"I already told you." I lean in, letting my lips brush against her ear. "Everything."
I pull back and take her hand, leading her away from the wall and toward the chaise lounge at the center of the room. She comes willingly, her resistance crumbling with every step.
I sit down on the velvet and pull her onto my lap, positioning her so she's straddling me, the silk of her dress hiked up around her thighs. The position puts her face level with mine, her hands braced on my chest for balance.
She's not wearing underwear anymore. I tore those off in the vineyard. Which means there's nothing between her bare pussy and the rough fabric of my pants except a few inches of air.
I can feel the heat of her, even without direct contact. I can smell how wet she still is.
I reach for the wine glass I set aside and take a long drink, letting her watch as it flows into my mouth. Letting the anticipation build.
Then I grip her jaw again, tilting her head back.
"Open."
CHAPTER 5
SERAPHINA
"Open."
The command is simple. It’s one word. But the way he says it—low and husky and absolutely certain I'll obey—makes my entire body clench with anticipation.
I should refuse, push off his lap and run again, find another door, another way out. I should do anything except sit here straddling a masked stranger in a candlelit wine cellar, waiting for whatever he's about to do to me.
I open my mouth.
His grip on my jaw tightens, tilting my head back further. I can smell the wine on his breath. I watch the glitter of his eyes through the mask, watching me with an intensity that makes me feel too many things all at once.
Then he leans in and seals his mouth over mine.
The wine flows from his lips to mine—warm and velvety, tasting of black cherries and earthiness. I swallow instinctively, and he makes a sound of approval against my mouth before pulling back.
"That’s my girl."
The praise shoots straight between my legs, making me squirm on his lap. He notices—of course he notices—and his free hand grips my hip, holding me still.
"Again," he says, and takes another drink from the glass.
This time when he kisses me, I'm ready for it. The wine pours into my mouth and I swallow eagerly, chasing the taste of him beneath the cabernet. His tongue slides against mine, and I moan before I can think better of it.
He pulls back with a pleased smile. "Mmm. You like that."
It's not a question, but I nod anyway. I'm past the point of pretending I don't want this. My body gave me away in the vineyard, soaking his fingers before he'd even touched me properly. There's no point in lying now.
"More," I whisper, and his eyes flash.
He feeds me wine until the glass is empty, kiss after kiss, each one deeper than the last. By the time he sets the glass aside, I'm dizzy—from the alcohol, from the lack of oxygen, from the overwhelming sensation of being consumed by this man.
My lips are stained red. I can feel it, can taste it. I must look like I've been feasting on something bloody and raw.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, tracing his thumb across my lower lip. "You wear my wine well."
Hiswine. Like I'm something he owns. Something he's marking with his colors.
The thought should disturb me. Instead, it makes me grind down against his lap, seeking friction I desperately need.
He stops me with a firm grip on both hips. "Patience, love. We have all night."
