She stroked him again as she leaned up and pressed her mouth to his. He was rough as he cupped the back of her head, angling her for better access as he drove his tongue into her. She felt him fighting his instincts, his dark passions, and she shook her head. That wouldn’t do. She wasn’t glass. She wanted what he held back, even if she didn’t fully understand it.
She released him and turned her back to him. “Unfasten me,” she whispered.
He cupped her hips and pulled her against him, grinding against her hard before he stripped her buttons open in a series of jerky motions. She let the gown droop forward, shedding it, and quickly followed with her chemise. She could have faced him, could have let him guide her and ready her and do all the sweet things she knew he would.
But she didn’t want sweet. She wanted the darkness, just as she had that first time.
So instead of facing him she reached out to grip the edge of his bed, digging her fingers into the mattress as she bent forward and offered herself to him. She peeked over her shoulder to find him staring at her.
“Hannah,” he began.
She shook her head. “You didn’t finish what you started at the Donville Masquerade, Duncan. You didn’t give me what you promised that night. I want it. I want every wicked, rough thing you told me you would do to me. I want all of it. All of you. Right now.”
He gaped at her for what was only the length of time it took for him to blink, but it felt like an eternity. Then he surprised her by dropping to his knees behind her and spreading her wide. His mouth covered her then, his tongue lashing out to stroke her from behind. She cried out, grinding back into him, pushing him farther inside.
It was like no time had passed since that magical exchange in the back room at the Donville Masquerade. They’d picked up just where they left off, her body on edge, his expert touch bringing her to the edge of release where she keened and begged and arched for more of it. More of him.
He obliged, pressing one finger, then another, deep inside her sheath as he continued to lick her. She jerked, the orgasm hitting suddenly. As she flew over the wild edge into sweet oblivion, he pushed to his feet, and then his cock was inside of her with one smooth stroke.
Unlike last time, there was no pain, no shock of invasion. There was only him, there was only her, there was only the increased tremors of her sex as he began to take her hard and fast. It was rough, and she clung to the edge of the bed as the pleasure he’d begun with his mouth didn’t subside, but ratcheted up a notch. She screamed out his name, cried out until her throat hurt.
When she did, he shouted along with her, catching the complicated knot of her hair and tugging to arch her back. Flowers fell from her locks, cascading across the bed as he poured himself into her with long, hard thrusts. Only then did they collapse together against the bed. His warm chest curled around her back, his cock was still buried to the hilt inside of her. And it felt perfect. It felt like home.
A home she never wanted to leave. Which made this passion between them all the more dangerous.
