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“Maybe I’ll slide my cock between those pretty thighs. But just a light, slow glide. Barely there pressure. Let you coat me, get me wet. Maybe I’ll spin you around and make you watch me stroke myself. Close enough that occasionally my cockhead brushes right against where you’re aching the most.”
Their heavy breathing echoed around them. His blood was on fire.
“You’d beg me. And I know what that costs a woman like you, Miss Dawson. But trust me, when a person reaches that level of want, everyone begs.”
He let his hardness slide over the crease of her arse, and a strangled sound came from her throat. “Then I’d touch you. I’d finally touch you. But it’d be too much. You’d be too close. So, I’d take it away.”
She whimpered.
“Do you know what I’d do then, Miss Dawson?” He grazed his teeth over the shell of her ear. “I’d do it again. And again.”
He glanced down, and his lips curved into a smile. Her wrists were behind her back. He wasn’t sure she even realized she’d done it. He wrapped the neckcloth around them.
“I won’t stop until the ache—the denial—hurts so bad, tears slip down those beautiful cheekbones. It’s going to hurt, Miss Dawson. But when your body is covered with a flush, when your skin is slick with sweat, blood feverish, I’ll finally give it to you.”
He gave the knot a testing pull. Perfect. “But that’s just the beginning.”
Her breath hitched. “Th-the beginning?”
Rafe nodded even though she couldn’t see him. “After that?”
He paused.
“After that, I’ll fuck you, Miss Dawson.”
15
Theo
Oh my God.
Theo’s legs were shaking, her entire body vibrating. Every shift of her feet had the pleasure in her core rising higher. The pulse he’d described was already there. She was a little afraid she was going to come just from squeezing her thighs together. This man could probably talk her to orgasm. Was that possible?
There was a thud behind her, and her back went cold. Then his lips were trailing kisses over the top of her arse while his hands slid up and down her legs, touching her everywhere. She spread her legs and stuck her arse out instantly. She hadn’t one modicum of shame. He chuckled and nipped where her arse met her thigh. But his mouth didn’t travel any closer to where she wanted him.
He followed the shape of her calves, fingertips pattering over the backs of her knees. He gripped her thighs, and she couldn’t help but flex, like it was a defense mechanism.
His fingers dug in, and he groaned. “Your legs,” he said hoarsely. “God, I want to devour them.”
And then he sank his teeth into her outer right thigh. She let out a hiss that quickly turned into a moan as he laved the sharp sting with his tongue. His fingers dipped to her inner thighs, skimming up and down, only going high enough for her to feel his presence, but not where she needed him.
He shifted and slowly stood, palms slipping up her stomach, over her ribs, until he cupped her breasts—and stilled. She moaned, thrusting her chest forward. He palmed around her breasts, fingers resting underneath, thumbs framing the sides. They ached, heavy and needy. She wriggled against him, tried to get his hands to shift, but he held strong. A faint cry fled her before she could stop it.
“I have an idea,” he whispered in her ear. “Are you wet for me, Miss Dawson?”
She nodded, her breaths pulling from her sharp and ragged. Her head was spinning, her skin itchy and tight. She was beyond desperate. The ache had seeped into every crack and crevice of her being, leaving an agonizing burn of lust.
One of his hands made a path down to her curls. He paused. “Spread.”
She did.
And then he finally slipped between her thighs. The lightest, most unbearable touch.
He growled at the same time she moaned. “Bloody fucking hell. You’re so wet.”
He ground his erection against her arse, which had the pulse in her core deepening. He parted her with one finger and circled her entrance. Her skin lit on fire. Everywhere he touched was like a brand. An iron that had been sitting on coal pressed to her skin.
And then he was gone.
