Page 17 of Harpy of the Ton
“Do you feel it?” he whispered. “Your need?”
She nodded, closing her eyes, as if she feared being overwhelmed by sensation.
Then he lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers. She parted them almost immediately, and he smiled to himself at her offering.
“I shall only kiss you if you ask,” he whispered.
She tilted her face, seeking his lips, but he withdrew, and she let out a cry of frustration.
“No, my lady. You mustask.”
“I-I can’t…”
“Then you shan’t have your reward.”
She opened her eyes, and he drew in a sharp breath to temper the surge in his cock. She was ready. Were he to toss up her skirts and bury himself inside her against the stable door, she’d be screaming his name within a heartbeat.
But a man should never take—no matter how much the woman desired it.
“Ask,” he demanded, his voice a low growl.
Her eyes flared once more, then she shifted her legs, a small gasp escaping her lips as she pressed her body against his hardness.
“Do you want me?” he asked.
He held his breath in anticipation. Then she nodded, slowly.
“Yes.”
Her whispered word was so quiet he could almost have imagined it. But it was enough. He claimed her mouth, sliding his lips over hers, and his manhood surged as she responded.She reached up and fisted her hands in his hair. Little whimpers of need resonated in her throat, as if she had endured a desert and was now desperate to quench her thirst.
He ought to have relished her surrender—the victory he’d secured. But the desperation in her kiss elicited only guilt.
To think, this might be the only passion she’d experience in her life.
The kiss grew more desperate, her whimpers of need increasing, and he shushed her like he would a fevered child, caressing her face with soft sweeps of his fingers, to reassure her. His anger had all but gone as he recognized her anger and spite for what it was. Desperation—and a deeply rooted need.
A need to be free.
“Let me free you,” he whispered.
Almost at once, she stiffened. Snapping her head back, she withdrew, and her eyes, once unfocused with passion, cleared into bright, hard contempt. She reached up, bending her fingers into claws, and raked her fingernails across his face.
Thick, sharp pain sliced across his cheek, and he jerked back with a cry.
Bloody hell!
His stomach churned at the metallic stench of blood, and he lifted his hand to his cheek, where his fingers slipped against thick, warm liquid.
“Sweet heaven, woman—what wasthatfor?”
She stood before him, hair in disarray, a feral expression in her eyes, and—curse his body—his cock rose at the sight of such wild abandon. Then she lowered her gaze to her hand, where he caught sight of the red smear on her fingernails.
“You—animal!” she cried. “Violator of women! You’ve lusted after me from the beginning.”
“I did nothing that you didn’t beg for, woman—and you know it,” he growled, pressing his hand against his cheek.
Fuck—that hurt!
