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He could barely stop himself from laughing. “Why should I kiss you? You haven’t earned it yet.”
She leaned a little closer to him. Any closer and she’d be standing on his toes. “How do I earn it?”
“Call me ‘sir’ for starters.” He placed his hands on her hips, around her narrow waist. The muscles of her stomach tightened when he touched her. He could feel her every breath.
“Sir,” she said. “There?”
“Better. Not good enough, but an improvement.”
She made that sound of purest frustration again. Delicious.
“Are we having fun yet?” he taunted.
“You make me so mad.”
“Then I’m doing it right. And you forgot to call me ‘sir.’ And you still haven’t answered my question. You have five seconds to do both, or I’ll do something cruel and terrible to you.”
“What?”
“I’ll leave without kissing you. Four…three…two—”
“You, sir.”
He pulled back and looked down at her face. She met his eyes very briefly before lowering them.
“You think about me when you come?” He couldn’t have come up with a better answer himself.
“Last night. Sir.”
“What was I doing to you?”
Her pink cheeks turned crimson. “You were, ah…flogging me and I was tied up and then we, you know.”
“Made love?”
She was shivering in his arms. He held her closer, tighter. He was hard and hungry for her but knew he had to hold back.
“Yes,” she finally said. “Sir.”
“Good. Now you’ve earned your kiss.”
She raised her face to his and he pressed his mouth to hers. The kiss was soft at first, as he explored her top lip, then the bottom. He could feel her heart beating against his chest. Poor little girl. She had no idea how much he could make her feel if she would only let him.
He forced her mouth wider and slipped his tongue inside her. She moaned and he made it worse by sliding his hand down her back and then up again, under the skirt of her sundress. He cupped her bottom, slipping his fingers under her panties to stroke one soft, warm cheek. He wanted to hold her pussy in his hands, cradle it, stroke it until she was begging for him to be inside her. Whether she realized it or not, she was pushing her hips into his. If that’s what she wanted, he would give it to her.
Daniel wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the floor, settling her against his hips and pinning her back to the mantel. She gasped against his mouth but didn’t break the kiss. He pushed his hips into hers and she pushed back. If they’d been naked, they’d be fucking. Instead they worked against each other through their clothes. His cock was hard and her panties were flimsy. He knew she could feel his erection. He could feel the heat of her pussy against him. He worked his hips harder into her soft mound as he deepened the kiss. Deeper. Harder. Faster. He wanted to overwhelm her with sensation, need.
He carried her to the sofa, pushed her onto her back and laid on top of her, only breaking the kiss long enough to make her want it again. He found her mouth, her tongue…he rubbed his erection against her softness. She opened her legs wider. Her fingers gripped the back of his shirt and dug in. So close…almost there. Her breathing was hard and heavy.
Someone knocked on the door.
Anya gasped and looked at the door. Daniel sat up. Before he could say a word, she scrambled out from under him and ran to the door.
She opened it and there stood Kingsley in the doorway, looking rakishly disheveled, like a pirate who’d spent the night with a duke and stolen his clothes the next morning. Shirt unbuttoned to the collarbone, hair down, bare feet.
“Hello,” he said. “Am I interrupting?”
“No,” Anya said quickly. Too quickly.
