Page 30 of The Beast of Beswick
She wantedmore.
Never had she felt such an intense reaction to a man’s kiss—the weightlessness of her stomach, the trembling of her limbs, the liquid heat between her thighs. The all-encompassing storm of it barreling through her.
“Thane,” she whispered.
With a low growl at her plea, he drew her up against him, giving her exactly what she wanted. More of him. Their mouths crashed into each other, ferocious now.Hungry. His lips teased hers, his tongue dominating her mouth with deep, delectable licks. Desire shook her. Her senses quaked and crumbled.
She was caught up in his universe, filled with combusting stars and streaking meteorites, her own need climbing in its pursuit of pleasure. Incoherent moans burst from her as she reached up to cup his jaw, fingers connecting with roped, raised skin. Her eyes flew open as she froze in place, her palm recoiling in shock.
Instantly, he jerked away, breaking the kiss, his golden eyes blazing like twin suns, his lips full and swollen.
“Thane, I—”
“Enough,” he rasped. “That’s enough.”
Beswick stepped back, eyes feral, and Astrid had the sudden urge to calm him as she would a wary, skittish Brutus. She watched as his knuckles skidded across the curve of his lower lip almost in wonder, and the unconscious act made her heart squeeze. His fingers slid to the deep scar that carved into his left cheek only to fall away. Pain, anger, and raw need swirled in those beautiful eyes, regret and shame swift to follow.
He’d flinched because she had touched him. Had she hurt him somehow?
“I’m sorry,” Astrid whispered.
“Don’t. Pity. Me.” The words were doused in agony and no small amount of anger. Then all traces of emotion bled from his face. “I should not have kissed you.”
Inexplicably hurt, she responded in kind. “It was just a kiss, Your Grace.”
But even as she said it, Astrid knew it for the lie it was. There was nojust a kisswith a man like him. Even now, her lips felt like they’d been conquered, like they still belonged to him…no longer hers. She fought the urge to run her fingers over them.
Instead, she peered up at him through her lashes…and a lump formed in her throat. Beswick looked bitter, his beautiful mouth twisted into an ugly, distorted shape. She couldn’t tell whether it was directed at her or at himself. With him, one could never be sure. Cold and remote one minute, hot and entreating the next, his humors were impossible to read or predict.
Either way, his regret was clear.
Squashing the spreading ache in her chest, Astrid turned and pretended to inspect the downy petals of a striped orchid. “One would think you’d never been kissed before.”
“As you have?”
There was a subtle shift of tension in the fragrant air that made the hairs on her nape stand at attention. Those hunter’s eyes speared her, something dark flashing in them, and Astrid bristled. She had nothing to be ashamed about. There wasn’t much lower to fall when one was already ruined and well acquainted with rock bottom.
“I’ve had my share,” she said softly.
Hershareshe could count on one hand—one or two hasty ones with Beaumont that had made her skin crawl and bile pool in her throat. And once later, long after the scandal, in a moment of reckless defiance with a stranger, when she’d felt nothing but indifference. Not that she had to tell him that. Let him think what he wanted.
Everyone else did.
Chapter Nine
Astrid slammed her pillow over her head and screamed. Every nerve ending in her body, particularly the ones centered between her legs, was on fire. For the third night in a row, she was hounded by some of the most erotic dreams she’d ever had in her life, involving a silken-tongued duke and a decided lack of clothing.
Though she knew he’d regretted kissing her—they’d parted soon thereafter in awkward silence, and he’d been avoiding her ever since—Astrid wished she could say the same as a wicked pulse throbbed low in her belly just from the memory of his lips, his scent, histaste. Regret, unfortunately, was the least of her opinions.
In her fantasies, Beswick was a demanding lover whose hot, talented mouth trailed wet kisses down her entire body, from her lips to her breasts to where it ached the most. Dream Duke didn’t stop there, either.
No, Dream Duke strummed her womanly parts like a violin.
Staring up at the darkened ceiling, Astrid pressed her damp thighs together and half giggled, half groaned into the pillow. God, she was shameless! Though she was an innocent in the ways of passion, she’d attempted to explore once with a nice-enough young man she’d met at a country fair, telling herself that if she was going to be accused of being ruined, she might as well know the crime, but she hadn’t been able to go past a single kiss.
Unsurprisingly, she had not cared to try again, at least, not until recently. With a scarred, fractious, broken duke who had the emotional proficiency of a flea.
Astrid screamed into the pillow again and kicked her feet for good measure.
