Page 118 of Marrying the Savage

I kiss her again, one hand braced beside her head, the other sliding over her waist, her hip, the bare curve of her thigh where the dress has gathered. She arches under my touch, impatient already, and the sight is almost enough to finish me.

“You are overdressed,” she says against my mouth.

I lift my head and sit back long enough to strip off my shirt. Her eyes drop immediately to my chest, to the scars, to the bandage on my arm, to the hard line of my stomach.

She swallows. I see it.

“I thought you were going to make a comment,” I say.

“I’m deciding between several.”

“Choose carefully.”

“I was going to ask if every scar comes with a brooding explanation.”

“No.”

“Good. I’m not emotionally prepared for all that.”

I catch her ankle and drag her closer. She gasps, laughter breaking into heat. Then my hand slides under the dress again and the laughter disappears.

Her thighs part for me. I push them wider with my knee and settle between them, my mouth lowering to her throat. She smells like soap and warm skin and my house. The thought pleases me more than it should.

My hand moves higher beneath the silk, over the softness of her inner thigh.

She’s already wet. So wet that when my fingers reach the thin fabric of her underwear, I feel it immediately. I press my thumb against her clit through the damp material, and her breath breaks.

“Still going to insult me?” I ask.

“Yes.”

I rub her clit slowly. Her fingers grip the sheet.

“No,” she whispers.

I smile against her neck. “That’s what I thought.”

“You are so full of yourself.”

“And you are soaked.”

She turns her face away, but not before I see the flush that burns across her cheeks.

I hook my fingers into her underwear and pull it down her legs. She lifts her hips for me, then looks irritated with herself for doing it so quickly.

Beautiful.

I toss the fabric aside and return my hand between her thighs, touching her bare this time. She’s hot and slick against my fingers, her clit swollen, her body already trembling because it remembers what I did in the study.

I circle her slowly. Too slowly.

She exhales hard through her nose. “Damir.”

“Yes?”

“You know what you’re doing.”

“I do.”