Instead she began to unfasten her gown. “I suppose we’ll find out in a moment, won’t we?” she asked.
His eyes went wide. “Far more than a moment, my dear. We really must raise your expectations.”
She laughed and her fingers fumbled against her buttons. She hadn’t anticipated this side of him, playful, teasing…but she liked it. Possibly too much.
Luckily he didn’t allow her any time to revel in it or explore it. He grabbed her elbow and tugged her against him. The playful lover was gone. The dark and dangerous one had returned, and she caught her breath just before his mouth found hers.
The kiss was knee-shaking. He’d kissed her before, of course. So many times in such a short period, and every time she’d been swept away. But this was different. This time when she kissed him, she no longer felt the wheels of his control holding them steady. He was no longer trying to protect her from his desires, from the ultimate end that would involve their bodies merged and their sweat combined as they writhed together.
His purpose was very clear and her knees went entirely weak, as if she were in some fairytale. But this wasn’t a prince with his arms around her. As he tugged her hips tight to his and ground the hard evidence of his desire against her, she realized she was with the beast. A thrill of fear fluttered in her stomach at that thought, but it didn’t make her want to pull away.
She liked it. All those dangerous things this man represented, all the desires he promised to stir with ruthless intent…she wanted it. She wanted him. She wanted it all now.
As if he sensed that, he pulled away from the kiss and stared down at her. His fingers wrapped around the edge of her gown, where she’d begun unfastening herself, and the fabric gaped. He held her stare and tugged, ripping the fabric, sending buttons flying.
“Oscar!” she gasped, half a laugh, half an accusation.
He tugged the fluttering fabric around her arms, twisting it just enough to trap her with it, but not enough to hurt. “I’ll have another made for you,” he whispered, his tone harsh in the quiet. “I’ll have twenty of them made so I can rip them all off one by one.”
She shivered at those words, at the utter disregard for propriety or expense or anything but what he wanted. He hesitated and his gaze softened. “Is it too much?”
She blinked up at him. “Why?”
“There is a strange expression on your face.”
She smiled at his concern, the thing that belied his animal dominance in an instant. “I was just analyzing how much I enjoy having my clothing ripped off, even though I liked that gown,” she admitted.
“Don’t analyze it,” he said, dropping his mouth into the crook where her neck and shoulder met and sucking hard enough that she gasped. “Just give in. Feel it. Enjoy it. You don’t have to do a damned thing, Imogen. Just let me give you pleasure.”
Her knees buckled, but she wasn’t certain if it was because he was doing magical things with his tongue against her skin, or because he offered her a respite from having to manage her entire life. When was the last time someone had taken care of her? When she hadn’t had a thousand duties or fears or obligations?
He was suggesting she could put it all down while in his bed. Suggesting she could be free of everything but sensation.
He reached around, and to her shock, swatted her backside. Hard enough to tingle, not hard enough to hurt through the fabric of her gown.
She jerked her face toward his and he arched a brow. “Stop thinking, Imogen,” he ordered.
For a moment they stood there, eyes locked, and then she couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, Mr. Fitzhugh.”
“Bloody hell,” he muttered beneath this breath. “Be careful with that, Imogen. I want to have a little control tonight.”
He didn’t allow her to respond, but tugged the rest of her torn dress away to flutter around her feet. The chemise beneath was short, just skimming her thighs, with thin straps and an extremely low neckline. She was practically naked now before this man.
And he was staring at her like she was a banquet to be savored. She swallowed hard under his stare. She’d been trained her entire life not to be too showy, that her nudity was a shame except in brief glimpses for a husband. She’d been fighting that as she tried to come to terms with a future as a mistress.
Right now she threw the entire concept out the bedroom window. When he looked at her, she wanted to arch her back. She wanted to let him see it all.
She trembled as she slipped the strap of the chemise off one shoulder. She watched him as she did it, watched his dark eyes dilate. Watched his hands clench at his sides. Heard his breath catch.
She tugged the chemise down, baring her breasts. Lowering it over her stomach. Shedding it at last and kicking it away.
She was naked. With this fully clothed man who looked at her like he could destroy her with a wave of his hand. That wasn’t wrong. She already knew he could make her shatter with a curl of his fingers or a flick of his tongue.
She wanted much more than that tonight.
“Great God,” he whispered, and reached out almost reverently. His fingertips traced her collarbone, crested down over her breast, fluttered against her stomach. His gaze darkened. “Get on the bed.”
She didn’t resist the order, just pushed herself onto the high mattress. She relaxed back on the pillows, watching as he divested himself of his clothing in what felt like lighting speed. She stared as each item fell away, revealing a little more of the man beneath the starched cravats and perfectly laid suits.
