Page 40 of My Darling Rogue
One palm openly stroked and caressed her breasts, his fingers pinching the nipples with deliberate intent until the sting penetrated the layers of cloth. When that same hand dipped into the bodice of her gown, forcing the material to gape and allow him better access, Celia did not stop him. She arched her back, offering herself up like a sacrifice to a lion.
Gabriel’s growl of pleasure reverberated through Celia. Somehow, between the wicked fingers plucking at her breast and the scorching fire of his mouth on her throat, she had not noticed his free hand gathering fistfuls of her skirts. His palm now skated dangerously close to her aching, needy center.
A yearning that he touch her there as he had in the forest swamped Celia. She trembled in his embrace, hips tilting toward his hand. All conscious thought left her mind, leaving it a blank canvas that only Gabriel could paint with color.
God help her if she actually accepted his proposal.
“Ma dragee picquante.”
My prickly sugarplum.
He muttered the words against her neck, fingers ripping the delicate fabric of her drawers with careful brutality. One thick digit slid inside her wet heat while his other hand twisted the hardened peak of her nipple.
Celia moaned in distressed pleasure, writhing with need and want and the terrible knowledge she could never fully be his.
“Yes, Celia. Come on my hand now,” Gabriel crooned in her ear. “Show me how this sweet, little quim will squeeze my cock when I take you the first time. Moan for me as I fuck you with my fingers. Show me that you belong to me. You’re so goddamn tight and sweet.”
A wave of desire crashed through Celia at the filthy words Gabriel uttered. Her knees buckled until only his massive strength held her aloft. Clutching his shoulders tighter, her fingernails dug into the dark fabric of his coat. The pressure created by his finger built until it was an unmanageable force.
A thunderstorm roiled through Celia, sweeping her up into the heavens and shattering her with flashes of lightning.
“Fuck,” Gabriel groaned as her climax began shaking its way through her body. “So beautiful. So perfect. So fucking mine.”
There was a murmur of voices. Others. People nearby. Caught in a whirlwind of ecstasy, Celia became semi-conscious of the chance of discovery. But she couldn’t stop riding the waves of pleasure. She may have even tried crying out, but Gabriel anticipated it before the sound broke free of her throat.
He quickly spun her around, his large body blocking anyone from witnessing his actions. Now, she sagged against him, her back to his front, and he held her so tight she could not wiggle away.
Withdrawing his hand from the gown’s bodice, he clamped it over her mouth while the other remained wedged into the heat between her thighs. His broad, blunt finger stubbornly coaxed more of her response until she was limp with satisfaction and moaning with delight. The coolness of the night air danced across her thighs as Gabriel’s forearm held her skirts aloft.
“Do not come any closer,” he snarled.
Celia jerked at the feral quality of his tone, but the finger still inside her continued stroking with persistent tenderness. There was a fierce possessiveness in his voice and she shivered.
Celia felt the motion as Gabriel turned his head and glanced over his shoulder.
“If you value your lives, you will leave this garden immediately. Now.”
His words were directed at others. Not her. Celia stiffened in Gabriel’s embrace when she realized that the group hunting fireflies had discovered them. They gathered at the beginning of the rose garden maze, no doubt puzzled and maybe even horrified by the suggestion of Gabriel holding her captive.
No matter that she was safe from their prying eyes. And relished being held in such a commanding way by this man.
She should be fighting to get away, but that would turn matters even more dire. The situation was painfully clear as it was. There would be no doubt as to what had occurred between them. How Celia had been compromised. How she hadn’t fought it and had gone willingly to her ruin.
This was scandalous on a monumental scale. Gossip would spread quickly. It would be demanded that Gabriel marry her, taking the decision ultimately from her hands.
She would be his after all. Despite her fears. Despite the rejection of his proposal. Despite the fact he would be one of the most powerful men in England and she the most unworthy bride imaginable.
She would be his.
Shewantedto be his.
And she wasn’t sure she was all right with that.
“Let her go, Rose. Damn you, if you think I’ll stand idly by while you attack her, think again,” Robert demanded in outrage, his voice quivering with emotion. “Lady Celia, come away with me now. Away from this blackguard.”
“Take one more step and I’ll dispatch you first, Lord Harvey,” Gabriel replied coldly. His palm, however, was hot as fire as he cupped Celia’s sex. His finger moved slowly out of her inner channel and slid through the moisture there. Finding the tiny bud of nerves, he stroked her with increasing intensity.
Celia sucked in a strangled breath behind the barrier of his hand. Lust was stirring again, and Gabriel knew it. She sensed his wicked grin before he thrust even deeper, his finger hooking in a manner that sent stars dancing before her eyes.
