Page 48 of A Touch So Wicked

Elissa heard footsteps approaching and marshaled her courage. Hands clenched at her sides, she was prepared when the door opened and Damian stepped inside. His expression was cold and unrelenting, devoid of all emotion. She watched warily as he set the tray down on a nearby table.

“I thought you might be hungry.”

“Thank you.”

He regarded her with such cold hostility that Elissa blurted out, “Go ahead, do your worst, my lord.”

“My worst? I fear you wouldn’t like my worst.”

He stalked toward her, until they were standing toe to toe. Elissa refused to give an inch.

“Why did you do it, Elissa? I’ve done nothing to harm you. You came to me and I gave you pleasure. Was it all a sham, an act to throw me off guard? Do you hate me so much?”

Hate Damian? Nay. She didn’t hate him, she…“I dinna hate you, Damian. My response to you was genuine. I wanted you. I admit I was undecided about my intentions when I entered your chamber, but there was never any doubt in my mind about killing you. I couldna, I wouldna.”

His brows drew together in a thick, black slash. “Am I supposed to believe you? You said you wanted me. Do you still want me? Will you respond to me just as you did last night if I make love to you now?”

She gave him a startled glance. “Surely you donna mean…you donna intend to…now?”

“Aye, Elissa, now.”

He crowded her against the bed, leaning forward until she was forced to bend under his weight. She fell onto the mattress and stared into his face. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were glinting like newly minted coins. She watched with mounting alarm as he slowly began to undress. How could he want her when he was so coldly furious? Was this, then, her punishment—to suffer his attentions knowing there was no warmth in the act? How could she bear it after last night?

Her thoughts scattered when she felt the mattress dip beneath Damian’s weight. He was naked, a flesh and blood man of magnificent proportions. The heat of his body assaulted her through the layers of her clothing. She couldn’t help herself; her body sought his of its own volition. She heard Damian chuckle, but there was little mirth in his laughter.

“Keep moving like that, sweeting, and this will end before you find pleasure.”

His hands moved over her, undressing her with a swiftness that took her breath away.

“Damian, nay…”

Her plea fell on deaf ears. She sensed the passion building within him, felt his hands shaking, and knew he wasn’t as unmoved as he pretended. The realization that he wouldn’t hurt her came in a brilliant flash of insight. She stopped struggling and let desire for this impossible Englishman sweep her away.

She felt his lips against her throat, and the pulse of her own heartbeat in the pounding of her blood. The tip of his tongue teased her flesh, searing a path between her breasts, a slow, sensuous trail that ultimately centered on the peak of her nipple. The brush of his tongue, the graze of his teeth, brought the knowledge that he was taking his time to arouse her instead of using her with ruthless disregard for her feelings.

The liquid heat of his mouth ignited flames deep in her being. She stirred against him, murmuring senseless words, aware of the fire that burned in him, of the pulse of life within him. She should press him away; she pulled him against her instead, her fingers stroking over him.

His tongue laved her navel as the hard heel of his palm slid over her mound and his fingers slid into slick, swollen flesh. His thumb found a sensitive spot, stroking, caressing. Gasping, she rocked against him. Then his mouth was there, his tongue teasing, penetrating. A wail left her lips and she tautened like a bowstring.

Incredible, erotic heat sheared through her. “Damian, you canna…”

He lifted his head and smiled. “Aye, I can. Lie back and enjoy it.” Then his head dipped and his mouth returned to its succulent feast.

She arched and writhed against him, her protest a dim memory as the wet lash of his tongue sent shards of lightning streaking through her. Her hands clutched convulsively in his hair as she surrendered to a rapturous climax.

Dimly she became aware that Damian was on top of her, parting her legs, sinking deeply inside her. She closed her eyes, unwilling to reveal the depth of her feelings, but Damian would not allow it.

“Open your eyes, Elissa.”

Her lids opened slowly and she stared into his eyes. She saw confusion and wondered what he was thinking.

“Are you a sorceress?” he whispered hoarsely. “Have you placed a spell on me? You must have, for you enchant me.”

“I am no witch. I know naught about enchantment. This isna right. It shouldna be happening.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “’Tis right, sweeting, more than right.”

He thrust forward, burying himself deeply. She sighed, aware of his heat, his hunger, and the fullness of his sex within her. The pulse of his heart matched her own. She felt his strength, the texture of his skin, the rasp of his flesh against hers. Every detail of the man was hers to savor. Nothing mattered but the pleasure of their merging, and the inexplicable need for something deeper.