Page 34 of Claiming His Christmas Angel

“So, passion is something you want in a marriage as well?” His body tightened as he waited for her to answer his question.

“Well, it…I know…if one, it…I would think that even for procreation there would be some emotion involved.” Her cheeks became rosy with color, and Atticus felt the stirrings of desire surging through his limbs.

“I believe you’re referring to pleasure.”

“Whatever you wish to call it, I’m sure it makes things…I…” Octavia blew out a harsh breath of embarrassment and frustration. “Oh for heaven’s sake, I don’t know why we’re even discussing any of this, as it’s a moot point given my decision not to marry.”

“I see. But since you were the one to bring up the topic, perhaps you were remembering our kiss this morning.” Atticus narrowed his eyes as he studied her, and she averted her gaze. What the devil was going through that sharp mind of hers? Clearing his throat, he arched his eyebrows. “Did you enjoy me kissing you, Octavia?”

The moment he asked the question, Octavia jumped, and she met his gaze with a look of appalled amazement. Amused by her reaction, Atticus saw something flare in her gray eyes that made him believe she’d enjoyed their kiss a great deal. When she didn’t answer, he smiled, unable to resist teasing her.

“Well, Octavia, did you enjoy my kissing you?”

“I don’t recall objecting or displaying disgust,” she said haughtily. There was a slight tremor in her brisk reply, and the sound sent elation charging through Atticus. She was avoiding answering the question. Determined to know the extent of Octavia’s reaction to his kiss, he pushed a bit harder to confirm his suspicions.

“So, you’re saying you found our kiss pleasurable?”

“It was quite pleasant,” she replied. Unprepared for her tepid response, Atticus stared at her, dumbfounded. Had the woman just said she found his kiss to be pleasant?

“Pleasant?” he growled.

“Quite.”

The perfunctory note in her voice made Atticus mutter an oath beneath his breath. Fingers drumming a fast rhythm on the tablecloth, he glared at her. So, she thought his kiss was pleasant, and nothing more? Appearing unaffected by his fierce look, Octavia stood up and calmly began collecting their plates and flatware. Irritated by her nonchalant response and actions, Atticus was ready to set her on the dining room table and kiss her until she was whimpering with need. Then the woman would understand what pleasure was.

But right now, he was going to teach her the difference between pleasant and arousing. In a flash of movement, Atticus was on his feet. Fuming with indignation, he pulled the dishes out of her hands and set them down on the table in a careless gesture. The clatter of silverware on china made Octavia utter a noise of aggravation.

“I appear to be out of practice when it comes to leaving a woman breathless,” he snapped.

“Oh, you are most definitely not out of practice,” she bit out between clenched teeth. “I’m breathless with anger at your cavalier treatment of my china.”

“And you know damn good and well that’s not what I’m referring to, Octavia.”

Atticus pulled her into his arms and smiled as her eyes widened in surprise. The vein at the side of her neck fluttered, and he knew her heart was racing frantically. One arm holding her snug against him, he trailed his fingers across a silky cheek that was warm as she flushed beneath his caress.

“Which should I do first, Octavia?” he whispered as he bowed his head and pressed his lips against her ear. “Kiss you until you whimper with need, or shall I teach you how many ways there are to be kissed?”

At his question, she quivered against him. Raising his head, he stared down at her. Whether she realized it or not, her gray eyes had softened until her expression was sultry and inviting. Desire erupted inside him, and he bent his head to capture her mouth in a hard kiss. A small sigh of pleasure poured out of her, and it made his entire body grow hard.

Lost in the sweet, gingery taste of her, he explored the inner warmth of her mouth with a hunger that was growing with each passing second. He wanted to strip her bare, so he could explore every lush curve of her with his hands and mouth. Most of all, he wanted to hear her cry out his name as he brought her to a wild climax.

One hand cupping the nape of her neck, his tongue swirled around hers. To his delight, she responded with an eager abandon that made his blood run hot. She was warm and pliant in his arms, and the urgent need to explore her made him slide his hand up over her waist to the plump side of her breast.

The moment his hand cupped her, he ached to see her full breast spilling out of his hand before he teased her nipple with his mouth. As if aware of what he wanted, her arms encircled his neck, and she arched backward, giving him an intoxicating view of her full bosom. In that brief instant, Atticus realized how close he was to claiming her. With a jerk, he lifted his head.

His breathing ragged, Atticus struggled to contain the primal beast inside him, roaring to be unleashed. As he met her gaze, he saw desire in her gray eyes, and her breathing was as rapid as his own.

“Are you breathless now, Octavia?” he asked in a hoarse voice, his body demanding he follow through to the completion it wanted.

“I think we both are,” she choked out.

At her reply, Atticus shuddered, then released her. Deprived of her heat, he clenched his jaw, struggling not to take what his body was craving with such intensity. Swallowing hard, he began to clear the table. The tension between them was like fine silk pulled taut and threatening to rip at any moment. Octavia followed his example, and a moment later, she carried the dirty dishes to the large sink.

“You fixed dinner. I’ll do the dishes,” he bit out tersely.

The last thing he wanted was having her anywhere near him until he managed to rein in his desire. She didn’t argue, and with a sharp nod, she turned around and fled the kitchen. By the time he finished cleaning up, Atticus had his desire under control. He’d not heard Octavia climbing the stairs, so he made his way to the salon.

Uncertain as to the wisdom of his action, he didn’t change direction. He needed to find a way to apologize for his behavior. It didn’t matter how passionate her response to his kiss had been. Atticus wanted to earn her trust, and he was proving to be a miserable failure at the task. Actually, he’d been failing to do that since the night they’d met.