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"Tell me."
"No."
"I'll not have you accuse me of heartless seduction when you want this as much as I. You're already slick, aren't you? Wet and beautiful. Wanting."
She was shaking her head, eyes clenched shut, when Hart went to his knees. He kissed the inside of her thigh, dragged his mouth up the tense line of muscle and tendon until she sobbed. "I thought about this last night. Dreamed of your taste, of you pressing yourself to my mouth. I pleasured myself to this fantasy. Tell me, Emma."
"Oh, God."
He nibbled higher.
Emma sobbed, "Oh, please."
"Please, what?"
"Please. Touch me. There."
His hands shook against her skin, a separate trembling from her own. He breathed out hard and watched her jump at the sensation. "You've said you won't be my lover."
"I won't. Just touch me, you bastard."
Hart chuckled. "Cheeky wench." He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the fabric and found it damp and fragrant. Emma cried out as if he'd done much more. He reached for her drawers and untied the waist, pulled them down, pressed her knees together and pulled them off completely. When he pushed her legs open again, he was treated to the sight of her sex, pink and wet. All for him. A shudder of need raced through him.
"Please," Emma whispered, but he needed no further encouragement, and doubted he would have stopped for anything. He smoothed his palms up her white thighs, until they met at her sex. He feathered both thumbs up and down, up and down, over plumpness and heat and dark, dark curls. She rocked back, balanced on her elbows, back arching with shock.
God, he wanted to drive deep into her right now. Take her here, on the table, spend himself into the core of her. But he wouldn't. Not yet. He'd meant what he said about being interrupted, and yet. . .
The idea that the door could open at any moment, that anyone could walk in and find him cradled between her legs . . . Hart's mind raced with arousal as his blood pumped harder, faster.
His fingers spread her open for his mouth.
The barest touch of his tongue and she was panting, "Yes, yes."
He explored gently at first, taking in her intoxicating scent, the delicate texture of her need. Her taste flooded his tongue and made him want more. He probed into her, then deeper when she groaned her approval. But when he worked his way up to that tight bud of her clitoris, Emma cried out, a deep groan that couldn't quite be contained by her clenched teeth. He lapped at that spot again, and smiled when her fingers curled cruelly into his hair. "Yes!' she moaned. "There."
As if he couldn't tell. Hart chuckled against her flesh and rewarded her demands with a firmer touch. She shuddered and pushed herself higher against his mouth.
"Hart." Her voice was a high, breathless keen. "I've wanted this . . ."
God, he'd wanted this too. This and so much more. Almost from the moment they'd been introduced. He slipped one finger inside her. She bucked beneath him, trying to hold back a scream. Her flesh clutched at him, and, oh if it were his cock . . . pushing in, finding its way into that tightness. He suckled at her little bud, felt her muscles tightening, felt his need spiraling higher.
Hart looked up, expecting to find her blind, reaching for her peak, but he was shocked to meet her gaze. She was watching him, any trace of hesitance long dissolved in pleasure. Her eyes were narrowed, glinting. Her lips parted before her breath, but they curled up at the corners, hinting at satisfaction and demand. She didn't look away from his gaze. Instead, her eyes narrowed even further and glittered with wickedness.
That kind of boldness deserved a reward. Hart closed his lips around her, suckling, and slid another finger into her body. Emma threw her head back with a grimace and a scream. She tried to back away, but it was too late. Her hips jerked and strained. Hart's name was torn from her throat in a hoarse scream.
He let her go when her hips finally fell back to the table, then he laid his cheek against her hot thigh and tried to calm himself down. Not easy given the view, but he tried. That glance into her eyes . . .
He'd recognized her. They were kindred spirits. Depraved and wicked and trying to deny it to the world. But she'd liked it. She'd liked being ordered about, liked being set on a table and devoured like a candied treat. The danger and the depravity. Whatever reason she had for denying herself, it had nothing to do with what she wanted. And Hart understood that completely.
His understanding helped him gather the will to raise his hands to her crumpled skirts and ease the fabric down her thighs. A quick check of the floor and he had her pale pink drawers in hand.
Emma snapped from her daze. She sat forward and slid to the ground so quickly that Hart was forced to scoot back. He fell to his backside, suddenly struck with the image of how he must look: sprawled on the floor with a cockstand, a pair of pink drawers in his fist. Utterly ridiculous. Corrupt. Depraved. Hart couldn't help but grin.
His lover didn't seem to appreciate his good humor. She glared at him, clearly wishing she could roast him with her eyes, then swooped down and snatched the delicate garment from his fingers, muttering something under her breath. Hart heard the word "obnoxious" quite clearly.
She looked fetchingly enraged as she turned her back and stepped into her underclothes. "You tremble quite keenly, my dearest Emma."
"Are you trying to tempt me to murder?"
