God, she'd gotten so slick… he couldn't help but slide a finger inside, her tight, pulsing heat almost robbing him of his senses. "Tell me. Let me help you."
"I can't. I won't." She let out a keening cry as he thrust his finger deep. "Ambrose, please don't ask it of me…"
It was then that he saw the wet glimmer upon her lashes, even as she wriggled in helpless pleasure to his touch. Something in his chest went soft, his anger subsiding. She was so vulnerable, hisselkie. So afraid despite her perfect skin. In place of fury, his determination grew to gain her trust, a thing too delicate to be taken by force and locked away.
He released her wrists, but continued to play with her with slow, easy strokes. "Tell me this one thing," he coaxed, "and I'll give you what you want."
"Wh-what?"
"Have you been involved in illegal activities?" It was the farthest he could go without betraying Coyner's confidence and that of the case.
Her brow furrowed. "I'll do anything to get back what belongs to me, I won't lie. I did break into Leach's office. But I am no criminal, if that's what you're asking."
He knew this. She had secrets aplenty, and he vowed silently to discover them soon. For now, his chest swelled with the progress they'd made—and his cock with the need to reward her for her trust. Because whether or not she acknowledged it, Marianne was beginning to let him inside... and not just her delectable body, though God knew that was a priority. He added another finger, stretching her gently. By Jove, she was tight. Tight and wonderfully lush. Her muscles gripped his plunging fingers as her silky juices eased the way.
Her lips opened on a sigh. "Dear God, like that..."
"You're so responsive. So beautiful," he muttered. "Are you ready for me?"
"Yes," she said, her spine arching. "Oh, yes."
"Good. Because I'll explode if I don't get inside you," he said.
He unfastened his trousers—no time to attend to his boots. He shoved the wool past his hips, freeing his throbbing manhood. At the sight of his erection, her eyes widened.
"Kent, wait. We have to be... careful," she said in a trembling voice.
Her meaning penetrated his lust. "I won't finish inside you," he said hoarsely. To test his willpower, he gripped the base of his cock, ran the bulging head along her slit. They both groaned as her sex slid against his, coating his cockhead with her juices. Her tight channel clamped the tip of his shaft, and sweat beaded on his brow. "I swear I'll pull out if it kills me." He thought it might.
"There's an alternative. Here." Groping the surface of the table, she found a box and shoved the contents at him. "Put this on."
Despite his state of high arousal, his brows shot up at the sight of the white tube with red strings dangling at one end. "Are you always this prepared, sweet?"
"Madame gave it—oh never mind," she said. "You know how to use it?"
In truth, he'd never worn a French letter before. He was no whoremonger, and the women he'd been with had employed other means of contraception. Consequently, he fumbled a little as he attempted to sheath his turgid shaft. The scent of roses mingled with his frustration.
"It doesn't fit," he growled.
"Mayhap it is not big enough for you." The sultry note of laughter in her voice didn't help matters. His cock swelled further. "Perhaps I can lend a hand?"
Leveraging up on her elbows, she reached for his cock. The boldness of her action, the way her tongue touched her lips as she stretched the sheep-gut over his thick, veined rod caused him to spurt a little. The lubrication helped to ease the French letter into place. By the time she tightened the red strings, her cheeks were rosy.
"You're ready," she whispered.
Was he. Kissing into her open mouth, he guided her onto her back. He positioned his cock at her entrance and pressed forward. Despite her dampness, her intimate muscles resisted him. Her passage was small, remarkably snug. He went slow, not wanting to hurt her.
"Alright?" he rasped, holding himself in check as fire enveloped the head of his cock.
Her bottom lip caught beneath her teeth. "I think so. Just go slow…"
Sweat prickled his forehead as he eased forward another inch. Devil and damn, it was like stepping into an inferno, flames engulfing his shaft, the heat spreading to his balls, his groin, his entire self. Gritting his teeth, he pushed a little further, and just when he thought he might die from the excruciating torture, her passage gave way. Moans left them both as he suddenly slid all the way home.
"Bloody hell, that's good," he breathed. He drew a stray lock from her cheek. "Sweetheart?"
Her lashes swept back to reveal eyes more vivid than spring. "Yes. Oh, Ambrose,yes."
He needed no further urging. He began to move, withdrawing and returning in slow strokes, watching her face the whole while. He wanted to see her pleasure, to know everything about her. As he made love to her, he stored away the signs of her desire: the flush sweeping over her bobbing breasts, the graceful arch of her neck as she met his thrusts. When her legs circled his hips, however, his control wavered. The dark need to possess her swept over him. He plunged with greater force, harder, deeper, wanting everything she had.
