The Princess and the Rogue (Bow Street Bachelors #3) - Kate Bateman Page 0,99
no practiced, tentative exploration. It was exactly what she wanted: darkness and heat and total abandon. His lips shaping hers, his tongue swirling inside her mouth to tangle with her own. She closed her eyes in delight, pushing closer, melting into his wonderful warmth. They fit together so perfectly, concave to convex. His heart was pumping fast under her palm, and she wished his clothes gone—wanted to feel him, all of him. Body to body, skin against skin.
Her knees were so wobbly, she was fairly certain it was only the desk holding her up. She was playing with fire, but she needed this tonight. Her near-catastrophe had brought everything into sharp focus. She wanted him. Not just as a lover, but as a life partner, a husband. She had to tell him she’d been wrong to refuse his proposal. Had to show him how perfect they were for each other.
With a sound like anguish, he pulled back, panting. He swept his hands through his already disordered hair. “Anya, this is madness.”
Tension throbbed between them. Anya stared at his jaw, his face, absorbing the full force of his masculine beauty. With a deep breath for courage, never taking her eyes from his, she peeled apart the front of the dressing robe, dislodging the sash from around her waist. She let it slither from her shoulders. The material dropped to the desk behind her with a faint hiss.
She was naked underneath. The single lamp that burned on the sideboard sent a warm glow over her body. Her stomach clenched as his dark gaze roved over her skin, drinking in the sight she was so shamelessly offering. She lifted her chin and pushed her hair back over her shoulders.
This was the final hand; she was betting everything on the chance of success. She might not have marked cards or weighted dice, but she would use whatever tricks she had in her arsenal to win this game. If that meant making herself vulnerable, stripping herself bare—both physically and emotionally—then that was what she would do.
“I want you, Sebastien. Here. Now.”
Always.
He shook his head. Her spirits plummeted at what she thought was rejection, but then he lifted his hands and cradled her cheeks.
“I can’t deny you anything,” he said with a groan.
He rested his forehead against hers and then bent and pressed a featherlight kiss to the bruise on her cheekbone. His tongue followed, skimming across the abrasion as if he could banish the hurt with his touch. A shiver ran through her, from her breasts to her belly.
Anya turned her head, trying to capture his mouth, but he avoided her seeking lips. Instead, he placed his hands on her shoulders and slid them down her bare arms until he could interlace their fingers. His chest skimmed hers, and she let out a ragged gasp of pleasure as his shirt brushed her naked skin.
With gentle pressure, he guided their joined hands behind her back, momentarily holding her captive against the hard edge of the desk, and Anya felt a breathless thrill of desire at the subtle hint of dominance. If any other man had held her imprisoned like this, she would have been fighting tooth and nail to get free, but she trusted him completely. He would release her the moment she asked him to.
She wouldn’t ask.
She strained closer. She could feel the hard length of his arousal through his breeches. It pressed insistently against her belly and she writhed against him, urging him to abandon whatever shred of control he still possessed.
“Anya.”
He said her name on a low growl of hunger, and his chest expanded as he took in a lungful of air. In a flurry of movement, he released her hands, lifted her up onto the desk, and stepped between her thighs. His hands pushed deep into her unbound hair. He tightened his fingers, gripping a fistful of the strands with a quick twist that sent pleasure and pain spiraling through her limbs. Her heart somersaulted as he fastened his lips to hers.
This kiss was wild, an admission of defeat and a glorious declaration of victory. Anya answered it fiercely, kissing him back with all the love in her heart.
He slid his hand down her throat and captured her breast, and she arched her back, offering more. He bent and caught her nipple in his mouth. His lips fastened over the taut peak, and she writhed in delight as he feasted, lavishing the sensitive flesh with tiny licks and tugs.