Wicked Again (The Wickeds #7) - Kathleen Ayers Page 0,39

of the door.

“Tell her to leave your dressing gown,” Haddon growled against her breast.

“Leave it outside, Felice. I’m enjoying,” her voice raised again as Haddon’s hand cupped her mound, “the fire.”

“Yes, my lady.” Footsteps moved away from the door.

“Don’t move, Marissa,” he admonished her again.

“I won’t,” she whispered, curling her fingers at her sides now that she was no longer holding her skirts. She refused to think of anything past this moment with Haddon.

Her eyes closed as he left her and went to the door to retrieve the dressing gown, throwing the lock as he did so. Not that her servants would have dared come in here.

Haddon tossed the dressing gown on the worn sofa. He hovered behind her, purring in satisfaction like the large panther she often imagined him to be. The length of him, hard and thick, teased her buttocks through the damp material of her chemise.

A charge of excitement shot up her spine as she felt the tug at the laces of her stays.

Haddon cursed, a vile oath, before bending to nip lightly at her shoulder. The heat of him left her back as he padded to the fire where Marissa had hung his coat.

The firelight caressed him as he moved, glancing off the muscle lining his buttocks and thighs. Haddon was sculpted, like one of the dozens of statues that seemed to populate everyone’s homes and gardens. Marissa hadn’t ever thought of a man being beautiful, until Haddon.

“The curve of your hip is lovely,” she blurted, half ashamed she’d said such a thing out loud, especially because she sounded like a nitwit.

A sound of satisfaction came from him as he turned back toward her, holding up a small pocketknife. His free hand splayed over his hip. “I’m beautiful here?” The hand moved, his fingers wrapping around the hard length between his legs. “Or here?”

Marissa inhaled softly, feeling the answering throb between her legs. “Both.”

Laughing softly, Haddon came toward Marissa again and pressed a kiss just beneath where her hair was gathered in her now battered chignon.

A pop sounded as the fastenings of her stays were cut.

Torn dress. Stays cut from me. Whatever will I tell Felice?

As the remainder of her stays fell away from her waist, Marissa took a deep breath. Heavenly. Almost as lovely as the slow burn of kisses Haddon was placing at the top of her spine. His fingers tore her chemise, pushing it down over her shoulders, until it, too, fell into a damp pile around her ankles.

Fingers toyed with her garters.

“I think we’ll leave these on,” he murmured against her neck as two hands came from behind her to palm the underside of her breasts, squeezing as if testing the weight.

“You have the most delicious bosom ever created.” A thumb flicked against one taut nipple. “So perfect.” His blunt fingers rolled the globes of flesh back and forth. “I’m a great admirer.”

Marissa trembled as a sigh of pleasure escaped her lips at his ministrations. She was standing nearly naked—oh, very well; she supposed still wearing stockings couldn’t actually count as being partially clothed—in her parlor with Haddon.

I’m naked.

Suddenly conscious of the fact, Marissa tilted sideways toward the sofa, kicking away the remnants of her clothing. She grabbed at the blanket she’d left there last night, a terrible use of good yarn with more than a few holes. But Arabella, in a fit of domesticity when she was all of thirteen, had knit the blanket for Marissa.

Her niece had many skills, but knitting wasn’t one of them.

The blanket was a study of slipped stitches and uneven edges. One corner had nearly unraveled. Still, Marissa grabbed at it, determined not to stand naked before her lover—

“You are beautiful to me.” Haddon’s eyes slid down her shoulders to where she’d clasped the blanket against her breasts. “Please don’t hide from me.”

Tilting her chin up with his thumb, Haddon’s mouth fell on hers. Urgent. Hot. With no shred of the gentleness or patience he often displayed. It was as if he’d been starving for months and finally been presented a banquet.

Fingers sunk into her hair, releasing the remainder of the thick, wet mass until it streamed in disarray over her shoulders. Droplets struck her cheeks as he cupped them and pulled Marissa forcefully against him.

The blanket dropped to the floor.

“I thought I could wait. Drag this out for several hours. But I want you too much.” His words were a dark hiss against her lips.

Marissa’s back arched, groaning as her breasts pressed against the heat