Page 10 of My Darling Rogue
Heavens, was it possible she might swoon? She’d never done so before in her entire life, but a strange feeling of weightlessness was overtaking her. Staring at Gabriel’s firm mouth, in particular the surprising Cupid’s bow shape of his upper lip, she dreamily wondered what he might taste of. Brandy? Or something equally dangerous?
“Prove it. Show me how unafraid you are. Kiss me, Lady Celia, and make me believe it.”
The challenge and the taunting manner in which Gabriel issued it sent a ripple of defiant anger through the fog Celia floated in. She took another breath, this one a cleansing inhalation that cleared away the cobwebs.
He believed she was afraid of him? That he could lecture her and dictate whom she kissed and where she kissed them? Oh! She didnotcare what this arrogant beast thought. She did not care he correctly guessed Robert’s intentions tonight, saving her from certain ruin a second time. Most of all, Celia did not care that deep down inside, in a place where she hid her true feelings from the world, she knew Gabriel Rose was absolutely right about her.
About everything.
Furious with herself and her own reaction to his softly spoken command, she looped her arms around his neck.
“Such bravery,” Gabriel murmured.
The mocking statement ignited a fiery need to wipe his smugness away. Celia’s lips tightened. She would teach the man a much-needed lesson. She would kiss him and leave him floundering in her wake as she’d done so many others before him.
Just before her mouth touched his, she saw a faint, glittering spark of satisfaction in his tawny gaze. It flitted through her consciousness how very dangerous this behavior was. Perhaps she should reconsider the impetuousness of her actions.
And then it was too late.
Gabriel immediately took control, one hand clamping on the nape of her neck. Holding her at the precise angle he preferred, he kissed Celia.
It was more than a kiss. It was a ravaging. A claiming. A declaration of mastery and possession. Gabriel’s tongue battled hers and claimed victory. The kiss deepened. Swirling, dancing, and collecting all resistance. Coaxing her into a state of such wildness, Celia barely comprehended his other hand, still riding low on her back, pushing her pelvis against his own.
The force he exerted, the pressure of their hips grinding in unison, sent shocking waves of pleasure singing through Celia’s veins. She melted into him, too caught up in the mystery of sensations to question why it felt amazing and… different. He held her so tightly, kissed her so unapologetically that Celia did not possess the willpower to demand that he release her.
Something was happening. A spark between her thighs. An igniting of flames. The impending explosion of the universe. All of it uncharted territory and the journey was orchestrated by Gabriel. The ridge of flesh beneath his trousers was made of stone, and with his encouragement, Celia moved helplessly against him.
“By God, you taste sweet as sugarplums,” Gabriel muttered, tearing his mouth from hers. He still held the back of her neck in his hand, but his grip shifted. Adjusted until the palm of his hand was under her chin, his thumb rubbing the sensitive spot just behind her earlobe. His fingers splayed out down the other side of her throat, following the vein thumping there with erratic desperation. “Go ahead, my lady. Take your pleasure, but do not forget I am the one giving you this.”
The grip on her throat tightened a fraction. His other hand remained locked on her back, directing her movements with breathtaking, unrelenting brutality. Celia was lost in a hazy world of intense desire as she rode him with layers of clothes between their bodies. Her pelvis ground against his with mysterious purpose, searching and desperate, climbing higher and higher until she was thrown over into an abyss where there was no bottom.
The world faded into gray, then burst into every imaginable color. Pleasure, unimaginable and pure, flooded her veins. She may have cried out, sobbing his name, but whatever sound emerged was swallowed by Gabriel’s mouth. He kissed her with the fierceness of a lion ripping apart a helpless lamb. While she shuddered atop him in complete surrender, Gabriel finally gentled the assault of his kiss. It melded into a series of soft nibbles on her bottom lip, his tongue engaged in leisurely sweeps of her mouth.
His grip loosened when Celia slumped against him. Even then, Gabriel did not release her. His fingers skated along the line of her throat in a soothing caress. The heavy weight of his palm on the base of her spine slowly eased up.
He did not utter a word, recognizing perhaps that she was a trembling mess of contradicting emotions. Between her legs, his erection still throbbed as the silence stretched on. Together, their breathing slowed until it was measured and even.
Celia blinked, gathering her senses with horrified awareness.
What had he done to her? Worse, why had she allowed it?
Shame crept along her insides until it bloomed red on her cheeks. She had used his body with his encouragement. And loved every second of it. Loved the feel of his cock pressing against her softness. Loved the force he yielded in bending her to his will. She even loved the fact he’d been silently watching her for months.
How could I want that? Why did I not stop him?
Celia swallowed a moan of sudden despair, recognizing the truth inside herself, even if she did not completely understand it. This was something to fear. To hide from. To avoid until a future husband made it his business to control.
“Let me go, Mister Rose.”
Her directive wedged between them like an iceberg. Chilling. Cold. Impersonal. A lady speaking to a servant.
“Of course, sugarplum.”
Gabriel’s arms immediately opened. He watched her scramble off him, his lips twisted in faint mockery.
“Don’t—don’t call me that,” she whispered from behind clenched teeth as she stood beside the settee.
Gabriel did not move from his sprawled position. He merely gazed up at her, the bulge in his trousers unmistakable.
