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She wasn’t strong enough to manhandle him—she knew that somewhere in the back of her maddened brain. He must be conceding to her anger, letting her push him about.
Perversely it only made her madder.
She dropped to her knees, roughly spreading his legs and shuffling forward between them.
His eyes widened, which, at any other time she might’ve taken pride in. The man had been the Ghost of St. Giles for years—there mustn’t be many things that could surprise him.
“What—”
She reached forward and yanked open his fall and the smallclothes beneath, watching in satisfaction as his cock bobbed out, ruddy and half hard.
She took his length gently between her hands, her arms resting on his thighs, and looked up into his face. “I’m very, very angry with you.”
And she opened her mouth over him. She’d never done this—although she’d wanted to before. She’d always been too shy, too worried that he’d think her sluttish or not like what she did.
But here, now, she simply didn’t care anymore.
She trailed a line of kisses down his length, marveling at the pulsing warmth within him, then licked up the strong tendon on the underside.
He muttered something and his hips jerked under her arms, half lifting her.
She wanted to tell him to never go back to St. Giles. That she’d find Roger’s killer herself. That she couldn’t bear anymore to see him hurt. But she’d already told him that before and it hadn’t changed his mind. She couldn’t change his mind. He wouldn’t allow her that far in.
But he would allow this.
She mouthed around the thick head of his cock, tasting the tang of his skin. She pulled back to stare at him as he’d stared at her once. The tiny slit at the top of his penis was leaking, and she drew her thumb through the clear liquid, smearing it about the soft skin.
The strong length in her hands jumped.
She smiled when she felt that and leaned down to kiss the very tip, the warm wetness smearing across her lips. She looked up and saw that the color was high across his cheekbones and his eyelids half shielded his glittering gray eyes. Still watching, she took the head of his cock into her mouth and suckled.
His nostrils flared and he bit his lip, but he did no more, staring back at her as she opened her mouth and licked slowly around the head. Later she would be embarrassed by her boldness.
Right now she reveled in the freedom he gave her.
But when she lightly scraped her teeth around the rim, he moved.
“Megs,” he growled, and reached for her.
She didn’t like that—she wasn’t done playing. She half rose and scrambled backward, trying to dodge his hands, her anger rising again.
“Damn it, Megs!”
He lunged and she reacted instinctively, a thrill of alarm shooting through her. She got to her feet and made two abortive strides.
It wasn’t fair of her—he was wounded. She should’ve been able to get away.
He slammed her against the bed, using his greater weight and height to hold her there.
She was wedged between him and the bed, panting, though their struggle had only been a matter of seconds. He was behind her, his body pressed against her back, his erection imprinted on her buttocks, his arms braced on either side of her.
She could feel his breath puffing against her ear. She waited, expecting him to turn her around to face him.
Instead he began gathering her wrapper and chemise.
She caught her breath.
He whispered a kiss behind her ear. “Hold still.”
