Page 42 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

She wanted him to try a new position as he fooked her. She wanted him to hold her, instead of taking her from behind.

The thought sent a spike of irritation through him. “Ye havenae complained thus far.” He’d been doing it for her, so she didn’t have to close her eyes against his hideousness. “Dinnae tell me ye want to look at a monster while he fooks ye?”

Something like anger flashed in her hazel eyes. “No. I want to look at you, Demon.”

While he was reeling from the vehemence in her tone, she slid his jacket from his shoulders. When it hit the floor beside her gown, he swallowed, but didn’t object. Her lithe fingers made short work of his waistcoat, pushing it aside in increasing haste…but when she reached for the buttons on his shirt, his hands closed around hers, stopping her.

Her gaze snapped to his, questions within them.

It was vital he keep his shirt on. Keep the worst of his scars hidden.

“Why are ye doing this?” Demon managed to growl, trying to hold onto any semblance of control.

Her hazel eyes flicked across his face, not shying away from the ruin. “I told you.”

“Ye’re trying to seduce me,” he accused.

And the corner of her lip twitched upward. “Yes. Yes I am.”

“Brazen lass.”

“You made me so, Demon.”

With that accusation, Georgia’s arms snaked around his neck, her bare breasts pressing against his chest, and she kissed him.

He broke.

The thing inside of him, the thing telling him nay, for her sake, nay, just fooking broke. He gave into the inevitable.

With a growl, Demon wrapped one arm around her, pulling her closer, as the other hand went to her hair and threaded his fingers through it. As his lips claimed hers, he marveled at her softness, her sweetness.

As his tongue slid between the seam of her lips, she whimpered with pleasure and tried to press up on her toes, as if desperate for more more more.

But he was determined to go slow, to enjoy her. Enjoy her taste.

His hand dropped from her hair to her breast, cupping it, reveling in the weight against his palm. When he brushed his thumb across her nipple, she wriggled her hips until she cradled his hardness, and his hand grasped her arse to keep her there.

When he’d scribbled down that contract, he’d been as crude as possible. He hadn’t mentioned kissing, or fondling, or nipples. Or tongues, or whimpers, or foreplay. He’d wanted to shock her. Snapping his fingers and demanding she pleasure him had been about his satisfaction.

He’d been an idiot not to realize how much satisfaction he’d get from her pleasure.

Who would have thought her pleasure might stem from touching and kissing someone who looked…like him?

Attempting to banish that thought, Demon planted one foot and spun about, taking her with him. He lowered her to the settee and settled himself on his knees on the ridiculous rug his grandfather had made from a Swedish hunting trophy, all without breaking the kiss.

But once Georgia rested against the back, her hair spread out around her, he pulled away, kissing a trail down her jaw to her throat. Breathlessly, she spread her legs so he could settle his weight between them, even as his lips reached that spot where her throat met her shoulders. He bit her there, lightly, and she responded with a gasp, and by lifting her hips to grind against him.

But when his lips closed around one of her nipples, her gasp turned to a sort of keening whimper that made Demon want to grin in satisfaction. His hand dropped from her other tit to her curls, and his fingers found her already wet. Nay, not just wet; dripping with need.

For him.

But she’d wanted this, and he was going to take it slow. His mouth drove her mad, first one breast, then the other. He stroked her, teasing her by pushing one knuckle deep into her core, then retreating, until she was panting and desperate.

That’s when he shifted his weight back and lowered his mouth to her curls.

She damn near leapt off the settee. “Demon!”

“Every position,” he murmured against her core.

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