Her silent plea seemed to break him, and something dark and intent settled into his expression. Releasing a hushed sigh, he rose just enough to kiss her again, measured this time, deeper, as though he meant to make her feel the consequence of every inch she’d crossed to bring them here.
Her world narrowed to minute details.
The armchair’s rough brocade grazing her skin. The softness of his hair about her fingers, the muscles of his jaw flexing beneath her palm. His caress, unhurried, tracing the hard line of her knee, working higher in tender, carefully calculated degrees.
Her skirt settled in a glossy fold at her waist, he paused as he reached her garter, the crimson silk in startling contrast to her pale skin. Leaning closer, he tilted his head, reading the phrase she’d stitched there. His breath skimmed her thigh as he murmured, softly amused, “Quelle tentation dangereuse.”
A dangerous temptation.
His gaze was fever-bright. “Was this meant for me, sprite?” he asked before pressing a kiss there. “If so, I agree, youare.”
The tick of the mantel clock seemed to falter. Raindrops drummed sharply against the windowpanes. She was lost in the spectacle, reason dimming. His calloused fingertips traced a knowing path along her inner thigh, his tongue, his teeth branding her. Soothing, arousing, tempting. One wicked cycleafter another, repeated as he closed in, finally parting the folds of her drawers to tease her slit with a gentle stroke.
“It took years of trying, but you’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, voice clipped, hoarse.
She moaned and arched her back, eyes closing at the sight of him kneeling before her. His dark hair was disheveled from sensual combat, cheeks flushed, trousers tented with the intensity of his arousal.
She wanted this. Wantedhim.
But it was the most erotic act of her young life, her imagination having undersupplied reality, and she wasn’t sure how to manage it.
Trembling, her thighs clenched, her fingers tightening around the chair’s arms.
“Don’t,” he whispered, his breath teasing her skin. “Close your eyes, if you like, but don’t hide from this. If it’s good, passion isn’t refined. It isn’t even pretty. It’s raw, impure, the least delicate thing imaginable. Only a select few have what it takes, together, to make magic.”
She sighed in hushed reply as his finger skimmed her entrance, then pushed slowly, languidly, inside her. His stubbled jaw scraped her skin as he dipped his lips into the crease of her thigh. “I’m as caught in this web as you, Madam Mischief. You’re doing nothing alone. My heart is racing with the need to consume you, my cock begging for release. My body is yours for the taking, should we find a way in the future to allow my fantasies to exist. For now, this has to be enough.”
His words ceased then, or Isabella was beyond hearing them. There was only the creak of the aging residence, the distant urban pulse beyond the windows, and the rage of a storm pressing close. Between it all, two newfound lovers felt their way forward in a world that had never been gentle with either of them.
Frantic, her hand curved around the back of his neck,fingers weaving through the thick locks as he toyed with her, lips tarrying near her sex, his finger stroking her into delirium. Her breathing fractured, shallow and unsteady, her body responding before thought could intervene. A subtle tension rippled through her, an instinctive lift toward his touch, as though every nerve leaned in the same direction. Heat gathered, a heavy, pulsing awareness that made it difficult to remain still beneath the onslaught.
When she began urging him with soft sighs and a lift of her hips, he growled and nipped her skin, his voice rough with need. “I must be mad,” he murmured, low and fervent. “On my knees, undone by your scent, your beauty,everythingabout you wrecking my good judgment.”
His mouth curved against her, not in hesitation but in determination. “And still,” he said, resolve sharpening every word, “you’re not leaving this place without knowing how fucking wonderful this can be, to lie in bed every night dreaming about the rest. There’s so much more. Maybe you’ll figure out a way to make me show you.”
“Show me now,” she whispered, her breath breaking as his thumb covered her and circled. Pleasure burst low in her belly, impossible to steady. Reason scattered until nothing remained but sensation and the sharp nearness of bliss.
He stilled in a studied pause. Isabella opened her eyes and met his gaze, and in that quiet space, something settled.
He’d decided.
“Now it is, then,” Ever whispered, sliding his arm around her waist and drawing her forward in the chair.
The ambush left her blind, gasping, stripped of reason. He used every skill to storm her senses. His mouth covered her, his fingers driving deeper, the low hum of his moans vibrating through her. Wicked intent—soft gusts blown against her sensitive folds, a tactic she would later recognize as entirely deliberate.
In the end, a single moment of his focus was enough to undo her.
Pleasure crested, hard and sudden, undoing her in a rush that stole her breath. Moans slipped free, unbidden, as the world narrowed and then vanished altogether, leaving only the dazed uproar moving through her. Time dissolved. So did she; nothing remained but the dizzying surrender of being carried somewhere life-altering.
And through it all, he tormented her with purpose, withholding mercy.
When pleasure finally loosened its grip, she sagged bonelessly against the chair, awareness returning in fragments, every nerve still singing with aftershock. “Stop,” she murmured, the word barely formed. She nudged his shoulder, weakly trying to push him away. “I’m dying.”
“This is the closest to alive you’ve ever known,” he argued, then laughed as he lifted her from the chair into his arms. Her skin was slick, her breathing hurried, her gown wrinkled beyond repair. An intoxicating, unfamiliar scent lingered in the air.
She’d never been so recklessly exposed.
He kissed her, his own breathing staggered, and she tasted herself on his lips with a mix of awe and disquiet. The intimacy remained longer than the kiss, leaving questions she didn’t know how to ask pressing close.
