She’s making it damn difficult to stay a gentleman, looking the way she is with those sad, pathetic eyes. All I want is to bend her over the bed and give her a good spanking with my belt until she’s spitting fire like she always does with me.
But tonight is different.
So, I slip my thumb beneath her chin and bring her eyes to mine. “Do I need to, Briella?”
She doesn’t squirm or try to escape when I wrap a hand around her back and bunch up the wool, my fingers skirting her panty-clad, pretty ass.
“It’s not like I can run.”
Those eyes narrow. Aye, there’s the revulsion.
When she shivers again, I sweep the sweater off before she can protest. Fuck, her curves just don’t stop. Bit o’ plumpness in her belly, which I love. Goes well with those birthing hips. Perfect for pushing out a mini Rory.
I don’t carry her to the bed.
Instead, I take her to the floor with me, facing the fireplace. Big ol’ black wool blanket under us. “What are you?—”
“Shh,” I cut her off and part my legs, pulling her closer until her soft back is against my ruddy chest. Fuckfuckfuck! She smells so damn good. Like cinnamon and vanilla. Her skin glows like a star in the firelight. “Getting ye warm first.”
“You don’t have t?—”
“For feck’s sake, Briella,” I sharpen my tone, muscles flexing, but when she stiffens, I heave a sigh. “Stop pushing me away for once. Let me take care of my woman just like ye let all the others. I’m trying goddamn hard here.”
The tension doesn’t leave her shoulders, but she softens against me. I take the inch—and move a mile when I unclasp her bra and let it drop, spilling those gorgeous breasts with their rosy tips. My prick twitches against her arse. She flinches.
I leave her underwear on for the moment. Just keep her here, one arm around her waist, rubbing the soft undersides of her breasts, and my other hand reaching up for her curls.
“Hasn’t faded all this time.” I pull the bun free until her purple-brown hair cascades all around me.
“It won’t.”
I breathe her in. “No bottle and weave.”
She shakes her head.
Fuck, she’s a wonder.
Love how the flames play shadows on her skin. Love how she fits in my arms. Never thought I’d get this pussy-licked over a woman. But soon enough, I’m rubbing more warmth into her arms, sinking my fingers into her hair to stroke her scalp. Then, I slip one finger beneath the lace of her panties, dragging them down. Black lace on pale pink skin, golden hue in the soft firelight around us. She doesn’t fight me?—
—until my knuckles brush the puckered scar, angry and pink.
“Godfuck!” she hisses and swings her arm back. I catch it before it can strike my jaw. But I keep her in the same position.
“Stop.” I bare my teeth in a silent snarl.
Her eyes burn. “You’re not Raphael.”
“Fuck, no. You don’t punish him like ye do me.”
She glares. “Ipunishyou? Fuck you.”
“Ha, there it is.” I stab a finger right at her face. “Stuck up pride. And rage. Hanging onto them so they’re the only things you feel with me. Like wearing a she-demon skin when I know there’s an angel under all thatred. Would it kill ye to take it off with me now and then?”
She furrows her brows. “Why should I?”
I cup her jaw, feeling her cheeks heat more and the subtle trembling of her bottom lip. “Be my angel tonight, Briella, and I’ll show ye how a devil worships on his knees.”
I wait one heartbeat, one bloody heartbeat. She doesn’t flinch. But she swallows hard and…fuck, a tear rolls down her cheek. So, I take her mouth. Bloody hell, she tastes like the Winter Solstice—like frost and fire, spice and wild pine, sweet enough to burn straight through a man’s soul. Blood is goddamn roaring to my cock.
