Page 42 of The Rebel and the Rake

“Sylvia,” Rafe murmured, a faint note of urgency in his voice. He strained against his bonds and shifted in his seat. “Is it really so impossible to imagine that I would go after someone acting suspiciously?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly, and Rafe grimaced. “No. I don’t know,” she amended and let out a breath. “Sometimes it feels as if…as if you’re two different people.”

He stiffened slightly before he tilted his head and gave her the look that always managed to make her feel both uncomfortable and enthralled. It was horribly confusing.

“I could say the same for you. We all have faces we show the world and those we keep more private.”

Sylvia looked away from his too-perceptive gaze and fiddled with a button on her shirt. “I suppose that’s true.”

“But you’re right.” He sighed. “The Honorable Rafe Davies isn’t the sort of man who goes racing off into the night to play the hero.”

She smirked. “Did you just refer to yourself in the third person?”

“It’s how I think of myself sometimes,” he admitted. “The public face, anyway.”

“Why?” she asked, surprised by this admission. “Why act that way at all, I mean?”

Rafe shrugged. “It makes things easier.” But he didn’t elaborate on what, exactly. Sylvia guessed it was connected to his family. The one that still refused to recognize him. Perhaps acting like a shallow rake was a way to shield himself from hurt. Sylvia could understand that.

“So who are you being now?”

The corner of Rafe’s mouth lifted. “That depends.” He lowered his voice. “Who do you want me to be?”

Sylvia’s mouth went dry at the unexpectedly arousing question. The fire crackled in the bracing silence that followed as she tried to form an answer. Sylvia was certainly no innocent. She and Bernard had managed to arrange more than a few clandestine encounters, but their intimacies had always been rather perfunctory. Despite his supposed contempt for the status quo, Bernard had been utterly conventional in bed. But regardless of what was real or just for show, Rafe was still the most wickedly handsome man she had ever met, and his reputation as being even more wicked behind closed doors was not of his own invention. Standing here before him while he was tied to a chair went well beyond her experience. Beyond her imagination. And yet, despite the possible danger, there wasn’t anywhere she would rather be.

“What do you want, Sylvia?” he asked again. The question practically burned with dark promise.

“I…I don’t know,” she finally offered, but Rafe saw through her evasive response.

“Yes, you do,” he said in a voice smooth enough to tempt the devil. “I’ve never met a woman who seems to know her own mind so decidedly as you.”

Sylvia couldn’t find the words. He saw her so much better than she saw herself.

Rafe seemed to take pity and gave her an affectionate smile. “Would you like to touch me?” At her hesitant nod, his smile turned into a grin. “Well, that’s a start. Do it,” he urged. “Touch me, Sylvia. Anywhere you please.”

She had just caressed his shoulder. Surely she could managethatagain. Sylvia swallowed hard and reached out, intending to repeat the movement, but found her hand running through his hair instead. It was just as thick as she had imagined, and the strands were as soft as silk. Rafe let out a little groan and pressed up against her palm, as if he craved her touch. Was desperate for it. She moved closer until she stood between his legs. He wore breeches for his costume, and it hadn’t escaped her notice how they seemed practically painted on his long, muscular thighs.

The heat radiating off his body mingled with the scent of fresh air, mossy rain, and the rich bergamot tang of his shaving soap. Sylvia inhaled deeply as the space between them grew even smaller. Rafe’s entire body seemed to tense as she leaned closer. She was already well aware of his height and breadth, but standing so closely made him seem even larger. Her heart beat a little faster. It was the danger of it, she realized. Of having a powerful man at her fingertips.

He remained silent as she continued to gently stroke his hair, but his breaths grew increasingly ragged. Sylvia became emboldened enough to place her other hand against the side of his throat. She rubbed her thumb along his skin, marveling at how warm and smooth it was to the touch. He must have shaved right before the ball.

“Sylvia,” he said roughly. “This is torturous.”

She tilted his face up to meet her gaze and gave him a shy smile. “Is it?”

“Most definitely.”

He had never looked so serious before, and her heart ached a little. How had she ever thought she would be immune to this man? Sylvia leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. But after a moment that ever-present spark between them flared anew, burning her from the inside out, and she let herself be wholly consumed by the flame. The kiss grew harder, hotter, and more intense, driven by an unspoken urgency. He parted her lips with his and welcomed the entrance of her tongue. Somehow, even in this position, Rafe seemed to be guiding her. Driving her toward what she most wanted before she even realized it.

She moved to straddle his thighs and wrapped her arms around his neck, extinguishing all space between them. Rafe tilted his hips up, and she broke the kiss on a gasp as she felt the full weight and length of him. She instinctively writhed against him, chasing more of that delicious sensation. Her forehead fell to his shoulder as a wave of pleasure moved through her. But it was just the beginning.

“That’s it, my darling,” Rafe growled by her ear. “Don’t stop. Ride me. Ride me till you come.” The command was thrilling. He rocked his hips again, urging her further. Dazed by the sensation building within her, Sylvia was compelled to comply. She sat back and met his eyes. They had grown darker and more intense. He really did look like some mad pirate king, which only heightened her desire. Sylvia’s nipples tightened under his heated gaze, and her hands flew to the buttons of her shirt. Now everything felt too tight, too restricted. He watched, riveted, as she began to unbutton each one. She continued until her shirt gaped open, exposing the tops of her breasts and chemise. She thanked her past self for having the sense to loosen her corset more than usual, as she was now having trouble breathing. The cool air hit her overheated skin, but it did nothing to quell her desperation. Rafe stared at her chest as if he had just uncovered a horde of gold coins. It was incredibly gratifying, given that her breasts weren’t of an exceptionally large size. But that didn’t seem to matter at all.

“My God,” he whispered.

Now she was breathing just as roughly as he was, and his eyes followed the bobbing of her breasts with every inhalation. He leaned forward and began to nuzzle her cleavage. She gasped at the feel of his lips and breath against her sensitive skin and roughly pulled down her chemise. Her breasts spilled over the neckline, fully exposed for him, and Rafe immediately pulled one nipple into his mouth. He ran the tip of his tongue in slow, torturous circles before giving her a gentle bite. The sensation was so powerful that she cried out. He continued licking and sucking as Sylvia arched up and leaned back, giving him more of her. Rafe then moved to the other, and she began writhing harder against him. Hot desire pulsed between her legs so hard it hurt. She felt her release coming fast, faster than it ever did when she touched herself—and never had with Bernard.

She suddenly cried out and buried her face into his neck as the pleasure overtook her in wave after shattering wave. He pressed the side of his face against hers and began murmuring into her ear about how lovely she was and how good she felt against him. Brightness seemed to burst through her, traveling along every limb. It took a moment for her to recognize the feeling—utter joy.

---