Making of a Scandal - Victoria Vale Page 0,116

as cheap and meaningless.”

“Don’t you? I believe you called it a mistake.”

She pressed her hands against her face, grappling for words to sooth him while still avoiding damning herself. “Dominick—”

“Does Lewes know the whole of it?” he demanded, chasing her as she backed away, coming up against the shelves. She whimpered when he pressed a palm beneath her chin, his thumb stroking along her jaw. “Does he know how you fell apart in my arms, or how you spent so beautifully against my fingers, in my mouth, on my cock?”

His lips hovered over hers, and she tipped her head back, eyelids growing heavy as he weaved his seductive spell. Her body responded as if they’d never parted, her nipples tingling, her thighs clenching as a nagging pulsation started between them. She leaned back against the shelves as her knees went weak, right along with her resolve.

“He is aware of what transpired between us.”

Dominick snorted, his breath huffing against her cheek. “And you can bring yourself to marry him after that? I don’t know which of us I feel sorriest for—him for knowing he can never have what you gave me, myself for being forced to go on without you, or you for what you are very soon going to learn.”

“And what’s that?”

His hand moved to her nape, tipping her head back as he gave her a hard, menacing smile. “Every night, when he takes you to bed, it’s me you’ll be thinking of. I am the one you will long for while he’s rutting on top of you with no thought to your pleasure. He will never touch the parts of you that I have, Anni.”

She reared against him, fists raised to strike, to hurt him as he was hurting her. Yet, when her hands made contact, they were clutching at him and pulling him close instead of punishing him, clinging instead of pushing. He fell into her with a rough growl, hands brutal and commanding at her waist as he captured her lips in a ravaging kiss. Crates and baskets rattled on the shelves as he pressed her backward, dominating the kiss with a demanding tongue and hungry lips. His hands were everywhere, running down her neck and shoulders, cupping her breasts, palming her hips and moving around to squeeze her buttocks and lift her so her mound pressed against his stiff cock.

“Does Lewes make you feel like this?” he taunted, biting at her breast through her gown. “Do you get wet for him when he kisses you, like you do for me?”

He laughed at the glower she gave him, its edge blunted by the clear evidence of her need. Her chest heaved with every breath, her lips parted and swollen from his kiss. As he drew her skirts up and slipped a hand between her legs, he found irrefutable proof of his accusation.

“Fucking Christ,” he ground out as his fingers slipped over her clit and down to her entrance, finding her slick and swollen. “I knew it.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and gave in to the electric currents of pleasure racing through her at every stroke of his fingers. He kissed and bit at her lips while he added fuel to her arousal, making her burn with light pressure against her clit and shallow thrusts inside her channel. She clawed at him like a wildcat, fingers raking his scalp and clutching at his hair, nails scraping down his chest. He hauled one of her legs up, forcing her skirts high so he could watch his fingers disappear inside her. She clenched around them, hips surging as he fucked her with them, his thumb steadily teasing her clit. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since he’d touched her like this, and it was as if he were teaching her all over again what her body was capable of, what he could make her feel. Her breaths came in short pants, an occasional whimper slipping out as she hurtled toward climax.

“Nick!” she cried, the lightest fluttering beginning deep in her core.

He snatched his hand free of her and she clutched at him, grinding her teeth around a desperate scream. He balled his hands into fists and closed his eyes, neck straining as he appeared to wrestle with himself. Calliope gripped the edge of a shelf behind her for balance, her legs weak and her clitoris pulsing in a demanding rhythm, her inner channel clenching for want of what she’d been denied.

“I won’t be the villain here. Tell me to

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