Page 38 of Duke of Treason (Rogues from War 3)

Good. It was precisely what she wished. “You never told me why your regiment thought you missing.” Her mouth travelled to his other nipple while she sensed him tensing.

“This is for real.” He concluded, none too surprised.

She lifted her head. “Yes.” Giving him no time to think, she knelt before him, fingers on the buttons. Honey jar forgotten on the floor. “Answer me.” Silky voice, she undid the first, his breath quickened.

“No.” His tall frame leaned back on the column as if his life depended on that.

The second button became open. “Where did you go?”

His eyes closed as his open lips worked with the oxygen. “None of your…” fast breath. “Business.”

The third button fell open. She rubbed her palms over the length of him. “Did you try to desert?”

The chains shook with his effort to escape the torture. “I will not tell you.” Uttered as if in pain.

No buttons left, she lowered the clothing to see his glorious erection pop out. “Unfortunate.” Honeyed fingers closing on the hot, hard length, she looked up at him.

His expression held a sort of calamitous tantalization, his eyes on her, in unsuccessful resistance. “Annabel.” He rumbled when her fist moved up and down his iron erection.

Touching him was making her insides molten. “Are you a traitor?”

Those rugged features froze to a stony stillness. He was not taking it.

But then her hungry mouth covered the fat tip of him and all she heard was a scratchy wild sound. “Are you?” She pressed when her lips distanced some inches from him.

Murky gaze trained on her, his fabulous lips drafted a sardonic side smile. “Torture me, yes.” Hips jerked to her. “We will both pleasure from it.”

She took him in again, his boasting ending suddenly to give way to another groan. Salty, hard and silky, he was delicious. “No information?” Mouth away from him anew. “What a pity.” She murmured, meaning anything but.

The tip went inside her lips again and she savoured him as he became harder and the tip produced wetness.

Not giving him completion, she stood up, toe to toe with the blasted man, battling in their eyes. “Unclothe.” He had the cheek to order.

As their gazes locked, his hypnotised hers, a fiery current running between them. It was her turn to become breathless. Not even noticing it, her peignoir fell from her shoulders and the strings of her nightgown pulled as if by magic to follow the peignoir. His hands tightened on the chains to a whitish hue. She intended to step back to cater him with the view of her which he could not touch. Turning, she moved one foot.

He was quicker. He swivelled his body under the chains, hooking her foot and taking her with him. She landed against the column, facing it. How the darn did he do that? Trapped between hard muscle and cold stone, she could not move. His open moist mouth landed on her neck in a rough grazing along it. In moans, her had fell on his chest, the chins tinkled as they twisted..

The contrast of cold stone and heated muscle set fire to the whole of her. One cheek to the petrified material, elbows to the sides of her head, midnight hair falling all over, breasts meeting sandpapery surface, she was the picture of capitulation.

“Arch your body for me, Annabel.” The dry command weakened her even more.

There was no choice other than succumb yet again.

In a swift move, his pelvis adjusted, and he drove inside her wetness, merciless, delicious. Her only response, a ragged groan echoing in the enclosed space. It unleashed a volcanic response in her centre.

This position made him fill her so completely, the abysm threatened.

“Touch yourself.” He issued, coarse.

Dear me! She had never done that, not in the presence of this man at least. Her hand obeyed him though, and her feminine parts surged starved and anxious for fulfilment. The nails of the other hand scratched the stone as air became scarce.

Neither of them needed much more time. He moved hard and fast. Deep and furious. The chains clinked over her head, her pelvis smashed against the column. She would be chafed tomorrow, but she did not give a darn. His ragged breath fanned her ear, together with his gross grunts.

He slogged in her, ever more torrid and desperate. The feminine parts opened wider for him, willing him further as madness took them over once more. Erratic hands fuelled her perdition, her

insides intent on that abyssal paradise.

Helped by her own touching, she erupted in blinding contractions with a harsh moan. Panting, he followed with uncivilised grunts, pouring in her unrestrained. Sated at last, they sagged against each other.

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