He smiled. “Ah. Then let’s do that, shall we?”
Clare stilled her hips, eyes dark with desire and trust.
And that trust—that was what undid him.
He had spent his entire life indulging in pleasure with women who knew the game, who played by the same rules, who never expected more than what he was willing to give.
But Clare—she wasn’t just a conquest, wasn’t just another night to be forgotten.
She was a risk.
A dangerous, beautiful risk.
And God help him, he was willing to take it.
“Keep your hands here,” he instructed, releasing her wrists and dropping to his knees before her.
She gasped softly, tipping forward slightly, her fingers splaying backwards against the wall, wrists bent to steady herself.
He pushed up her skirts, his hands bracing her thighs, parting them just enough to claim her completely. She was beautiful, all pink and hot and wet and wanting. He breathed in her maddening scent, his cock so hard it hurt.
And then—he tasted her.
The first stroke of his tongue sent a violent tremor through her, her thighs quivering as she gasped, whimpered, struggled to stay silent.
He didn’t stop.
He licked and teased, his fingers sliding inside her in a slow, relentless rhythm.
She bucked against him, and he held her down, a rough hand gripping her hip, keeping her steady as he brought her higher and higher, watching the pleasure break across her face.
When she shattered, she didn’t stay silent.
She cried out, her fingernails digging into the wall, her body writhing beneath his lips as he devoured every last tremor of her release.
Ash finally stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He arched a brow. “You weren’t quiet.”
Clare panted, her face flushed, her body still trembling. “I know,” she breathed. Then—gathering herself, regaining her control—she lifted her chin and met his gaze. “What are you going to do about it?” she murmured, eyes dark and daring. “Punish me?”
Christ.
Ash’s control snapped all over again.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Clare barely had time to catch her breath before Ash surged forward, pressing her back against the wall again, his body caging hers in. His hands gripped her waist, firm and unyielding, holding her exactly where he wanted her. The wicked gleam in his storm-gray eyes sent a shiver through her—anticipation, thrill, and something far darker.
“You asked me what I was going to do about your little disobedience.” His voice was a low, deliberate rasp, sending heat curling through her belly. He reached up, sliding his fingers along her throat, his thumb resting against her pulse point. It thundered under his touch, betraying her excitement.
“I should leave you aching for it,” he mused, tilting his head as if considering. “Make you beg.”
Clare swallowed hard, but she refused to look away. “You could,” she admitted, lips lifting into a wicked smile. “But we both know you won’t.”
His eyes darkened, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. “You’re right,” he murmured, brushing his mouth over her jaw, teasing her with the barest graze of his lips. “I want to hear you beg, but not because I make you. I want you to lose yourself so completely that you can’t help but fall apart for me.”
She exhaled sharply as he gripped the fabric of her gown, gathering the skirts in his hands before lifting her off the floor in one swift motion. She gasped, instinctively wrapping her legs around his waist. His strength, his sheer control, sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through her.
“Ash—”
