His mind was a vortex of conflicting wants. Admission, denial—neither came readily. After a lifetime of silence, of bottling everything up, he didn’t know how to release the truth. Didn’t know if he could allow his desires to overrule his duty.
His gut clenched, his hands gripping the ropes. “I cannot answer that question.”
“You have a habit of saying that.” Lottie’s eyes flashed with judgement. “Punishment it is, then.”
He expected to feel the lash of her anger on his skin. He didn’t bother to brace himself because he was getting what he deserved. Thus, he was totally and wholly unprepared for what she did next.
When Charlie took hold of Sebastian’s cock, his big body lurched against the ropes as if he’d been tossed by a tempest. She saw the surprise in his eyes, and grim satisfaction filled her that he still hadn’t caught on. There was more than one way to get the answers out of him. Her mind felt as overrun as Covent Garden on market day, a chaotic collision of questions and emotions. Yet a single truth blazed.
Sebastian did not betray me twelve years ago. At least not in the manner I assumed.
She believed him. The truth had been there in his eyes when he answered her first question. Of course, his response blew the lid off Pandora’s Box. Who had Eleni been to Sebastian, if not his lover? What had he been mixed up in? What was he up to now, and what did Quinton and Miss Loveday have to do with it?
I am sick of his secrets. Sick of not knowing why he ruined our marriage. Why is he back now, and why does he think he has the right to protect me? From what?
She pumped him with the smooth, firm strokes he used to like. That much hadn’t changed. His eyes smoldered beneath their heavy lids, his cock thick and long in her fist. He gritted his teeth, the tendon on his neck cording the way it used to just before he spent. She released him abruptly, and his cock toppled like a felled tree. They both watched as the stiff crimson length bobbed under its own weight. Rather like a heavy branch…but a cock couldn’t break, could it?
He made a sound like a snarl.“Bloody hell.”
“You can finish yourself off if you like. If you let go of the rope, however, our game is over,” she said sweetly.
“I’ll finish this damned game if it kills me,” he bit out.
Just like she knew he would. The fellow had always been as stubborn as an ox.
“Do you think frustration can kill a man?” She tilted her head. “Let’s find out, shall we?”
She gripped him again, squeezing his turgid length, her own breath quickening as his cock burgeoned further. He’d always been big, but it was more than his size. His eyes were as hungry as his body, his desire for her immutable, bordering on desperation. To be the focus of such intensity had always thrilled her and unleashed the strength of her own passion.
It was, she suddenly realized, the reason why her other lover hadn’t satisfied her the way Sebastian had. He hadn’t needed her as much. Hadn’t come close to owning her and being owned by her in return.
“Maybe a woman isn’t immune to frustration either.” Bronze embers glowed in Sebastian’s eyes. “I’d wager that you’re as aroused as I am, Madam Torturer. That beneath those skirts, your pretty cunny is wet and wanting, aching to be filled by my cock.”
At his wicked words, she squeezed her thighs together. Heavens, shewaswet.
“Are you sure it’s your hand you want me to be fucking?” he asked.
From any other man, she would have disdained the crudity. Sebastian, however, had a way of making her feel beyond his lust to the yearning beneath. An unspoken need in him that she knew instinctively was about more than sex even though he’d just used the wordfucking. She worked her fist, her pussy clenching as if it could feel that bulging length too.
The moment she felt him stiffening, thickening, she cupped his mushroomed dome and squeezed.
He gnashed his teeth. From behind the wall, she thought she heard a commiserating groan.
“I could do this all night,” she said.
His gaze was mutinous. “Do it then.”
When she took up the challenge, he muttered something under his breath.
“What was that?” She leaned closer.
“I reminded myself that frustration can’t kill a man.” His voice rasped against the sensitive whorl of her ear. “Otherwise, I’d have died years ago.”
She ought to leave that provocative remark alone. Yet when had she ever been wise where this scoundrel was concerned?
She said with a scoff, “When have you ever suffered from frustration?”
He looked as if he wanted to say something. Instead, he set his jaw.
