The Redemption of a Rogue, стр. 27

For a moment they stood there, eyes locked, and then she couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, Mr. Fitzhugh.”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered beneath this breath. “Be careful with that, Imogen. I want to have a little control tonight.”

He didn’t allow her to respond, but tugged the rest of her torn dress away to flutter around her feet. The chemise beneath was short, just skimming her thighs, with thin straps and an extremely low neckline. She was practically naked now before this man.

And he was staring at her like she was a banquet to be savored. She swallowed hard under his stare. She’d been trained her entire life not to be too showy, that her nudity was a shame except in brief glimpses for a husband. She’d been fighting that as she tried to come to terms with a future as a mistress.

Right now she threw the entire concept out the bedroom window. When he looked at her, she wanted to arch her back. She wanted to let him see it all.

She trembled as she slipped the strap of the chemise off one shoulder. She watched him as she did it, watched his dark eyes dilate. Watched his hands clench at his sides. Heard his breath catch.

She tugged the chemise down, baring her breasts. Lowering it over her stomach. Shedding it at last and kicking it away.

She was naked. With this fully clothed man who looked at her like he could destroy her with a wave of his hand. That wasn’t wrong. She already knew he could make her shatter with a curl of his fingers or a flick of his tongue.

She wanted much more than that tonight.

“Great God,” he whispered, and reached out almost reverently. His fingertips traced her collarbone, crested down over her breast, fluttered against her stomach. His gaze darkened. “Get on the bed.”

She didn’t resist the order, just pushed herself onto the high mattress. She relaxed back on the pillows, watching as he divested himself of his clothing in what felt like lighting speed. She stared as each item fell away, revealing a little more of the man beneath the starched cravats and perfectly laid suits.

He was, in a word, a god. It was the only way to describe that lean, lanky frame, wiry with muscle. The kind of body that had been sculpted for years, art that ladies peeked at and giggled behind their fans, trying to determine if such a man truly existed in the world.

Imogen now knew they did, and bit her lip as he shucked his trousers down his legs and fully exposed himself.

“Oh,” she squeaked, wishing she could be more eloquent, but her mind was addled at present. “That is something.”

He chuckled as he palmed his half-hard cock and stroked it. It immediately came to full attention, curling up toward his belly. “You’re going to swell my head.”

“Which one?” she teased, and got to her knees, crawling to the edge of the bed.

He moved toward her, never looking away as she touched his chest. They both sucked in a breath as she slid her hand down, down over his stomach, down over the vee of his hips, and across the hard expanse of his cock.

His eyes came partly shut as she stroked him from root to tip and repeated the action a few times. He rocked into her, low, needy sounds coming from deep within his chest. She gobbled his reactions up greedily because they meant she had power. Power to move this remarkable man the same way he moved her. She wanted that tonight after twice having received pleasure without giving it.

She wanted so desperately to unwind this man, to shatter him like she’d been shattered. So she bent her head, letting her dark hair fall around them, letting it tickle his cock before she darted out her tongue and stroked him with it.

Immediately he made a hissing sound that sizzled like hot grease in the room. His fingers came into her hair, wrapping the long locks around his fingers and tugging gently. She felt him watching her as she sucked him, reveling in the warm, clean scent of him, the hard thrust of him as she drew him deeper into her mouth, the way he bucked when she swirled her tongue.

“Bloody fucking hell,” he grunted as he began to thrust into her mouth. Slowly, gently, but enough to graze the back of her throat and trigger a slight response in her throat. She backed off, drawing away with a soft pop to look up at him as she continued dragging her hand over his now wet cock.

“Oscar,” she murmured.

She didn’t get to continue. He stepped forward, pressing his hands to her shoulders and making her fall back on the bed. She pulled her legs out from under herself and he collapsed over her, his mouth hungry for hers as he kissed her so hard and heavy that it felt like the ribbon of his control was stretched far too thin. Almost ready to break.

She wrapped her arms around him, letting her nails scrape his arms, his back, as she lifted up against him so that her pelvis ground against his.

He yanked his head back, and there was the snap of the ribbon. There was the beast hidden beneath control and cravats and careful planning and management of everything around him. She shivered to see that unleashed, shivered at what he might do.

What he did was devour her. He pressed her breasts together and bent his head to lick between them, scraping his teeth against the tender flesh as she writhed with the sensation of pleasure balanced on the edge of pain. He held her down as he dragged his mouth lower. He pushed her legs wide and found her center again, driving his tongue inside as he ground a thumb against her still-sensitive clitoris. She gasped, digging her fingers into his thick hair, grinding up to find pleasure.

But unlike before, he didn’t give it to her.