“No,” she whimpered.
“Yes, you are.” He held her and nuzzled his lips into her hair. “What’s happened?”
“Michel.” She did not turn but continued to speak to him. “Are you sincere when you say you will take me to France? Do you still have any designs to get rid of me?”
Michel laughed. “How can you ask me that?”
“Or is it sex?” she asked. “Am I here because you like to have sex with me?”
At the mention, his body became immediately ready. “Sex with you clouds my brain,” he murmured, his hands already roaming. He loved the way the night shift slid over her skin as he touched her.
Eve groaned as she pressed back into him. “Is this all you want?” she asked, now breathless.
Suddenly, Michel understood that Eve wasn’t so much worried about his plans but more worried about his feelings. He grinned. She must have noticed the change in his demeanor because now she turned to look at him with anger in her expression. “Why do you smile? Do you think I am joking?”
He held himself around her. “Do you not know my feelings for you by now?”
“You have never told me much about your feelings.” She turned away again with a huff. But her body stayed soft in his arms.
He moved his hands and pulled at the fabric of her shift, bringing it over her head, leaving just her drawers to cover her lower half. “How could you not know?” he said softly, his hands running across her bare breasts and back down over her body. “You know basically everything else about me.” He tangled his fingers in her undergarment. “Listen to me now,” he insisted, “and I will try to tell you how I feel about you.” He kissed a trail down her spine and then reached to tilt her chin toward the window. “Do you see the stars outside?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her breath catching as she as he began to move against her. She directed her gaze toward the stars.
“I’m jealous of the stars, Eve,” he said. “I’m jealous they get to watch you while I’m asleep.” He pressed himself against her bottom and kissed the back of her neck. His hand came up her front, and he took her breast against his palm. He heard a breath escape her lips.
“What else?” she asked.
He smiled, enjoying her reactions. “Do you feel the warmth from the fire?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I’m jealous that it can touch your skin even when you are across the room,” he rasped, against her ear.
“More things,” she said. “Tell me more.”
“Hmmm,” he said, thinking, pressing himself into her, dizzy with her. “I’m jealous of every smile you’ve given to anyone else. Every laugh you’ve ever had that wasn’t my doing.” He leaned back, suddenly frenzied, his hands gripping at her undergarment. “That this fabric is touching you where I want to be touching you,” he growled. He couldn’t get it off fast enough. “Help me get this off.”
“Yes.” She pushed them down and leaned back into him, groaning as she did.
There it was, the absolute panic to take her, to get inside of her. He ran his hands up her legs, over her ass, across her torso, her breasts, her hair, and her throat. He wanted to touch her everywhere, all at once. He lifted one of her legs, resting her knee up on the table, spreading her open. He had to have her.
Eve, up on her toes, caught herself. She gasped his name and reached back for him. Michel held her while he situated himself, and in a moment, he penetrated deep into her. He clenched his jaw at the pleasure of it, the heat inside her body, the connection between them, the tension holding them together. It was an out-of-control torrent that took him over like an avalanche each time he was close to her.
He thrust inside, feeling her wetness coat him, and he did it again. He knew her body well enough by now to know if he held himself inside her too long, she would orgasm immediately. Sometimes he would let her. Sometimes he wouldn’t. Now he wouldn’t, he thought, fingers digging into her hips. He wanted to control her body and her pleasure. He wanted to make her say she was his.
Eve cried out as he set an aggressive pace, causing the table to drag loudly as he drove into her. Michel held her, one hand digging into her hip to hold her in place, and the other wrapped around her torso to keep her skin against his. He kissed the back of her neck and buried his face in her hair. Even inside her, he never, never, could get enough.
Eve hadn’t been crying because she worried about his desire, Michel knew. He had wanted to ask her this when he had risen to the honor of his position, when he had gotten her home to Chevalerie and safe, when he had a chance to fix everything that had fallen apart. Not when he was recovering and deserted, having bungled every deal he had attempted. He felt the words. He couldn’t hold them back any longer. His strain for her wouldn’t let him. He stood tall and held her hips, changing his angle and quickening his pace, a sudden rush of emotion causing his head to swim.
“Marry me, Siren.” He said it as a command, but he’d plead if he had to.
He felt the surprise stiffen her body. He thrust roughly, nearly lifting her off the floor, turning her into liquid once more. He leaned forward, running his hand over her hip and down between her legs, his fingers parting her skin as he stroked her there. He spoke in her ear, “Say yes.”
Eve whimpered and stuttered a moment. She struggled to steady herself, even though he held her solidly. She arched into him, her head back, gasping his name.
“Say yes,” he repeated. He used firm pressure with his fingers between her legs while he beat into her from the back.
“Yes,” she gasped, her hands gripping the edges of the table.
