Tarnished Knight - By Bec McMaster Page 0,30

shoulders out of his coat and then tugged one of the buttons free. The red velvet frock-coat buttoned to her throat, but it fit her like a glove. And he noticed. She saw it on his face as he watched her undo several buttons, harsh hunger tightening his expression with demonic need. Her nipples tightened, a fierce heat igniting deep in her belly. Her own hunger. Her own need. It had been years since she’d lain with a man, and she wanted this one so much it hurt.

Every muscle in his body tensed, the leather creaking softly over his thighs. Still, he didn’t reach for her, just looked up at her with that tight expression.

“Do you want to touch me?” Esme whispered, her knuckles brushing the smooth curve of her breasts as she worked the buttons lower. “Or perhaps… to taste me?”

That drew another heated glance that lit her on fire. She couldn’t stop herself from reaching out, sliding her hands over the heavily muscled expanse of his shoulders. A groan wet her lips. “I want to touch you,” she whispered, leaning closer. A light kiss against his throat. “I want to taste you--”

Her tongue darted out and licked the distended vein in his throat. His pulse kicked against her lips, racing hard. His body might be as still as a statue but he felt this. Tension practically vibrated in him.

“Esme, stop,” he groaned. His hand clenched in her skirts as he hissed out a sharp breath, palm flattening over her bottom as he urged her against him.

She nipped his throat, drinking in the masculine scent she knew so well, the stubble of his jaw rasping against her cheek and lips. Hands darting, stroking, digging into the hard muscle as she pressed against him. This time she felt no sense of rejection at his words. She knew exactly what lay behind them.

Darting a glance at his eyes – they weren’t black yet – she captured his face in her hands and slid into his lap. Her skirts rode up her thighs, bunching between her and his hips. Still, there wasn’t enough fabric for her not to feel him.

“Oh.” Esme’s smile widened as she shifted against him, stockinged knees driving into the rug beneath them. This time there was no stopping her. She slid her hands over the roughened black stubble of his scalp and kissed him hard.

No hesitation. Not this time. Rip grabbed her, hauling her against his chest, his hips driving up into hers. Somewhere in the distance, rain began to patter on the roof.

“Want you,” he growled. “Want you so damned much.”

She tore her lips from his just long to gasp. “I want you too. I feel like I’ve wanted you forever.”

Rip squeezed her against him fiercely, as if he couldn’t quite reply. Then her hands were digging at his shirt, tugging it free of his pants. Fighting with his braces as she shoved them off his shoulders, her mouth greedy on his, tongue darting against his own. Finally she had the shirt free of his pants. Her palms flat against his rippled abdomen, she pushed him flat on his back and sucked in a ragged breath.

Rip fell back onto the rug on his elbows, not so much a sign of submission, but an acceptance… for now. The look in his eyes promised that she wouldn’t have this chance again.

Esme didn’t care. Her blood fired as she tore his shirt open, baring the heavy slab of his chest to her gaze. Smooth hairless skin met her gaze, the colour of honey. She’d always thought the warmth of his skin owed its colour to the sun, but though his hands and face were darker, his body was golden in the lamplight. One day he’d lose that, as the craving virus colonised and faded the colour from his skin. Or perhaps not. Ever since Honoria had discovered that her vaccinated blood lowered Blade’s virus count, Esme had been thinking about asking for the vaccination herself. To keep her man as human as he could possibly be, with the virus raging in him.

Thick muscle, his abdomen chiselled as it narrowed down to his hips. She couldn’t stop looking. She didn’t think she’d ever want to stop touching him.

“Esme.” He drew the folds of his shirt together, as if unnerved by her stare.

Esme caught his hands. “Don’t,” she said. “I want to look at you. I love your body.” Her fingernails dug into his abdomen. “All of you. All mine.” Leaning down