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Oh, but the blasted woman was impossible! He couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss her senseless or tame her. “You’re my woman, everything concerns me!”
“No, I am not!” Her chin lifted even more, but her cheeks flushed and her eyes lit. “Now, take yourself out of my house!”
“Not before we talk.” His deep voice firm, one foot on the first step.
“I don’t want to talk to you. I want you gone.” She followed his movement, alert.
“In the dark?” He climbed another. “Risking falling over a precipice?” Another step.
Her body went still, her breath caught. “Sleep in the stable then.” Her voice low, breathy.
Another step. “No.”
Her hand held the handrail, her knuckles white; she swallowed hard. “No?”
He came two steps bellow hers, levelling their eyes. “Say no again.” He defied her, referring to her refusal in letting him stay.
Her uneven breath made her bosom rise and fall. She opened her mouth. No sound. She closed it. It opened again. No sound yet.
He laced her slim waist. “Damn you.” He murmured. Her hands flew to his shoulders. “Damn you!” His lips took hers in a storm of longing and desire.
She moaned and opened for him, her body melting against his. “You arouse me to unbearable levels when you make me chase after you!” He groaned on her mouth. To prove it, his other hand grabbed her buttock and pulled her to him, as his tongue invaded her deeper.
She moved against him provocatively. “You devil!” She grumbled.
“You witch!” He devolved, while he picked her up and took her to the room where a fire burned. He kicked the door shut and placed her on her bed.
He opened her robe and found her naked under it. He was lost; he’d not last five seconds! His mouth closed on her breast, famished. She arched, moaning.
How was Selene to resist him, resist this? She wondered as he threw her in a torment of blazing greediness. He smelled clean sweat and horse; his stubble teased her sensitive skin; his straining erection tantalized her. All of him irresistible, she embraced him arms, legs, and allowed the thirst of the last weeks to be quenched. She’d gladly live in purgatory the whole eternity for just one more night with him. Let perdition take her, she didn’t care. More, she wanted more!
She didn’t know how, but she ripped his shirt open in a wild attempt to have all of him. “Yes, ravish me!” He mumbled feverish on her belly, as her hands explored him keenly.
His devilish tongue found her centre, driving her to insanity. After that, she became instinct and passion. He teased her, satisfying her, making her hungrier, more desperate. She contorted, bunched his sleek black hair, pleaded, until she could take it no further. She pulled him up, fumbled with his breech opening, panting, murmuring nonsense. Finally, she encountered what she looked for. She pulled him to her and their bodies joined in one deep delicious slide. She met his body, sighing.
He embraced her, cocooning her into him, stoking the flames, driving them both to agonising need. Deep. Deeper. Starved. Blind. The storm exploded in her body, engulfing her in a torrent of pleasure in between ragged sobs.
He moved in her, grunting shamelessly, eyes closed, tortured expression, thrusting towards an earthquake, ragged breath. When it happened, he poured in her like a madman until he emptied all he had.
They held each other, spent, drained, consumed. Because it was here, as one, that they expressed their emotions, showed their feelings, bared their souls. What they were, what they had, what they felt lay before each other in the throes of passion.
A long time passed, the fire in the fireplace dwindling to a mere glow. They lay in her bed, a tangle of limbs coiled in a wrinkled mess of bedclothes, the fire throwing a reddish colour to their bodies. Given to one another, sated.
“How did you find me?” She asked, her voice muffled by his chest.
“It’s not every day a lady drives in a carriage and a team to rent a house of her own.” He said casually.
“How little discreet of me.” She lamented scornfully.
“You didn’t need to come hide here. We could have stayed in the manor for the rest of the season.”
“We?” She lifted her head. “There is no we, Philip!” She pulled a strand of hair impatiently from her face.
“That’s open to discussion.” His rich velvet voice matter-of-factly.
“Your dukedom needs a spotless reputation.” She sounded like a governess.
“It’s not spotless anymore, is it?” His hand immersed in the mass of her hair.
