Claimed.
Her body melted into the desk.
But she did.
She could do nothing more than roll her hips with each thrust, take the pleasure Brogan gave. Her breath caught. He claimed her so thoroughly in the bedroom, it was almost enough to make her forget he didn’t want her outside of it. Almost.
He drove into her faster. The smack of flesh against flesh, the wet sucking sound of his cock tunneling into her body, were a companion to her muffled screams. His hips battered the patch of skin that he had spanked, increasing the sting, making her question everything she thought she'd known about lovemaking.
Brogan Duffy fucked like the man he was.
Elemental.
Hard.
Determined.
Brogan fucked like he owned her. Like it was his right to pin her in place, take what he wanted. And a small part of her heart answered that he did. As long as he gave as much as he took, he could own her body in any manner he wanted.
She didn't think she could ever go back to the soft caresses of an artist, the polite respects of a nobleman. She reached back, needing to touch him, and gripped the waist of his trousers hanging from his hips. She dug her fingernails into the cloth as he pounded her harder.
Her muscles seized, everything inside her going tight. Her ribs wouldn't expand to give her air. Dark spots danced before her eyes.
Brogan slid his hand around her hip, the tip of his finger butterflying over her clit.
She shattered. Wave after wave of ecstasy pulsed through her body, arching her back and curling her toes.
Brogan’s fingers dug into her skin. He groaned, pulling from her. Liquid heat splashed her lower lips before he spent on her bottom. “God damn.” He released his hold and planted both palms on the desk. “God damn, you feel good.” He brushed hair off her cheek before pulling the cravat from her mouth.
“Brogan?”
“Hmm?”
“I didn’t wear pantalets tonight for you.”
His lips curved against the skin of her neck. He gave her one last kiss. “Stay here.”
That was a demand Juliana had no problem following. She rested on the desk as her heart calmed and her breath slowed. The desk was actually quite comfortable. Her eyes slid shut. She could stay here for the rest of the night.
Brogan wiped something soft across her bum, cleaning her. “The music is still going. Do you want to slip back in to the musicale?”
With a sigh, she pushed herself to standing and shook her skirts out. She moved in front of the mirror above the mantel and tried to fix her hair. “We’d better not. Even fully dressed, I still don’t look quite respectable. I’ll send a note to Hy tomorrow telling her that I had a headache.”
He plucked her fichu from the floor and shoved one end down her bodice. “I can’t say that I regret mussing you up.”
Juliana smoothed the lump he’d made with the fichu and tucked the other end of it in her gown. “I don’t regret anything about our time together.”
Their eyes met in the mirror. His gaze dropped away. “We should go.”
“Brogan,” she said, turning. She hooked her finger between the buttons of his waistcoat. “You don’t regret our affair, do you?” She knew he enjoyed it. But even the most pleasurable things could lead to remorse. To Brogan’s strict mind, probably the more pleasurable, the more remorse he felt.
“I regret acting foolishly.” He held her wrist, brushing his thumb back and forth over her skin before removing her finger from his clothing. “I regret not doing more to protect both of us from the inevitable disappointment to come.”
“You don’t know there will be disappointment.” If she was a foot-stamping kind of lady, she would have dented the Butters’s parquet floor by now. The man was too cynical. Too constrained. And much too frustrating to give her peace of mind.
He made a simple knot in his cravat and smoothed down the ends. “We should go,” he repeated.
She pressed her lips together. It was a strange tug o’ war they were engaged in. A woman shouldn’t have to work so hard to make a man want such a liaison. And the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach warned her she might not win this contest. He could end their relationship at any moment.
