Page 45 of Whispered Desire

His movements are calm as he shoulders off his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his buttoned shirt, but there’s an underlying tension radiating through each snap of his fingers.

“I’ve done you a disservice,mon petit ange.” The French endearment rolls off his tongue, dark and titillating. “I told you how things would be from now on. I’ve even given you glimpses of my intentions. But they haven’t been enough. It’s time I make sure you understand exactly what I want from you.”

“Mathias…”

I shuffle away from him toward the walk-in closet. Perhaps with some distance, and a door between us, he’ll calm downbefore doing whatever he’s up to. Adrenaline pumps through my veins—fight or flight—as fear and arousal twine together in a twisted combination.

My hand grazes the closet’s door handle, preparing to slam it shut, when Mathias swiftly strides forward and traps me against the island centered in the large space.

“A door won’t save you.” He lifts me onto the cold marble, and I shiver at the contact through my jeans.

I’m not afraid of Mathias. That would be too simple. Instead, my wariness is mixed with lust and anticipation and curiosity.

A potent elixir.

A dangerous one.

“You said you wanted me to shoulder your burdens for you, and I willingly accepted the responsibility.” With each word, he removes a piece of my clothing.

Knit sweater. Jeans. Socks.

“You told me you were stuck, yet I haven’t done my job of freeing you.”

My bra loosens, and a tremulous breath follows.

Mathias touched me that first morning here—after my anxiety attack. I was emotionally exhausted and in desperate need of his warm caresses. It reminded my body that it could feel good, too.

But that was done underneath my clothing and the covers.

Each time he's touched me since then, it's been half-clothed for one reason or another.

He hasn’t actually seen me naked.

Hasn’t discovered the stretch marks, the rolls of skin. And his potential reaction makes me nervous.

Because I’ve seen him shirtless. Mathias is toned and muscular, not a soft spot on his huge body—the antithesis of mine.

“Don’t hide from me,” he commands, separating the arms I instinctively crossed to cover myself.

As soon as my breasts are revealed, Mathias dips his head and draws his tongue around a pink areola before sucking the nipple between his lips, the scratch of his perpetual five o’clock shadow doing funny things to my insides.

I latch onto his hair, ruffling the neat strands with my fingertips. “Mathias…” That’s as far as my thoughts go.

I should push him away, not pull him closer.

Giving in so easily to his desires doesn’t help my cause of leaving the manor and returning to North Carolina by myself.

It only cements that my body loves to ignore my brain and wants to dive into whatever Mathias is offering.

Every. Single. Damn. Time.

“You’re not going to come until I say so. Understand, Allie Angel?” His rough fingers rip my panties down my legs before spearing through the damp curls to rub my clit. “And I won’t give you permission until I have your complete submission. Ready to convince me,ma cherie?”

No.

Yes.

Like a childhood game, the petals of a flower get plucked one by one.

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