“Me,” he repeated, finding the second pair of tapes on her gown and undoing those as well before he pressed another kiss over her rapidly beating pulse. “You?”
He flicked his tongue over her skin.
She gasped, her head falling backward to rest upon his chest. Dom took this as surrender and nuzzled her silken cheek. A stinging rush of an emotion he refused to countenance rose within him like a tide.
Surely not tenderness.
Nor affection.
Nay. This was a woman he scarcely knew, and he was a man who took what he wanted without compunction. They had settled upon a bargain, and he was collecting his due.
That was all.
“I cannot remain here all evening,” she told him. “We had best…proceed.”
Not what he wanted to hear.
He dragged his lips from her throat. “Yes, you can. And you will. Our bargain is clear, angel. You are mine for the night.”
And he intended to prove it to her.
Again and again.
He rubbed the coarseness of his whiskers over her throat, hoping to hell he would mark her flesh. That by morning, she would see the evidence all over her body of what she had done and who had brought her pleasure. That her protector would see it as well, whether or not the bastard had sanctioned this visit.
Hades.He would not think of Sundenbury now.
“Surely this—our bargain—will not require all evening,” she protested, turning her head toward him, her gaze searching, as her body rested, compliant and so tempting, against his.
He smiled at her. “Sweet angel. Who do you think you have come to, begging for your protector’s safety? I am not a cosseted lord. Everything you see around you, I have earned through blood and determination.”
In other words, he wasn’t a damned thing like the coves she was accustomed to. He was going to take what he wanted tonight, and she was going to give it to him. Not because he forced her into it—he had committed many sins in his life, but he would never bed a woman against her will. No, indeed. It would be because by the time he was through with her, she would be so desperate for him, she would be begging.
She would forget she had ever lain with a foppish lord.
He vowed it.
She stared at him now, her beautiful face a cipher. “I know who you are, Dominic Winter.”
“You know my name, of course.” His smile deepened into a grin. “How amusing you are, love. Everyone knows who I am.”
Mayhap noteveryone.
But the East End and a great deal of the West—the fancy coves like her protector—knew who he was as well. Because they gamed in his clubs, they drank his liquor, they fucked his lightskirts, and they were robbed by his street urchins. He owned everyone in this part of London. By design and by force.
He spun her around to face him then.Floating hell, she was pretty. Desirable. Delicate and ethereal and gorgeous and everything he could never have beyond the time he would have her this evening.Sod it, when had he ever been jealous of a cove? Never. Not once before now. He coveted this woman. He hated Sundenbury for having this precious gem as his own.
Dom had to have her mouth once more. He lowered his head and took it, this time controlling the meeting of their lips. He caressed up her spine, abandoning the loosened tapes at her waist, not stopping until he had her nape beneath his palm and his fingers sank into her coiffure. He tilted her head, angling her so he could deepen the kiss.
Her arms twined around his neck. Her soft breasts crushed against his chest. She made a purring sound in her throat. He kissed her and kissed her, until they were both breathless. Until his lips tingled from the divine sensation of hers beneath his.
He knew then that he was going to do everything in his power to keep her. One night would never be enough. He did not give a goddamn how much it cost him, the ramifications for his plans. He would buy her fancy gowns and a fine house and worship her body every night.
All this pent-up need, all this soul-starving lust, and he had yet to remove her gown. He had not even seen the cream and pink of one bubby. Somehow, that did not matter. Nothing did matter but the angel turning to fire in his arms.
He told himself she was paid to drive men to distraction. That she was well-versed in the art of seduction. That nothing between them was real. Likely even the sweet sounds of her pleasure were feigned.
But they did not sound feigned. They sounded real. And they made his prick twitch. It was time to diminish the layers keeping him from what he wanted. He ended the kiss, cursing himself for his reaction to her. He was more breathless than a randy lad about to touch his first cunny.
