“Open your legs for me,” he commanded, his breath filling her ear with warmth.
Roslynn stiffened for a brief moment, but the words had sent a thrill clear down to her toes. Breathlessly, heart slamming against her chest now, she parted her knees the barest fraction. His hand remained motionless on her titian curls, though the other one slipped up under her negligee, raising it even higher as he sought her breasts, this time without the silk to separate her from his teasing fingers.
His command came again. “Wider, Roslynn.”
Her breath caught in her throat, but she obeyed him to the letter this time, moving her knees across his own, until her legs dropped down of their own accord along his outer thighs. That still wasn’t enough for him. He parted his own knees, forcing her legs open even wider, and only then did his hand glide lower to insert a single finger inside her.
Roslynn moaned deep in her throat, her back arching away from him, her fingers digging into his jacket behind her head. She wasn’t aware of what she was doing, but he was. Each gasp of pleasure she emitted was like a flame licking at his soul. That he was still in control of his own raging passions at this point was beyond his understanding, but he wouldn’t be for much longer.
“It doesn’t matter, does it?” His question was calculatedly cruel, to keep his anger alive. “Here? On the bed? On the floor?”
She heard the question. All she could do was shake her head no.
“At this moment, I could make you break all your bloody conditions. You know that, don’t you, sweetheart?” She was incapable of answering, except with a whimper. “But I won’t. I want you to remember this was your choice.”
Roslynn didn’t care anymore. All that mattered now was the fire he had ignited in her. Anthony didn’t care anymore either. She had pushed him past his limits.
Without warning, he moved her forward on his legs to ready himself, then lifted her, positioned himself, and dropped her hard. Her soft cry was ambrosia to his ears. Her hands moved up to grasp his head, the only part of him within her reach. He still had her entire torso at his disposal, and he caressed every inch while she lay back against him, savoring the fullness inside her.
He gave them that brief moment, before recalling that this was not an act of love, but one for a specific purpose only. Damnation take her and her bloody conditions. He wanted to kiss her, to turn her around and take her with all the tenderness and passion he felt for her. But he wouldn’t. She had to look back on this with disgust, to admit that she wanted more from him than a child.
With that in mind, he took her hands and placed them on the arms of the chair, leaned forward until she was sitting straight up, then leaned back himself, leaving her astride him, her hair cascading down across his belly. She glanced around, expectant. He knew she was waiting for him to begin, to lead her, that she didn’t know the first thing about the many positions available for lovemaking, or that in this one she was in command.
Deliberately, he said, “You wanted the use of mybody. You have it. Now ride me.” Her eyes widened, but he didn’t give her a chance to protest. “Do it!”
She turned back to face forward, her cheeks flaming. But there was that fullness inside her that had to be answered. And if he wouldn’t do it…
It was easy, once she found her rhythm. It was easy because it felt so wonderful, and she was in control, able to set her own pace. She could rock gently back and forth, or she could lift herself up, to slam down hard if she wanted, or to glide down with exquisite slowness. Her whims, her control—until Anthony took over.
He had no choice. She had caught on too quickly, was doing too good a job on him, and he knew damn well he wouldn’t be able to wait for her to climax. He shouldn’t wait. He should leave her wanting. After all, it wasn’t necessary for her to experience pleasure to get with child. But he couldn’t do that to her, whether she deserved it or not.
He sat up, locking an arm around her waist to keep her still while his other hand slid into the soft folds of her lower lips to find the little nub of her pleasure. He brought her to the very pinnacle, then let her go to finish on her own, and she did, riding him so hard and fast that the rolling spasms enveloped them both within mere seconds of one another.
She collapsed back on him in the chair, exhausted, blissful, and he allowed her a few moments, allowed himself the pleasure of wrapping his arms around her—for those few moments. But then he sat up and helped her to her feet.
“Get into bed—my bed. Until you conceive, you will sleep there.”
The cold tone broke into her euphoria, shocking her. She turned around to see his expression wasbland, his cobalt eyes opaque, making her wonder if her ears had deceived her. Then he looked away, as if he had dismissed her from his mind, while he calmly closed his trousers. And it finally dawned on her that he hadn’t removed them. He hadn’t even unbelted his robe. For that matter, she was still wearing her negligee.
Tears gathered in her eyes. Anthony looked up to see them, and his face transformed with fury.
“Don’t!” he snarled. “Or so help me, I’ll blister your backside. You got exactly what you came in here for.”
“That’s no’ true!” she cried.
“Isn’t it? Did you expect more when you put desire on a time schedule?”
She turned her back on him so he wouldn’t see the tears fall and took refuge in his bed. Much as she wanted to return to her own room at that moment, she didn’t dare put it to the test, not in his present mood. But shame washed over her, keeping the tears pouring. He was right. She had come in here thinking he would make love to her as he had before. That she got something entirely different was no more than she deserved. And to her further shame, she had actually experienced pleasure from it.
She had been so sure she had made the right decision. Ah, God, why hadn’t she listened to Nettie? Why was she always so self-centered, never considering anyone else’s feelings but her own? If Anthony had come to her with the same proposal, that she share his bed only until she conceived, then he wanted nothing more to do with her, she would have been destroyed and thought him the most callous, cruel…ah, God, what must he think of her now?Shewouldn’t have agreed to such an outrageous suggestion. She would have been horribly insulted, and yes, furious, just as he was.
At least he didn’t love her. She would hate to think what he would be feeling now if he did. But he did feel other things for her, desire, jealousy, possessiveness
Roslynn’s eyes rounded with the startling realization that those particular feelings all accompanied love. But he had said he didn’t love her! No, he had said it was too soon to speak of love. But he’d never corrected her when she’d mentioned that he didn’t love her. He couldn’t love her. But what if he did? For that matter, what if he were telling the truth and he hadn’t been unfaithful? If that were so, then her actions since they had married would be unforgivable. No—no! She couldn’t be wrong about everything!
She sat up to see him still in the chair, his brandy snifter in hand again. “Anthony?”
He didn’t glance her way, but his voice was terse, bitter. “Go to sleep, Roslynn. We will breed again at my convenience, not yours.”
