“Don’t,” she commanded, digging her fingers into his upper arms, not that she truly thought she could stop him if he tried to pull away, “tell me what I should do. I’ve hadenough.”
“Clio.” Her name was a groan. “If you don’t go now, youwillbe ruined—and not because of any of the nonsense that Society spews. I will ruin you for any other man, princess. You will be all mine.”
The smile spread across Clio’s face of its own volition. Maybe his words should have made her worry more, but she had never felt so alive in her life.
“I’m not leaving,” she told him.
His fingers clenched briefly where they held her, and she had a strange surge of pleasure at the idea that they might leave marks. She liked the idea of him leaving a trace upon her.
“I need this,” she whispered against his mouth. “Just this once.”
He growled, perhaps at the contrast between his promises of ruination and her reference to a singular event—but she wasn’t quite so far lost to her desire that she planned to wager her entire life on it.
Notquiteso far.
She wasn’t certain that her resolve would last against the onslaught of his kiss, however—and itwasan onslaught, one that overwhelmed her senses in an instant.
He tasted of danger and safety all at once, of whisky and warmth and of that strange sense ofrightnessthat only he seemed to bring out in her.
He was all competence, from every caress of his tongue against hers to the way he led her across to the room—not to his bed, something that Clio realized with comingled relief and disappointment, but to a low divan. He stretched her out across the cushions, then lowered his weight atop her just enough that she could feel him everywhere, but not enough to crush her.
She almost wished that hewouldcrush her. She wanted to feel him until she knew that he’d never be away from her, until they were irrevocably bound.
“I’m not going to make love to you,” he told her, as though he could read her thoughts, and she whined a little protest into his mouth. He pulled back enough to look at her, and his expression was all masculine pride. “But don’t worry, sweet girl,” he purred. “I won’t leave you wanting.”
Clio’s hips jerked at those words, propelled by some instinct she didn’t understand.
Hector’s smirk intensified.
“That’s right,” he told her, his accented voice lush with praise. That made the warmth curling in Clio’s belly surge even brighter. “Let me show you what you need, princess. Let me give you everything.”
“Hector. Yes, please.”
She’d never felt less articulate in her life, but she found that she didn’t need any words beyond the ones that passed her lips; not only did they represent the whole of what she was feeling, but Hector seemed to understand them—and her—perfectly.
“Of course, princess,” he said, and it was a mockery of the title, but that made her as warm as the praise had done.
He began moving his way down her body, kissing down her neck, then over her collarbones, and across her decolletage. She felt certain that he was about to tug down the neckline of her gown, and she arched her back to meet his touch. Instead of revealing her breasts, however, he pushed back onto the knee of his good leg and placed featherlight kisses atop the fabric of her gown.
“Wait,” she protested. “Why?” She threaded her fingers through his hair and tried to tug him closer, but she was, of course, no match for his strength.
“Darling,” he purred, and it was truly unfair that he seemed to possess such a repertoire for sweet names when he was such a gruff figure otherwise. “I might not care for the way people talk very much, but I know thatyoudo. No, don’t argue with me,” he chided, pressing a kiss to her ribs that she felt even through the layers of gown and stays. “I’m not going to send you out of here with your dress in disarray and make you the subject of more talk. But don’t worry. There’s plenty I can do without mussing your pretty clothes.”
“Without—” She almost choked on the words; her face was burning with her own daring. “Without making love?”
This time, his kiss landed on the bone of her hip.
“Oh, my Clio,” he said, and it was all she could do not to whimper at the addition of the possessive. “There is so very much I can show you.”
And then he leaned all the way back—she made a very petulant sound at the loss of his weight atop her—and began lifting her skirts.
Clio immediately stopped protesting. She couldn’t do anything besides focus on how every inch of her was coming alive.
At first, it was nothing more than the cool rush of air on her skin and the blazing heat of his eyes. He trailed his fingers over the silk of her stockings, then used the end of the ribbons that secured them to tickle her lightly, right above the edge of the silk.
“Oh,” she said, which was foolish; it was nonsense, but her mind wasn’t working very well. “That feels … Why does that feel nice?”
She felt his gaze move from her legs to her face before she saw it.
