Page 26 of Sinful Bride

His fingers trail lower, skimming over the silk covering my breast. My nipple hardens instantly, and I hate my body for betraying me. Hate that I can feel heat building between my thighs, that my breathing is getting faster, that some traitorous part of me wants him to keep touching me.

"Declan—"

"Shh." His thumb brushes over my nipple through the silk, and I gasp. "I'm going to touch you. I'm going to make you feel things you don't want to feel. I'm going to get you so worked up, so desperate, that you forget all about duty and obligation and doing what's expected."

His hand slides down my side, over my hip, gathering the silk of my nightgown in his fist. He pulls it up slowly, exposing my thigh, then my hip, the white lace panties I'm wearing underneath.

"And then," he continues, his voice rough and dark and full of promise, "I'm going to leave you here. Wanting. Aching. Desperate for something you're too proud to ask for."

"You can't⁠—"

"Yes, I can." His hand slides between my thighs, and even through the lace, I can feel the heat of his palm. "And I will. Because when I finally fuck you, Elena, it's not going to be because it's expected. It's not going to be because it's my right or your duty."

He presses his palm against me, and I can't stop the small sound that escapes my throat. I can't stop my hips from shifting toward his touch.

"It's going to be because you're begging me for it." His fingers stroke over the lace, finding the damp heat there, and his smile is dark and satisfied. "Because you want it so badly you can't think straight. Because you've finally admitted that you want me just as much as I want you."

"I don't—" But the protest dies on my lips as he presses harder, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles over the lace that make my breath catch and my thighs tremble.

"Liar." He leans in, his lips brushing my jaw, then my throat, up to the sensitive spot just below my ear. "Your body doesn't lie, wife. I can feel how wet you are even on the other side of these pretty little panties. How much you want this."

His fingers slip under the edge of my panties, and I gasp as he touches bare skin. His fingers brush against me where I'm slick and hot and aching already, despite every wall I've tried to build. His mouth, his voice, deepening and thickening with every word, the heat of his breath, how close his muscled body is⁠—

No man has ever been so close to me, so forward, so arrogant, touched me or spoken to me this way. And without my permission, it is devastating me already.

"Declan—" His name comes out breathless, nothing like the cold, controlled tone I've been using all day.

"That's better." His voice rumbles into the hint of a groan as he strokes me slowly, his fingers sliding through my wetness, circling but never quite touching where I need him most. "I want to hear you say my name like that. Like you need me. Like you're desperate for me."

I bite my lip, trying to hold back the sounds threatening to escape. Trying to maintain some shred of dignity, some piece of control.

But he's relentless. His fingers move with maddening firmness, building the need until I'm trembling, my hands fisting in the silk sheets, my hips moving against his hand without my permission.

"Please—" The word slips out before I can stop it.

"Please what?" His thumb finds my clit, and I can’t bite back the moan that slips out. "Please stop? Please keep going? Please fuck you?"

"I—" I can't think. Can't form words. I can only feel the pleasure building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in my core.

"Not yet." His fingers slide inside me, just the barest bit, and I arch against him, my body desperate for more. "Not until you're begging."

His fingers curl inside me, his thumb circling my clit, his other hand sliding up to cup my breast through the silk. Every touch is calculated to drive me higher, to push me closer to the edge without letting me fall over. I'm panting now, my skin flushed and damp with sweat, my body wound so tight I think I might shatter. I can feel my orgasm building, so close, just out of reach⁠—

And then he stops.

His hands leave my body, and I make a sound that's half protest, half sob.

Declan steps back, and when I force my eyes open, he's watching me with lustful satisfaction. His breathing is rough, his pupils dilated, and I can see the evidence of his arousal straining against his pants. He lifts his fingers slowly to his mouth, and I see him draw in a breath as he tastes me on his hand.

Like an animal. Like a beast. I try to form the accusation, but I can’t. I’m struggling to draw a full breath.

But he doesn't touch me again.

"What—" I can barely speak. "Why did you⁠—"

"I told you." He adjusts himself, his jaw tight with restraint. "When I fuck you, it'll be because you're begging for it. Not before."

"You can't just⁠—"