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“I do,” she whispered. “I—I trust you.”

Foolishly. But she did.

He exhaled roughly with her words, and he kissed her again, deep and possessing. He braced his free hand on the carpet and linked his fingers with hers around his member. “Guide me in when you’re ready.”

“I’m ready.” Physically, yes, but her heart was far too exposed, too fragile.

He notched himself at her entrance but paused. “I won’t put you at risk of a child. I should have said that⁠—”

“I said I trust you.” She might die if he didn’t take her.

His Adam’s apple bobbed with his swallow. “I believe you.”

Oh, but there was that breaking-open sensation in her chest again, and before she could patch up the cracks, he was guiding himself deeper.

“Open your eyes,” he said. “I want you watching me when I fill you up.”

She needed no encouragement, couldn’t even summon the concentration to fire back a retort. His chest heaved, the muscles of his shoulders and arms shifting as he restrained himself, entering her in maddening, shallow pulses.

Of course he’d be exacting in this. Demanding and focused.

And robbing her of the last vestiges of her sanity. She squirmed beneath him, and he pressed his hand to her hip, holding her in place.

“You’ll take what I give you,” he ground out through clenched teeth, “when I’m ready.”

Her rising climax clawed deep in her belly. “You feel so good,” she babbled. “So good…”

“You’re choking me, fuck. I’m not—I’m not going to last long.” His arms trembled, his jaw twitched. He released her hip and brought his thumb to the peak of her sex, taking up a steady rhythm of caresses.

She relaxed with the rush of pleasure, and he slid deeper, impossibly deeper, until her body had consumed him entirely. God, but she was full, as if he’d occupied every part of her and left nothing for herself.

He withdrew, and she saw the glisten of her arousal slicking him before he thrust again, withdrew and thrust. “Dammit, how do you feel like this? Like you’re pulling my soul out through my cock.” His teeth flashed white in the darkness, bared like he hated how good this was, as much as she did.

As much as she should.

Her release wrapped around her, a warm embrace that started deep in her belly and coaxed her into tumbling over a wave of pleasure. He whispered gentle words as he pushed himself free of her core and collapsed on her again, his cock trapped between their sweat-slicked bellies.

He pressed his mouth to the side of her throat, thrust twice against her stomach and broke with a groan, his erection pulsing again and again. The entire time, his lips moved, whispering words she couldn’t decipher through the haze of her lust, the glowing aftermath of the climax he’d given her.

But reality snaked into her pleasure-drunk mind, and the glow turned darker. She’d let a dangerous man into her home, and now into her body.

And, the most frightening of all—she suspected she’d let him into her heart as well.

CHAPTER 20

Bridget agreed with Valebrook on precious few things, but when he suggested they suspend their search for an escape until morning, with more light and more sleep working to their advantage, she readily concurred.

They’d meandered from the destroyed parlor to her bedroom in silence, his hand grazing the small of her back as though he wasn’t certain if he had permission to continue touching her. When she opened her door, she’d been prepared to bid him goodnight, steal a few hours of sleep before facing the reality of their circumstances with a clear head.

But instead, she’d turned around and faced him. “Would you like to see more of the house?”

Which led them to this moment, wandering through the portrait gallery. She was grateful for the distraction of the oil paintings because she couldn’t stop perseverating over what she’d done with Valebrook, the risk she was inviting into her life by trusting him.

Guilt pressed the middle of her sternum, and a chill skated over her skin. She pulled her dressing gown tighter—Valebrook had insisted she wear a heavier one, given there was now a hole in a downstairs wall letting in a draft. She’d refused slippers, and he’d grumbled about it the entire walk to the portrait gallery.

“When you said you’d give me a behind-the-scenes tour, I didn’t expect it would be so…”

She snapped her head around to watch him. His chin was tilted up, exposing the long length of his neck as he examined a painting. He’d put his shirt back on but had not buttoned it, which she rather liked. “So… what?”