Wicked Again (The Wickeds #7) - Kathleen Ayers Page 0,74

he would give it to her. “Please, Haddon.” Unsurprisingly, he’d managed to unbelt the robe and push the silk aside without her objecting. And he’d not doused the lamp.

Marissa didn’t care.

Teeth nipping at her delicate skin, Haddon moved down to her stomach, while his fingers thrust gently inside her, deliberately not touching her there in any other way.

“You are a terrible man.” She tried to rub herself against him, anything to relieve the tension tightening her body.

“Indeed, I can be. But I want all of you, Marissa. Every delicious, elderly matron inch.” His mouth hovered just above her mound.

“Horrible.” She gasped as his tongue dipped between her legs.

“There will be no more hiding from me.” His tongue teased her, lightly touching the tiny bud, just enough to keep Marissa on the precipice until she was thrusting herself shamelessly into his mouth.

“No.” Her breathing was ragged. “I promise. Only—” The rest of her words disappeared into a loud moan. He’d sucked the bit of flesh into his mouth as his fingers curled inside her.

A thousand bits of light appeared before Marissa’s eyes, like the stars in the sky at night, as she arched off the bed. Her thighs tightened, and Haddon growled, pushing one of her legs over his shoulder. His mouth and fingers coaxed her through every bit of her climax, drawing out her pleasure until Marissa lay panting against the bed.

“My lord, but you’re good at that.”

“Does your ankle hurt? Your head pain you?” His voice was rough. Aroused. He wasn’t close to being done with her.

“No. I feel—”

“Good.” Haddon flipped her over on her stomach. His mouth trailed down the length of her spine until he reached her buttocks. “Get on your knees, my love.”

Legs still shaking from her release only moments ago, Marissa did as he asked.

With no warning, Haddon grabbed her around the waist, sinking deep inside her with one hard thrust. He paused, his breath ragged against her ear, and sat back slightly, pulling her with him.

Then Haddon ravished her. Thoroughly. Completely.

It wasn’t gentle. There was little tenderness. Marissa sensed every thrust was meant to possess her. Claim her. Haddon was always demanding in bed, but this was something different. Something primal. As if he really was a Viking raider who had taken her captive.

Marissa’s own arousal barely had time to retreat before his fingers found her again while he whispered, in great detail, all the wicked things he meant to do with her. Every word brought her closer to the edge, but Haddon never allowed her release. When she began to beg, his thrusts became slower, more controlled.

He turned her head, taking her mouth in a slow sensuous kiss. She tasted herself and the whisky on his lips along with all the hunger this man had for her.

“Marissa.” Haddon thrust once more, stroking her flesh until Marissa sobbed as the climax rushed through her body. She heard herself cry out his name over and over, feeling the rush of warmth within her as he found his own release.

Haddon fell to the side with a masculine grunt of satisfaction, pulling Marissa with him. He stayed buried within her, his heart beating madly.

Marissa gave a deep sigh of contentment. Her limbs were languid, weak, her body softening and molding itself to his. She felt completed in a way she never had before, resting in the circle of Haddon’s arms.

“Are you still well?” he said softly, his breath fanning her cheek.

“Oh, yes.”

“Those things I said, Marissa, how I mean to debauch you—”

“Yes.” She held her breath.

“I meant every one.”

22

The bed dipped as Haddon’s warmth left her side. She’d been dozing, lulled into that wonderful place between sleep and wakefulness by the sound of his heart beneath her ear. The need to keep Haddon close caused her to stretch her fingers out, not wanting him to leave and return to his own bed.

“Shush, my love. I’m only going to stoke the fire.” He tucked the blankets around her securely and pressed a kiss to her temple.

Marissa opened her eyes a slit, admiring Haddon’s movements as he brought the fire back to life. He was lovely to watch, the lean muscle of his body moving gracefully as he bent to the task. Satisfied, he stood and walked back to her, the flames outlining him with a soft, amber light.

He's so bloody beautiful. And mine.

Tonight had been an exercise in demonstrating the fact.

She flapped open the blankets to allow him to slide back beside her. Curling her body next to