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“God,” Danny breathes, blinking up at the ceiling.
“I mean, I don’t want to go allfasciston you or anything,” Rory drawls, inspecting his nails, and Finlay grins at him. “But the longer you sit there without fucking my fiancée, I’m going to have to start punishingyouinstead.” My breath is light, my pulse now leaping at my throat. Slowly, Rory leans across the round table toward Danny’s startled, blinking face, and pitches his voice low, “And that would mean removing myself from this situation, because Iknowhow badly I mess with your head. So if you don’t want that, I advise you remove your cock instead and shove it deep into my beautiful bride.”
25
Iswallow, clenching my thighs together. He’s so good at this —howis he so good at this? My breath is already threading with want, and I swear I hear the riot occurring inside Danny as his sweet and gentle nature does battle with the arousing filth Rory poured down his ear. I watch Danny, nervous as he scrapes back his chair, his beseeching brown eyes on me the whole time. He takes my hand delicately as though offering me a dance and I hide my adoring smile. Rory commands our time together, and from his tone, this is to be an evening of darkness and depravity, not sweetness and adoration. But somehow, whenever I’m with Danny, our white-bright innocence always shines through.
Danny kisses me softly, our lips the only part of our bodies touching. He’s achingly respectful, and for some reason it only makes me burn all the harder for him. When I lean forward, trying to deepen our kiss and our connection, he places his hands firmly against me to keep me at a distance.
Heat pools in my belly.
My backside lies against the flat edge of the table, his lips hot and insistent against mine. I want more of Danny’s tender domination, so, as we kiss, I slide my hands into his thick mousy brown hair. He plucks my hands from his head and pins them to my sides.
I’m wet.
Nevertheless, I pout into the kiss, trying to be cute. He suckles hard on my protruding lower lip, dragging all my blood to the underside of his mouth, contained only by the thin skin of my straining, swollen lip. I know he’s only doing this because Rory and Finlay are watching, and he succumbs so very easily to their twin devil-on-shoulder peer pressure. He’s never been rough with me in the past. But as I wriggle my wrists between the steel of his hands, I’m intrigued by how much Danny’s natural good nature can be overridden in the heat of the moment.
“Bend her over the table,” Rory instructs from half a world away, and Danny’s feasting kiss slows against me. He parts, glancing around me and through the small glowing candlelight on the table, to Rory, whose face has been deliberately straightened, any wrinkles of emotion vanished.
My heart ripples with joy, a secret sacred fantasy moments from manifesting. All I’ve wanted since this afternoon’s secret lust is to be taken over one of these tables, wet and dripping. It’s been a looping image playing in my mind. Obligingly, I break away from Danny and turn to face the table; Rory makes a displeased noise that tightens the muscles of my calves and runs up my thighs, as he murmurs, “Not today, little saint. This is all on him.Don’tmake his job any easier.”
I give Rory a soft, pleading look, but he has no interest in fulfilling my desires just yet. His finger rotates, telling me to turn back around, which I do, with a low whine in my throat. I shoot Danny a heated look, advising him that he better make it quick — but I can see he’s nervous and scared, because of course he is, he isn’t a freak like the rest of us. From the way I almost spread myself across the table at Rory’s murmured say-so, however, I think he understands how happily I’d follow Rory to the ends of the earth, my Pied Piper of sex. Rory somehow always knows what’s best for me.
Danny’s hands clasp around mine. He steps backward, holding my wrists in place, and slides a firm palm along the bumps of my spine. Automatically, I hinge forward. The table wood massages my breasts, Danny’s hands a pleasant burn to my back, the area of energy against which my whole world is centered. This close, the small candle trembles in front of me, shivering beneath my jagged breath, and Rory slowly slides it away from my face. The shift from brightness to a world of shadows makes it harder to read him. Our lips are close enough for him to lean forward and kiss me. He won’t, however. This isn’t about him, even though he’s my entire world and all I can see from my position against the table. His hair glimmers in the candlelight, his pale gray eyes darkening as he studies me intently, but still his true feelings remain secrets.
I try to arrange my face into something tempting, something that will break the stoic way Rory regards me safely from his chair. I use all the usual feminine tricks, gazing up at him from beneath the coy flutter of lashes, pouting from a parted, slick mouth. He remains unmoved. I should have known better. You cannot trap a person like Rory Munro with tricks. As he manipulates the world around him, the wizard who bends everything and everyone to his will, it’s always somehow impossible to capture even a sliver of his power and reflect it on him.
Curiosity controls Danny, whose hand lovingly strokes down each bobble of my spine. Rory lets him. My fingers curl, scrabbling along the edge of the table for something to hook onto. I’m splayed and open for whoever wants to see, my breasts pressed against the buttons of my pajama top, my top hiked up like a bra. Danny’s warm palms slide across the expanse of my bare skin, both of them curling around my sides as he positions himself behind me. I watch Rory’s face, his composed expression lifting from me to Danny. He gives a single, swift nod, and Danny’s hands slide from their natural slots around my waist to down, down, the elastic of my pajama bottoms. Cool air strikes my skin instantly as I’m made naked from the waist down. I swallow, staring at the flicker of triumph in Rory’s eyes, listening to Finlay’s soft hitch of breath, and feeling the warmth of Danny’s skin against mine.
“Describe her.”
Danny is silent for a beat, as though trying to formulate the words, language a challenge when I’m spread naked and open beneath him. I hear him swallow, and in his unselfish tongue, he murmurs, “She is made up of scars.” At first I mishear him, wondering if he’d saidstars, which would have been a beautiful, if somewhat nebulous sentiment. But no. Scars. “Each one carries the strength of her, of her ability to heal. Each is a reflection of her patience, her learning, and her understanding of herself. She is powerful. She is strong. She has been cut by cruelty and formed into a diamond.”
I drop my gaze from Rory, stunned. I’d been open and naked before, but now every part of me is asunder — splayed, flayed, yet serene and seen. All managed by gently whispered observations, not indulgent, prying hands. Danny’s words are — poetic, yes. But he sees me, just as he had done when he’d painted that portrait of me in art class, the cloak of my illusory, half-hidden face entwined and bound by blood-red ribbon.
“Sweet words indeed to flatter my bride,” Rory drawls, sounding unmoved. “You forgot the most important one, though. Who owns her?”
Lust burns low in my belly. His casual objectification is cruel, dismissive, and a complete turn-on. As Rory sits back, as cold and unyielding as a bored board member, I wish to God I could strip every scrap of clothing from him and flood him with my heat until he forgets his own name.
Danny’s arms are still locked around me. Politely, he acknowledges, “You do.” It seems as though a gracious ‘my lord’ should be tacked on the end of this. After a small pause, however, and in a heroic effort to perhaps claim me from beneath Rory’s nose, Danny adds, “She is yours, and I love her.”
I smile down at the wood grain. They’re rebellious words from someone Rory scarcely considers a rival for my affections, from someone far down the social food chain and easily persuaded to remain in his box. But right now my heart is singing sweet angel music for Danny, fit to bursting for his sincere, uncomplicated love for me. He is the opposite of calculating, of posturing, of strategy, and it’s the most soothing, refreshing balm.
“Seems like you have a lot to say,” Rory remarks, quite displeased, “beneath your…innocent… exterior.” His words are sneered and his lip curls callously. It’s a game, of course — it’s all a game — and I wonder how hard Danny is behind me. He’s so used to the conflict of feelings from Rory’s attention and also Rory’s displeasure. How deep are these ties? Because for someone like Danny to recognize the hidden scars of another is to have possessed that same scar tissue himself. “So go on, then. Speak.”
“What?”
“Talk. To me. Tous.” He indicates himself and Finlay, who I haven’t looked at once since this game started. The idea alone is almost overpowering. I stick with the devil I know intimately, the one who grounds me, with those gray, moonstone-like eyes impressed upon me. “Your words — they’re much too sweet. So pure andboring.” He drawls the latter word.Ididn’t find them boring. I found them perfectly charming. But this is Rory, bending the will of the world around his warped beliefs. “So ditch your pretty little words and start talking dirty, D-boy.”
There’s silence. My heart skips a tentative beat.
“Dirty?” Danny stammers, and here Rory wins. “But I-I can’t. I don’t know how to.”
“It’s very simple,” Rory claims with an easy, devious smile, as his demands undermine Danny’s natural abilities. Danny isn’t one to revel in filth the way the others do. The way I allow myself to do. He is no innocent but he’s no brute, either. This, I realize, is so deeply outside of Danny’s comfort zone, and Rory’s being a prick just because he can. Because in their game of cat-and-mouse, it gets Danny off.
Rory rolls his eyes as the silence stretches. Danny’s fingers curl around my hipbones. “What’s the problem?” he asks, sounding bored. “You’re too good for it? For saying what you want — exactly what any hot-blooded male wants — with your chest? Because that’s all it is, Danny boy: your words, your wants. That’s the secret.”
“Sex with Jessa is beautiful. It isn’tdirty.”
