Page 89 of Gilded Locks
Now, he was here.
“Touch me.” The words escaped before she could stop them.
His hand dropped immediately. “That wasn’t begging.”
Frustration and need tangled in her chest. He stood over her like carved stone, everything she wanted just out of reach. The blankets slipped lower when she arched toward him, and his eyes tracked the movement with laser focus, but still, he didn’t move.
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth.” His voice had gone deadly soft. “Tell me what you thought about in that tub. Tell me what made you say my name.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “You already know.”
“Say it.”
She pressed her thighs together, trying to ease the ache building between them. He noticed, of course, his eyes darkening, and his hands clenching into fists.
“I thought about your hands.” The admission scraped her throat raw. “Your scars. How they felt on my neck. How they might feel in… other places.”
“Continue.”
“Your mouth.” Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “How it sounds when you roll your Rs and how it might sound to hear you say my name.”
“Marigold…” he said, with deliberate slowness, letting the R roll over the G into the long, lulling L.
Her eyes rolled shut. It was better than she’d imagined.
“You like when I say your name?”
“Yes.”
He made a sound low in his chest, not quite growl, not quite groan. “Keep talking. Tell me more.”
She stared through her lashes at him. “I thought about...” She swallowed hard. “I wondered if you’d be rough, or deliberately gentle. If you’d take your time or devour me whole.”
“Which did you decide?”
“Both.” She sensed a side to him very few saw. She believed he’d once been gentle, but life had made him hard.
“Which do you want?”
“Do I have to choose?”
His brows lifted. “You want me rough?”
“I want you honest. I want the real you, or nothing at all.”
He moved then, faster than she could track, lunging over her, still not touching but close enough that his breath ghosted over her lips.
“Beg me.” His voice commanded obedience. “Beg me to touch you, and I’ll end this misery. I’ll ruin you so thoroughly that you’ll never try to wash me off again.”
“I…” His words settled over like a chill. But then she frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw you, in the shower, scrubbing your skin. You thought you could wash me away, but you can’t get rid of me that easily, Lisichka. I’m in here.” He pressed a finger to her forehead.
“That’s not what I was doing.”
“I watched you.”
