Chapter Eight
Percy bunched hernightgown in his fists and lifted the fabric until smooth skin met his palms. He shouldn’t touch her, shouldn’t breathe the same air for the risk of harming her.
But that look on her face had unmanned him. Trading insults like a luscious pirate, he’d mistaken her strength and composure for coldness because he couldn’t entertain the idea she was not as frenzied in his presence as he was in hers.
Lady Daniella was not unfeeling or a seductress. She was beautiful and fierce, and Percy knew without asking she’d never encouraged a single man in her life, except one.
“I won’t say a word if you kiss me.”
He was a bloody arse. Gritty and with the same manners as that of livestock. If he had any decency left in his wretched soul, he’d walk away, leave her in her tidy room with nothing out of place save a few letters on her bedside table.
But his soul had been blackened years ago, before he’d even had a mind to wish it kept pure. He was rough and tasteless, but above all, he was selfish.
“Open for me,” he demanded against her lips.
Her lovely legs spread wide and encircled his waist, not what he’d wanted, but perfection all the same. Tongue teasing the seam of her lips, her mouth opened next, and Percy felt he’d found heaven.
He pressed himself against her, feeling every inch of heat through the thin fabric.
She stiffened in his arms and asked, “What is that?”
Percy looked down at where their bodies met, realizing one of his knives had shifted inside the inner pocket. Holding her against him with one arm, he extracted the blade, watching her eyes track the flash of metal.
Her tongue licked her bottom lip, and her breathing went ragged.
Something close to reverence bubbled up in the dark hole where Percy’s heart should’ve been. What perfection this woman was, to be aroused by something so hard and dangerous. Only a divine creature could love such things.
“Would you like to touch it?” he asked, careful to offer his weapon handle first.
She shook her head, but her focus didn’t shift.
His blood roared in his ears. “Shall I do it instead?”
Her gaze shot to his, her pupils large and black. Her little teeth nibbled at her lip, unsure. “It wouldn’t be—”
“Please don’t say it wouldn’t be right,” Percy said, the blood in his veins pumping hot. “I’d give up all ten fingers to watch you take pleasure.”
Her lips parted, her fingers bunched in his coat. “Yes,” she said.
He didn’t ask a second time.
Laying her on the rug by the dying fire, he caught the light on his blade and watched her body shudder in anticipation.
Sinking to his knees, he nudged open her thighs and used an arm to steady himself over her.
“Where shall I start, my lady?”
He rested the knife against her cheek, loving the moan that escaped her lips. Lifting the blade away, he moved it to the edge of her nightgown, where it had come untied at the base of herthroat. “Here, perhaps?” He moved the blade away again. “No, not there.”
“Please,” she begged.
The sound was silk against his groin. A small and most unwelcome inner voice told him he was taking this game too far.
He didn’t listen.
“I know.” He caught the edge of her gown with the knife’s tip and neatly cut the fabric away, leaving her exposed to the hips and giving him the most sensual view of her wet folds.
He swallowed and pressed the flat of the blade to her inner thigh.
