Page 36 of London Dynasty

“Except what you keep in the prenup,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“No prenup,” he said swiftly.

“What?” I asked, staring at him.

“No prenup,” he repeated. “If you marry me, that’s that. Unless you want one.”

“But…” I struggled to express my surprise. Foregoing a prenuptial agreement was the kind of thing that poor people with nothing to lose did. People like me. Not men with titles and money, mansions and sports cars. Not men planning to be the future Prime Minister.

“Kerrigan, your family has more money than mine. I suppose I’d understand if you want a prenup, but your father…Look, if we get married, I’d like one thing between us to be based on trust—not just a transaction. I know it’s old-fashioned, but a prenup feels like an escape clause. I suppose I’ve never believed marriage was something you could take back.”

“No prenup.” It slipped out of my mouth. It wasn’t really my place to promise that, but he was right. It was how it should be, and somehow, I was certain it was Kerrigan’s one true chance at happiness. If her husband loved her and if they trusted each other, maybe going through with her father’s wishes wouldn’t be so bad.

He released the gearshift and took my hand, bringing it to his mouth. He kissed it and then let it go to shift the car into second. My head was still moving as swiftly as the car had been when we slowed down and turned into a private parking garage.

Spencer took my hand as soon as I climbed out of the car and led me toward a lift. As soon as we were inside, he was on me. He crushed me against the wall of the lift, his mouth capturing mine while his hands bunched my skirt at the hips, raising its hem enough for him to push one leg between mine and urged them open as far as my restrictive clothing would allow.

He loosed a groan of frustration against my mouth. Nipping my lower lip, he glared at me with mock annoyance. “I have a love-hate relationship with your dress.”

“Oh?” I murmured, wondering how his presence could be more intoxicating than wine. I felt drunk or stoned or some blissed-out combination of the two. Spencer was a heady combination when he wasn’t touching me. Add his lips and his hands and I was done for.

“I love how it looks on you,” he muttered. His hand slipped around and fingered my zipper. “How it shows off every one of your delicious curves. How it draws attention to every place I want to kiss.” He brushed his lips over mine, painting a tingling thrill across them. “But I hate that I can’t touch you.”

“You’re touching me now,” I said softly, pushing my chest against his, savoring the increased contact. There was no part of Spencer that wasn’t hard it seemed. His chest was like a brick wall, solid and strong. His arms held me in place. I was a lark, captive in his cage. By choice. My unclipped wings didn’t flutter, only my heart did. It was the wild thing trapped. My body was a willing prisoner. I wanted to be kept and petted.

Spencer’s head bent and captured my earlobe, sucking it between his teeth before he whispered, “I can’t touch you where I want to touch you.”

That cleared things up while sending more blood rushing from my head to the swollen ache between my legs. I clutched his broad shoulders, surrendering to his possession.

I was only dimly aware of the flat as we entered. Spencer didn’t bother to turn on any lights. Instead, he guided me down a hallway and into a room. The only thing I could process was the presence of a king-sized bed. Spencer turned to me, gently taking my shoulders, and waited until I was looking at him.

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

I licked my lower lip, my mouth going dry. I appreciated him asking, but each time he did it marred my desire with doubt. I met his questioning gaze. “Yes.”

He kissed me, his shoulders relaxing as if my answer had finally freed him of some pent-up tension. His index finger tipped up my chin and he spoke softly, “I’m going to undress you now.”

In the lift, he’d torn at my clothes with a frenzy, but he didn’t rush now. Spencer circled around and stopped behind me. His lips brushed my shoulder as I felt my dress’s zipper slowly descend. His mouth followed, claiming each inch of skin as it was revealed. I locked my knees, afraid I might give in to the dizzying effect of his touch and fall over. Spencer paused when he reached the small of my back before tugging the zipper the last few inches, revealing his first glimpse of my thong.

“Fuck, never wear anything else,” he muttered, running one finger along its white waistband.

I giggled nervously as his hands moved to slide up my arms. I’d never been undressed by a man before. It wasn’t what I expected. Spencer’s fingers hooked the straps of my dress and he peeled it down with a deliberation that made me hold my breath.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said. “It’s like you’re a gift meant just for me.” When the dress was past my hips, he released it to puddle on the floor.

I closed my eyes, feeling vulnerable and powerful at once, as I stood before him in nothing more than a pair of lacy knickers and bra that did nothing to hide my body.

“As much as I like this,” he murmured as his hands skillfully unfastened my bra, “and I do, I spent the entire evening wishing your breasts were in my mouth. I don’t think I tasted a thing.”

“That’s a pity.” I swallowed as his arm reached around, grabbed the front of my bra and drew it off me. It joined my dress on the floor.

“I don’t think so. It only made me want you more.” His arms wrapped around me and he covered my breasts with his hands, massaging them tenderly. “I don’t think I can wait any longer to taste you, Kerrigan. Come to the bed.”

Spencer stopped the sensual massage and took my hand, leading me toward the bed. He nodded to it.

I dropped on all fours, instinctively, and crawled toward the pillows. I paused, uncertain what to do next. He reached out, rubbing circles on my bare backside.

“The things I’m going to do to your ass,” he said in a strained voice that made me bite my lip. “But not tonight. Lay down on your back.”