“Perhaps that’s the plan.”
He held her tight against him, searching her face for the slightest hesitation. “You’ve no idea what you’re inviting.”
“I believe I do.”
“You want me inside you?”
Her breath hitched. “I’ve always dreamed of living dangerously.”
Dominic swore under his breath and lifted her clean off the floor. “Then you’ll have no cause for complaint.”
She gasped as her back met the mattress, her skirts tangling around her thighs as he came down over her.
God help him.
It took strength not to undo his trousers and part her legs. He strained against the wool, the call to take her pounding through his veins.
She kissed him, their mouths meeting in a heated clash of lips and tongues, her hands moving over his shoulders, into his hair, down the warm line of his neck.
Dominic groaned against her mouth. The slow rock of her hips ground the last of his restraint to dust. He had told himself he could remain distant even in this. That discipline was its own armour. She had made it impossible. Waiting was no longer an option. Every inch of him burned. He had to touch her.
He bunched the fabric in his fists and hiked her skirts, his palm settling on the silk of her stockings, a delicate barrier beneath his rough hands, but he didn’t pause at theribbons. His fingers moved higher, finding the slick heat he craved.
Saints’ teeth.
Daphne gasped, her body arching into his touch, just as she had in the garden, when she came apart beneath the stars.
“Have you touched yourself and thought of me?”
He kissed her before she could answer, his tongue stroking deep, matching the slow circles his fingers traced beneath her skirts.
“You’re never far from my thoughts, Dominic.”
“You’ll need a fan when you think of me tonight.”
He stepped back from the bed and looked at her. Her dark hair lay loose across the pillow, her lips flushed from his kisses, her skirts tangled around her thighs.
He had never wanted anyone the way he wanted her.
He swore softly and shrugged out of his coat, letting it fall. His waistcoat and cravat followed. Then he dragged his shirt over his head and tossed it aside.
She watched him, mouth parted, swallowing hard as her gaze drifted over the dark hair on his chest and the hard lines of muscle beneath it. Then it rested on the chain around his neck.
“The ring was my mother’s,” he said, answering her silent question as he set it on the nightstand. He couldn’t dwell on it, not when every breath he took tasted of her. “Where were we?”
“You wanted to do something wicked. I know that look.”
“You had scones and jam. I crave something sweeter.” He caught her ankle and slid off her boot.
“What’s sweeter than strawberry jam?”
“You, angel.” He tugged off her other boot and dropped it to the floor, never taking his eyes from her. “Bend your knees if you’re curious.”
She did, her breath catching as he shifted lower on the bed.
His heart hammered as he settled between her legs. “Still curious?”
“Desperately so. But you know that.”
