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At that, his iron frame pressed her against the wall. “You will speak it before we are done here.”
Otilia had no condition of saying anything, much less his name. She just glared at him stubbornly mute.
He pressed harder, his tumescence imprinting on her belly. No country girl ignored the facts of life, and this fact of life was sizable, noticeable. Her dainty hands lifted to his bunched arms as his irregular breath fanned her cheeks. Clove essence and man were wreaking havoc yet again.
Their glares duelled for an interminable length of time.
To the devil with him. He commanded her to leave the country, and she had to abide. He commanded her to a new wardrobe, and she had to endure. To come to the theatre, and she did it. The rebel in her found this mere, minor moment to manifest itself. And it would not hold back. A snide smile projected on her lips and defiance in her eyes. “Are you sure, my lord?”
He growled, actually growled like a lion claiming his mate. His head lowered and that sinful mouth touched hers, his warm hands coming to her cheeks. No, not for a full kiss, he would not give her the satisfaction so fast. He licked the corner of her upper lip. Sparks of pure delight invaded her. Her lashes weighed down, and she would have fallen if she did not stand between the wall of brocade and the wall of him.
That bristled, clever mouth grazed hers to the other side, leaving agony in its wake. He nibbled the corner of her lower lip. The sigh she heard could not be hers, could it? It did not matter because the burning ache echoing through her entire being was unbearable.
His torture continued when he dragged his lips to the cushioned centre of her lower one, and sucked it inside the hot cavity of his.
Vermillion erupted on her feverish skin, waves and more waves assailed her from her bosom to that secret place she had not a name for, but made itself very…noteworthy.
It should be a wonder that she had not yet burst in roaring flames. “Please,” she implored. How on earth did she stoop to the point of pleading?
“Hm,” came his answer as he made it all worse by licking the portion he had in his mouth, sending her need sky-high. He would not give her what she was dying for if she did not give him what he demanded.
“I cannot…” It came inaudible, interrupted by his teeth nibbling on the delicacy.
Mindless of her, he took his time savouring her lip over and over, until she barely remembered her own name.
But when his tongue caressed the seam, she remembered his. “Edmund.” The word contained just the faintest of sounds as her resistance burst up in the air.
And then he rewarded her with a full-blown kiss. As he invaded her mouth open, coarse and unforgiving, her arms twined around his neck with a moan.
A
If anyone had ever told Edmund that simply kissing a woman would drive him to the verge of shaming himself, he would have laughed at the absurdity of it.
Yet, here he was. Hard, ready and desperate for Otilia. Her little rebellion drove him to insane arousal. The woman had no idea of the power she had over him. Clad as a fay, orange blossoms as her perfume, the finest skin made for worship, and the body of a nymph, she would bring any man to his knees.
But he was damned if he would stop savouring those excruciating lips, just not to shame himself. Curse it all; he was going to kiss this woman to the end of time. And to hell with the rest. He deepened the torture, tangling his tongue with hers, and groaning when she reciprocated. He angled his head to take her with a complete lack of finesse and exceeding starvation heedless of everything else.
One of his arms lowered to lace her narrow waist, pulling her firmly to him, her breasts flattening on his chest. At which she moaned on his mouth and risked him exploding on the spot.
He should not have insisted on her calling his name. For it would never sound the same again. No other woman would call him as she did, with her silky voice pouring on him like a transgression.
Like paradise.
Like ruination.
And anything that would make him beg for more.
Immediately.
Confined with her in the carriage, having her hand on his arm, then enclosed in the box, his blood had been simmering in quiet, poignant clamour. For this. For her. And now that she filled, swamped, overflowed his senses, he feared he would not have the strength to let go. Ever.
Who cared?
Not him, for sure. Not when this woman darted from Ice Queen to carnal siren in a matter of seconds, merely to catapult him into a boiling cauldron of pure delectation. Her gloved hand feathered his neck, and he was thankful for the barrier between her skin and his at the same time as he swore at it. And he swore some more at every single layer of useless fabric between them.
Pausing, but still with his lips glued to hers, he drawled, “Again.” Meaning his name on her mouth of heavenly perdition.
Her eyelids lifted in a slow, reluctant flutter. “Perhaps once is enough.” She breathed, her moist lips moving on him. His already dire situation became quite precarious.
