Page 90 of A Rogue at Stonecliffe

Annabeth moved restlessly beneath his touch, whispering his name. His fingers moved in and out, caressing, pressing, and he could see the tension gathering in her body, building with each touch. “Sloane...” His name was a groan now, urgent and demanding.

He was rock hard, his own need aching for release. He wanted to be in her, thrusting hard and deep, but he fiercely pushed it back. First, he would have the pleasure of watching desire shatter her beneath his touch.

She let out a cry, arching up against his hand, her body taut, and then she went limp and looked up at him with eyes so full of heat and fulfillment that it took all his discipline not to explode right there.

Annabeth’s smile was slow and provocative as she reached out and took his arm. “Come here.” She pulled him down onto the bed with her. She pushed him over onto his back, and he went without resistance, his insides humming with anticipation. She swung her leg over him, straddling him. “Now it’s my turn.”

She gave Sloane a wicked smile that sent heat streaking through him. She ran her hands over his arms and chest, trailing with excruciating softness over every inch of skin. He knew she could feel his hardness pressing against her, prodding at that most sensitive flesh; he knew she realized what she did to him when she shifted position, sliding down to straddle his thighs; and that understanding multiplied his desire.

He loved that she teased him, that her tormenting was done to stoke up the fire within him. He loved that she wanted to touch him, that she enjoyed exploring him, eager to find every sensitive spot that made him leap with desire.

Sloane put his hands on her waist to pull her forward, but she swatted playfully at his arm. “Uh-uh. None of that. It’s my time, remember?”

“I remember.” His breathing turned even more ragged at the sensual look in her eyes.

“Then you be a good boy and keep your hands up there.” She took his wrists and pulled his arms above his head. “And I will do as I please.”

She bent and kissed him, long and slow and hard. Sloane curled his hands around the narrow metal bars of the headboard and held on. Annabeth’s lips moved from his own and found his earlobe, nibbling on it, then trailing down to the tender skin of his throat. Her mouth traced across his collarbone, then down his chest, kissing and tasting, and then she settled on his nipple and gently sucked until he groaned.

“Now,” he rasped. “I have to have you now.”

“Just a second. I want to do this.” Her tongue slipped down over his stomach till it reached his navel.

At that, Sloane let out a low growl and flipped Annabeth over onto her back. She laughed in delight as he positioned himself between her legs until her laughter ended in a little sighing moan as he pushed up into her.

He moved slowly at first; if this was his last night with his love, he wanted to draw out each second. But every sound and motion Annabeth made seemed designed to send his control spiraling out of reach. Sloane thought nothing could rival her soft hands barely grazing his skin, light as a feather in a way that made him shiver. That was until they turned harsh and demanding, the raking of fingernails down his back driving him forward until his entire being thrummed tautly. Finally his need was too great and he plunged in and out, hard and fast, the little noises of passion Annabeth made vaulting his desire even higher. He hung on to his last thread of restraint until he felt her tighten around him, her climax rippling through her. Then, at last, he found his own release, the supreme pleasure exploding within him, and he collapsed against her.

*

ANNABETH WOKE FROM a shallow sleep to see Sloane’s face above her. He lay beside her, propped on his elbow, and his finger gently traced the curve of her cheek. The lines of his face were soft, his eyes dark with emotion, and she knew in that moment that he loved her still. She smiled back at him, reaching up to lay her palm against his cheek.

“I love you,” she whispered.

His face hardened instantly, and he sat up, turning away from her. “Don’t say that.”

Annabeth frowned, the sweet peace and joy she had awakened with now draining away. “Why? It’s the truth. Sloane...” She laid her hand on his back, and he flinched as if her touch burned him. “What is the matter?” Pain pierced her. Had she been so wrong? “Did this not mean anything to you? Do you not feel as I do?”

“Anna, don’t...” His words were almost a groan. “Don’t make this any harder.”

“Make what harder?” She sat up. “Sloane, just tell me. Do you not love me?”

“Of course I love you.” He almost spat out the words.

“Then why are you acting this way? It’s not like it used to be. We can be together now.”

“We can’t.” He got out of bed and began to pull on his clothes, in rapid, jerky movements, all the while turned away from her. “You need to get dressed. We must return to your grandmother’s. It’s getting late. She’ll be suspicious.”

Annabeth felt suddenly very naked, and she reached for the underthings Sloane had tossed across the bottom of the bed, pulling them on as rapidly as he. “Grandmother is always suspicious. What does it matter? We’re adults now. I can marry whomever I wish.”

“We’re not getting married.” He went to the mirror of the washstand to tie on his neckcloth.

“Don’t tell me you’re still worried about our marriage being a scandal. That’s nonsense. I don’t care about the ton. I don’t care if I never go to another party or receive another call. And I’m certainly not going to make my life miserable just because Grandmother doesn’t want me to marry you. Trust me, she can handle idle gossip—she is positive that anything said against her is just jealousy.”

He fumbled with his tie, and he let out a curse, yanking the long strand of cloth from his neck. He swung around to face her finally. “We can’t just will away our past. We can’t simply toss out the hurt and the sorrow. It will always be with us. Every time we’re together, we cause each other more pain.”

Annabeth took a breath and forced calm into her voice. “I wasn’t right the other day. I spoke in haste and anger. I hated what my father had done, and I blamed you. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t you who caused me the pain and sorrow. It was Papa. It is life that causes the pain, and love is what heals the wounds.”

“It was desire that brought us here, not love.”