Page 597 of From Rakes to Riches

At least, not yet.

She would get there.

He was determined.

“You are a diamond, Gemma. You are not a spot of shame or blight on the world.”

The last bit of the cloth fell away and fluttered to the floor, leaving her chest bared to his gaze. Pink nipples taut, her breasts stood high and proud on her chest. Lightly, he feathered his fingers around her waist, both their gazes following the trail as they moved over her stomach and up to cup those small, perfectly formed breasts.

She sucked in her breath and watched as he lightly squeezed her nipples.

He angled his mouth to her ear. “Perfection,” he murmured.

He loosened the strip of leather that only just reined in her hair. “I’d like to see your hair in long curls down your back.”

Emotion flickered in her eyes. She might’ve wanted the same thing, but she said, “I won’t be here to?—”

He touched a light fingertip to her mouth. “Let’s not speak in absolutes tonight.”

His hands moved across the ivory skin of her shoulders, again drawing her gaze. Together they watched where his fingerstrailed. Below the flat of her stomach, they found the waistband of her trousers, just above the falls.

Here, Rake hesitated.

From here, there was no return.

Her gaze lifted. “What are you waiting for?” she asked, her cheeks flushed suggestive pink.

A smile tipped at the corner of his mouth. “For you to ask precisely that.”

His fingers made slow work of the buttons—one…at…a…time—her eyes dark with desire, and anticipation roared through him. Carnality pulled and demanded that he make quick work of it, drag her trousers to her knees, bend her over, and enter her in one swift, satisfying stroke. His cock throbbed with the need.

But that wasn’t the sort of coupling the rest of him needed.

He needed connection of a different sort with Gemma. Most of all, he needed her to feel that connection—not just his cock inside her.

The falls dropped, and his fingers found her fiery mound of curls. A moan poured from her, and she melted back against him, her arms reaching up and winding around his neck…her ivory torso stretched yet languid…her pink nipples taut, as his fingers slid along her slit, now deliciously wet with desire.

“Perhaps your name does suit you,” she muttered. “Rake.”

“I have my moments,” rumbled from him.

Goosebumps raced across her skin, as her head arched back and dug into his shoulder. With one finger he entered her, and with his thumb, he stroked her sweet, sensitive nub. She inhaled a quick gasp, then exhaled a long, breathy groan, her round, fetching bottom arcing back against his rigid manhood, as she watched him pleasure her in their reflection.

“Oh, Gemma,” he growled into her ear, holding her gaze captive.

Here was connection. Here, they were bare to one another, no shadows…no place to hide. Their wants, desires, and aches unguarded and undisguised.

Here was intimacy.

Her hips found a rhythm with his fingers. He could sense her impatience. She wanted release—now—and he wanted to give it to her.

Only with great force of will was he able to move his hand to her waist and turn her to face him, stepping her backward toward the bed.

He would bind her to him by means fair or foul.

All was fair in love and war, no?

She perched on the edge of the bed, propped onto her elbows, a smile curling about her mouth.

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