her. This—him on his knees, hands caressing her thighs, made no sense.
“Having you,” he said succinctly.
He caressed his way to the waistband of her drawers. With shocking ease, he located the buttons, sliding them free of their moorings. Then he tugged the simple white cotton down her hips. She swallowed as she felt the fabric leave her.
She was seated upon his desk, bereft of her drawers, her legs still open. Which meant that the hot, large hands traveling over her thighs were caressing her bare flesh. And which also meant that his possessive gaze, fixated upon her most intimate flesh, was seeing her.
All of her.
Instinct had her drawing her knees together, desperate to preserve her modesty.
His hands stayed her. As did his words.
“Do not hide yourself from me, Isabella. You are beautiful everywhere, every part of you, just as I said.”
Had he said that? Her cheeks were hot. But her blood was hotter. There was something inherently wicked about what he was doing. She had not been told about such an intimacy. But if she were honest, she would admit there was something deliciously exciting about it.
His eyes were devouring her as surely as his mouth had hers with kisses.
“This is depraved,” she protested halfheartedly. “You should not be looking upon me so.”
“You are pink and pretty here, darling,” he told her, his voice a low, decadent rumble. “I am going to do more than merely look.”
She supposed he had intended it as a warning.
And she ought to have been warned.
But nothing could have prepared her for what he did next. Those knowing, tender hands of his continued stroking her thighs, kneading her flesh, knowing just how to handle her. Everywhere his fingertips traveled, they sent fire and fresh need in their wake. His head dipped.
He was not going to…
No, he could not mean…
“Oh,” she cried out when his mouth settled upon her.
A kiss first. His beautiful mouth was upon her core. Then, the slick brush of wet heat over her parted flesh came. She jerked, her hips instinctively seeking more. Her breasts felt achy and full, her nipples hardened into painfully tight points beneath her corset. Another slick, warm glide worked over her.
His tongue, she realized weakly.
Lord in heaven.
