So many secrets, so many mysteries.
Wrong and right blended together in the dancing shadows of the candlelight. She would fret over them in the morning. Tonight, there was no one but the two of them, no past, no future. Nothing but the present and the desire burning ever hotter and brighter.
He deposited her on the chaise longue slowly, reverently.
At first, she thought he intended to retreat and leave her as he had found her. A protest started in her throat but died when he dropped to his knees on the carpet before her. Holding her gaze, he cupped her face and drew her to him. The kiss began innocently enough, a few chaste brushes of his lips over hers. But then her arms twined themselves about his neck, and she made a soft sound of need that couldn’t be contained, and his mouth changed. It became firmer, more demanding. His tongue swept over the seam of her lips, and she opened for him again. Opened for the taste of sin and tea and Beast, for the wet, velvet glide of his tongue over hers. The kiss turned filthy, erotic. They were making love with their mouths.
The last thread of her control, already frayed beyond redemption, broke.
She was a widow. She was not an inexperienced debutante. She could take a lover. Just this once. Could take what she wanted, what she needed. There were no emotions here, no betrayal of the love she carried in her heart for Bertie. This was nothing but pure, unadulterated lust. Bodily needs, as simple and elemental as breaking one’s fast.
She surrendered, fingers sliding under Beast’s coat to push it down his shoulders. She was rewarded with fewer layers, the corded vitality of his muscled arms covered only by a thin layer of lawn. He shrugged the coat away but when she caressed over his broad chest, fingers seeking the buttons of his waistcoat, he stopped her, ending the kiss and rocking back on his heels as he caught her hands in his.
“No,” he said.
His denial quelled her ardor, brought embarrassment rushing over her. Had she misread him? What was she doing? She had never taken a lover. How could she have allowed things to progress so far? She had attempted to disrobe him, for heaven’s sake.
“Forgive me,” she blurted, cheeks hot with shame. “I shouldn’t have been—”
He stopped her apology with his lips, kissing her slowly, languorously. Showing her without words how wrong she’d been to leap to conclusions. Chasing her worries. Seducing her again. He released her hands, his fingers working on the line of buttons bisecting her dressing gown. Beneath it, she wore nothing more than a thin night rail. But she was every bit as eager as he seemed to shed this extra layer keeping her skin from his.
She felt her dressing gown gaping as he progressed, stopping to brush his knuckles over her aching nipples through the fine linen of her night rail. His touch sent a sharp edge of desire through her. It felt so good, better than she could have imagined. All her misgivings were banished beneath the rising tide of sensation.
There were more buttons than she recalled. It seemed an eternity to wait for him to peel away the ruffled layer, leaving her in nothing more than a filmy white gown. He tore his lips from hers to survey what he had revealed. His eyes consumed her as thoroughly as his mouth had owned hers.
She slid her arms from the dressing gown, aware of the cool night air on her flesh. But his hands were on her, chasing the chill, warming her in a way that nothing and—she very much suspected—no one else could. Callused fingers rasped over her, sending fire in their wake from her wrists to her forearms.
“You bewitched me in the darkness,” he murmured so quietly she could scarcely hear him, “but nothing compares to seeing you in the candlelight.”
Her heart was pounding fast, her breathing shallow as she held herself still for his touch. He swept up her arms and her shoulders, traced over her collarbone with agonizing slowness, as if he were committing every moment, each touch, to his memory.
She grew impatient, wanting to explore him, but when her fingers lodged in the knot of his black cravat, he stopped her again, more tenderly this time, taking her hands in his and kissing her fingertips.
“Not now, Marchioness.”
She wished he would call her Pamela. The need to hear her given name in his low, decadent baritone suddenly preceded all else. Surpassed the need to strip him free of the pretense of civilization keeping his masculine form from her avid gaze. She licked her lips, about to tell him, but then he groaned and took her lips with his again, and she forgot everything she’d been about to say. Instead, she surrendered to the madness, to desire.
To Beast.
* * *
Lady Deering’slips were hot and soft and supple beneath Theo’s, and when he coaxed her to open for him, her tongue entered his mouth first, writhing against his. The wet heat of her and the feminine sound of need she made had his cock even harder than it had been when her bottom had been in his lap, taunting and teasing as she had shifted against him. Lust unfurled like molten honey, coursing through him, banishing every rational thought. He could spend forever kissing her, and he still would not have enough.
Her hands had settled on his shoulders, and he was at ease with them there. She had wanted to remove his layers, and he couldn’t blame her for the natural instinct, but he’d had ample time during their ravenous kisses to make peace with the fact that he could not have her as he wanted. He could not strip himself bare, feel her hands on his skin. Couldn’t bear to see the disgust in her eyes when they fell upon his ruined body, the lashes and burns that had grown over in a hideous patchwork that time could never truly heal.
Thankfully, he had distracted her from her course. And he would continue to do so, for there was great reward to be had in spoiling her with pleasure. She was a woman who was desperately in need of embracing her sensual nature. She deserved to be worshiped and savored, and although he couldn’t allow her to undress him, he could give her this.
But who was he fooling? Pleasing her was every bit as much a gift to himself. Yes, he was selfish and greedy, and he intended to give her everything she deserved. He would make her forget about him, make her focus only on her own body’s needs.
He indulged in her lips for another indeterminate span of time, kissing her hard and deep as he banded his arms around her and held her close. Her breasts were full and round, her hard nipples prodding him through her night rail and his shirt and waistcoat. He wanted them in his mouth. Wanted to suck them and bury his fingers in her cunny and work her sweet nub with his thumb. Wanted to hear her moan and whimper, wanted to watch her come undone. Wanted his tongue on her, in her, wanted the taste of her on his lips, the scent of her feminine desire surrounding him.
If he didn’t take care, he was going to spend in his trousers, all without his lips ever leaving hers.
Theo tore his lips from hers and dragged them along her jaw until he found her ear.
“I want this off you.”
As he spoke, he caught the thin garment she wore at her shoulder and plucked, showing her what he meant lest there be any question.
