Tonight, all she wanted was to follow her instincts. Feeling bolder and braver than she ever had, she kissed him harder, her body moving, rising, following the path his guiding hand assigned her: up and down, his length nearly slipping from her and then sliding deep. Beneath her, she sensed that he waited patiently, allowing her to find her way. But the muscles beneath her grasping fingers were tighter than the coils of a watch spring. He was holding himself in check for her sake.
The realization only made her want him more.
She tore her lips from his, breathless, wanton, fearless. “Make me yours, Maxim.”
It was an edict given to a man who was ordered by none. He was king. Others bowed and scraped to his whims. He was a ruthless man who had fought on the battlefields for years, decimating his enemy. But he was also the man who touched her as if she were as fragile as newly fallen snow. Who kissed her as if he would die if he didn’t have her lips beneath his.
And he answered her order.
With a possessive growl, he tightened his grip on her. For a moment, she feared she had gone too far, that her words would thrust him over the edge. But he quickly proved her wrong. His every touch and movement were careful and yet deliberate, bringing the fires of her desire to a raging height until all the pain of his initial breaching of her maidenhead was long gone and forgotten.
Until all that remained was what happened between them. Bodies moving together, lips searching and seeking, hearts pounding. They found a rhythm together, tentatively at first and then faster, as if they were in a race and each of them was desperate to emerge the victor. He continued working her bud until she was tensed and ready to split apart anew. She learned how good his cock felt, sliding inside her, then almost slipping free, how she could control the pace, the pressure. And in so doing, the pleasure.
He had given her free rein, she realized, and she was taking advantage. Riding him. Rocking against him. Kissing him, touching him. So much hardness to her softness. He was so large, so strong. And yet, he was beneath her, allowing her so much power over him, giving her the freedom to do what he had said.
Tansy was mindless now, driven by the primitive need for fulfillment, her body taking control. Faster, faster. Higher, higher. Her body was acutely aware of everything. His handbetween their bodies moved with harsher motions, almost jerky now as he approached the edge of his own loss of control.
And then, it was happening again.
She splintered apart into a thousand tiny, shimmering shards. Or at least, that was how it felt. The pleasure started between her legs, and then it radiated outward in an explosion of pure, unadulterated bliss. This time as it overtook her, she tightened hard on his length, the sensation unfamiliar and yet oh-so good.
Oh-so right.
She cried out into his kiss, and he swallowed her every sound with his greedy mouth, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. Beneath her, his body stiffened, and then there was a hot rush within her. He made a low sound of raw need.
All the passion that had been spurring her on began to retreat, and she collapsed against his chest, surrounded by his heat and strength, by the spicy masculine scent of him. Maxim, a man who could never be hers again beyond this lone night.
He ended the kiss, stroking her hair, murmuring words softly to her in his own language, words she didn’t understand. But then he pressed his lips to her temple with a reverence that almost broke the dam inside her.
He switched to English, which they both understood fluently. “I’m glad you’ve changed your mind, spitfire.”
Instantly, the contentedness within her dissipated, replaced by the heavy weight of dread.
She jerked her head back, holding his intense stare. “But I haven’t changed my mind at all.”
Maxim watched,incredulous, as Tansy flounced off his lap as if he were a raging fire, flipping her gown and petticoats back into place as if he hadn’t just made love to her. As if he hadn’t just spent inside her.
As if she weren’t his.
This was not acceptable.
Grimly, he tucked his cock back inside his trousers and refastened them, though not without taking note of the smear of blood—Tansy’s blood, the sign she’d been a virgin instead of the experienced woman he had wrongly supposed.
He knew a pang of regret. Not that he had taken her, but the manner in which he had. On a goddamned chair.
“Of course you have changed your mind,” he told her implacably, rising to his full height.
“No,” she told him calmly, denying him as she smoothed down her gown and tucked an errant lock of brown hair behind her ear. “What happened doesn’t affect my position on the matter of becoming your whore.”
For a moment, Maxim could do nothing but stare at her. She was jesting. Surely.
“Not my whore, damn you,” he countered, his anger rising. “My woman. There is a distinct difference.”
A massive one, though she remained unwilling to acknowledge it.
“Your kept woman,” she said dispassionately, her lip curling. “This can never happen again. It was a mistake, truly. I was overwrought and seeking comfort, and you?—”
“And I took your maidenhead,” he interrupted, following her as she crossed the room, daring to present him with her back.
