The Millionaire Rogue

by Jessica Peterson

  She turned this way and that, looking for any sign of where he might be. “Thomas, please—”

  “I thought you did not come to talk.” That voice of his; a growl that at once frightened and titillated her.

  A wave of heat pulsed between her legs. Dear God, why wouldn’t he touch her again, where was he, why was he hiding like this—

  There was a tug at the back of her head as Thomas gathered her hair in his hand and pulled. She could not see much of anything, but she could smell him, sandalwood and a bit of lemon as he reared over her, pulling back her head and sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of her throat.

  This time Sophia did cry out, her eyes wide as they searched the blackness. Nothing, nothing. Nothing save the sensation of his lips moving over her skin, his fingers tugging the pins from her hair. He buried his hand in her loosened waves, pulling, and pulling yet harder, arching her against him.

  Beneath her skin her blood pulsed hot and wild. He’d never touched her like this, had never been as wildly possessive. There would be no going back from this place; no time for second thoughts or the heavy lives that awaited them outside these walls. He would have her, and she him, and in so doing they would forget everything but each other, and the desire that stretched between them.

  At least for tonight.

  Thomas’s lips found hers, and Sophia’s eyes fluttered shut in an agony of pleasure as he kissed her. It was forceful, this kiss, forceful and tender all at once. She felt the darkness falling in on them as the kiss deepened, blocking out everything but the sensation of his nearness. The backs of her knees relaxed; the tug between her legs was deliciously poignant.

  Her body, her mind—the surrender was coming.

  He took her bottom lip between his teeth, letting out a hiss of satisfaction at her moan. For a moment he released her mouth, resting his forehead against her own. His breath was warm and hard on her skin, coming in deep, long draws. She felt the flutter of his eyelashes on her eyelids, moving slowly, softly; she reached up and thumbed the scar on his cheek, no more than a slight ridge now. How long ago that night in Madame’s closet seemed.

  And then his hand was cupping her face, and he was kissing her again, moving over her with exquisite concentration. Her pulse rushed in her ears as he tugged at her hair. She could stay here, kissing him like this, forever, her mind blank except for the sensation of her body tangling with his.

  Sophia’s eyes flew open when Thomas pulled away, his hands leaving traces of fire where he’d touched her. She gasped for air, trembling in the darkness as she waited. What little light there had been from the fire was now gone; the room was a river of black, the only sound a small rustling somewhere in the dark.

  She gasped at the sudden, vicious tug at the back of her gown. He was pulling at the laces with impatient fingers, pressing his body against hers. A shiver ran the length of her spine when his lips found the tender skin at the back of her neck, caressing her with his lips and tongue.

  Her laces sighed softly as he pulled them free, working his way from her neck to the small of her back. Thomas slipped his hands inside her gown and coaxed it apart, pulling it over her shoulders and hips. It fell in a gust of chill air to her feet.

  Thomas wasted no time. His lips moved from the ball of her shoulder to her collarbone and neck as he spun her to face him.

  She reached for him, her fingers tangling in the fine rumpled linen of his shirt. She drew it upward and he stepped back from her body, allowing her to pull it over his head.

  The sound of her palms scraping over the expanse of his bare chest filled the air between them. Sophia could see nothing, nothing but the dim outline of his person; but beneath her fingers his heart was warm, beating hard and healthy, the feel of skin on skin wildly thrilling. She ran her hands through the wiry hair at the center of his chest, over the smooth, turgid flesh of his neck, down the thick, lean expanse of his belly.

  Thomas growled the lower she went, a low sound of warning. He hooked his thumbs into the neck of her chemise and drew it over one shoulder, then the other, moving with brutal straightforwardness that left her breathless.

  He set both his hands on her hips, pushing down her pantalets along with the chemise; the air felt tantalizingly cold against her burning skin.

  And then he was running his palms up the sides of her ribs, sending waves of exquisite longing through her. Her blood leapt as his thumbs moved over her belly and up to her breasts, scraping her hardened nipples once, twice, three times, taking them between his thumb and forefinger and pulling, my God, my God, please—

  He dug a hand into her hair, bringing his lips to hers as he pulled her naked body against his own. She moaned into the kiss, her hands drinking him in, memorizing every slope, every muscle and sinew, for this would be the only time—the last time—she would ever have him like this.

  Sophia curled her fingers into the waistband of his breeches. He bit her bottom lip, as if to say yes; she worked the buttons free one at a time, Thomas’s mouth deepening its assault with each button she managed to undo.

  She freed the last button; and then with a violence of which she didn’t know she was capable, tugged them over the bulge between his legs, down, down the length of his enormous, hardened thighs.

  For a moment he broke the kiss, stepping out of the breeches one leg at a time before kicking them to some unknown corner of the room.

  And then he stood before her; she sensed the working of his chest, the air moving out of his lungs and into her own. Though she could not see him, she knew he was as naked as the day he was born.

  As naked as she was, their bodies warm with desire.

  He made no move, allowing that desire to burn to new heights between them. He was waiting, she knew, for her answer to his unspoken question.

  Sophia stood very still, her breathing the only noise in the room. She would not turn back, not now, not when she felt so full she might burst. Never mind her conflicted desires outside this darkness; here, now, she felt wild with certainty.

  She wanted Thomas. She wanted to surrender to him, to say yes to all the things she’d forbidden herself to feel and know these past weeks.

  Sophia took a deep, shaking breath. This was her chance. Her chance to let him fill her being, her every sense. Her chance to forget the French Blue, the marquess, villainous Frenchmen, and La Reinette. Cousin Violet, her family, her writing, and her fellow debutantes at Almack’s.

  As she exhaled, it all fell away, the armor of her ambition disappearing in the darkness. In its place rose a bursting relief, a lightness she’d never experienced.

  Yes. Dear God, yes.

  Sophia stepped forward, her bare skin brushing against his for the first time. Fire shot through her, her entire being pounding with a craving so complete, so overwhelming, she could think of nothing and no one but him. Nothing but what was to come, what he would make her feel.

  So this is what La Reinette was talking about in her memoirs. This thunderous feeling, this warm, wondrous taking of breaths, of confidences, of innocence. Being taken, and taking in turn—yes, this would be Sophia’s greatest adventure yet.

  Thomas gathered her against him, bending his enormous arms to cradle her in the curve of his body. One of his hands slid to the small of her back, his fingers clutching her skin; the other found its way to her face, guiding her lips to his.

  Slipping his tongue between her lips, Thomas pulled her against him. She felt the leap of his cock against her belly, his pubic hair brushing the angle of her hip. The flesh between her legs throbbed, going from warm to hot to fiery in the space of a single breath.

  His lips moved from her mouth to her jaw, working their way down her throat to her collarbones and finally across her—

  Oh God. Her eyes slammed shut as his teeth nicked her right nipple, then her left, his lips moving over her hungrily. His hand slid from her cheek down to her bre
ast, running his thumb over the hardened point of each nipple. She arched back, digging her hands into the tumble of his curls, pulling against him, crying out for more.

  His other hand moved from the small of her back down the slope of her backside, his fingers slipping between her buttocks to find the source of all this sensation.

  Sophia gasped as he moved to cup her with his palm, his fourth finger finding its way inside her as his first two fingers worked that heady place at the tip of her sex. His fingers traced lines of fire, parting her folds with an expert touch while with his mouth he teased her nipples, pulling and biting, stoking her desire to breathless heights.

  She felt herself tightening against him, that rolling tide of screaming pleasure very close, heavens, very close, if he’d just touch her one more time—

  Thomas’s hand slid away from her sex, moving down the backs of her legs, the other scraping up the length of her spine. In one swift movement, he lifted her into his arms. She opened her mouth to protest, but in the space of a single heartbeat he was tossing her onto the bed, the coverlet sighing contentedly as she landed on its surface. She searched the darkness for Thomas, but she saw a blackness so complete she wondered for a moment if his expert ministrations had blinded her.

  But then she heard him at the foot of the bed; he was pulling at her boots, dropping them one at a time to the floor with a dull thud. His fingers moved up her legs, carefully sliding her silk stockings off her feet and onto the floor.

  He grasped her by the ankles and tugged her toward him. Sophia felt the bed bow beneath his weight as he reared over her, trailing kisses along the length of her body as he made his way up: one for each knee, the inside of her thigh, her hips and belly, the left breast and right nipple, the place where her collarbones met.

  She gasped as he bit into the flesh of her throat, her body screaming for release as he at last took her mouth with a force that knocked the breath from her lungs.

  Of their own volition, her legs snaked around his hips; she felt the nudge of his cock against her sex, its slick warmth begging for more, more. She closed her eyes, allowing her need to swallow her whole.

  Thomas placed his elbows on either side of her head; his curls fell into her face and eyes as he worked her mouth with his lips and teeth and tongue. Still he made no move between her legs. She wondered what he was waiting for; she felt as if she might lose her soul if he did not release her from this agony, this lovely, breathless moment of unbearable anticipation. He felt warm and impossibly enormous against her flesh. She wanted to know what it felt like after this forbidden moment passed; what it felt like after he was inside her.

  Sophia bucked her hips against him, forcing his hand; above her, he froze.

  In response he grabbed both her hands in one of his and thrust them above her head, pinning her to the bed. She cried out, writhing against him; but he held her fast, his other hand moving over the plane of her belly to rest between her legs.

  Holding her hostage with the bulk of his body, he opened her, his fingers gliding through her wetness with ease. He slipped one, two fingers inside her, moving as if to ease the tightness he felt there. With his thumb he circled the tip of her sex, slowly at first, faster and faster as she pressed against him, her cries turning to whimpers as her legs went rigid with the approach of her climax.

  His fingers worked feverishly now. The tide, it was coming, so powerful she felt as if she were falling through the darkness that surrounded her. She opened her eyes to see flashes of light and color, her back arching against the weight of her rising pleasure.

  Thomas broke the kiss, his head moving down, down to her breast. He took her nipple in his mouth, circling it with his tongue in time to his touch between her legs. Her entire body clenched tight as a fist; and then—

  Then.

  A rush of blood, a thundering wave that pounded through her. Sophia let out a gasping breath, her limbs throbbing with the impact of her release. Her head fell back between her arms as her body reverberated with the fading pulse of her orgasm, her muscles loosening bit by bit in time to the slowing of her heart.

  Thomas released her hands, gathering her against his chest as the throbbing subsided. She breathed in the scent of his skin, the wiry hair of his chest tickling her nose as she placed her hands inside his shoulders. His skin felt warm, firm but yielding; his heart was pounding so furiously she wondered if it had worked its way through his breastbone to lie right here beneath her palm.

  Sophia curled into Thomas’s embrace, finding comfort in his strength, his steadiness, after the riot that rolled through her moments before. He pressed his lips to her forehead, smoothing her long waves down the length of her back. His touch sent a shiver down her spine, and he pulled her closer, kissing her nose, her closed eyelids, and finally her mouth.

  The kiss was gentle at first, a question; when she responded with rising vigor he pressed back in kind, running the length of her outline with his hand. He cupped her breast, lightly teasing her nipple with his thumb, and she felt that familiar twist of desire flame back to life low in her belly.

  She couldn’t, it seemed, get enough of Thomas; couldn’t draw him close enough. She breathed him in, lemons, soap, that familiar spice. Her thirst for him was without depth.

  He slipped his tongue between her lips. Gently he laid her on her back, rolling on top of her to rest on his elbows. His breath was warm on her cheek; she shivered at the expanse of their contact, his flesh pressed to hers from knee to nose.

  Thomas dipped his head, trailing his lips along the edges of her mouth, her jaw, her neck. She closed her eyes and willed herself to remember this moment. What his mouth felt like on her skin, the heady trail of fire ignited by his lips. She’d never, not in all her life, felt something so poignant—a sensation that reverberated on both sides of her skin.

  Above her he shifted, moving his leg to rest between her own. He paused, waiting for her answer. Sophia put her lips to the hollow between his earlobe and jaw; he tensed, sucking in a breath; and then with his knee he was coaxing apart her legs, settling himself between them.

  Reaching back one hand at a time, he bent her legs so that he might fit more snugly against her. Again she felt his cock prodding her flesh, the tip warm and eager and far too large for its own good.

  Without thinking, she reached down, curious to know how large, exactly, he was. Thomas let out a hiss as she wrapped her hand around his shaft, drawing a breath of surprise at the smooth, hard feel of him, the pulsing energy of his desire for her.

  Carefully Thomas pried her fingers from his manhood, guiding her hand instead to the tip of her sex.

  “Here,” he said. Placing his hand over her own, he moved their fingers together over her slick flesh. Sophia gasped again at the unexpectedly intimate feel of her own body. This—this didn’t feel at all shameful.

  No. This felt dashedly good.

  Thomas’s hand moved down, sliding his cock down the length of her womanhood to rest just beneath where her hand worked. With his first two fingers he gently opened her, nudging himself inside her.

  He kissed her mouth. She kissed him back, lips fervently working over and through each other.

  She drew a breath, easing the tingle of nerves in her belly, and surrendered.

  Twenty-seven

  Hope closed his eyes, breathing in the feel of her flesh, ripe and willing, against his own. His body hummed with a passion that radiated from the very center of his chest; he wanted to be gentle and fervent with her all at once; he wanted to make love to her well, thoroughly, for this would be his only chance.

  She was very wet, the curls of her sex slick and soft as he brushed them with his fingers, wet and very tight. He would have to go slowly, and with great care. The idea of hurting her—

  Well. He would never forgive himself.

  Slowly, very slowly, he slid inside her. For a moment her fingers still
ed above the joining of their bodies. She breathed in short, shallow gasps; for a moment he worried she was afraid, but then thought better of it.

  Sophia wouldn’t have to come to him if she were afraid. Not like this.

  His kiss softened, and she moaned into his mouth. Her fingers resumed their meandering, and with his hand Hope guided himself further inside her.

  Breath by breath, inch by inch he moved forward. Her flesh tightened around him as her climax approached, and he sucked in a breath for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

  Dear God she felt lovely; if he wasn’t careful, he’d spill his seed in the space of the next heartbeat—and lest Sophia think him some randy adolescent, he was determined to make this last as long as he could.

  He couldn’t see a thing, not with the fire burning so low, but the darkness only sharpened his desire; for what he could not sense with his eyes he did with his hands, his mouth, his skin. She was here; she was his.

  Sophia’s kiss grew messy, and she moved her lips over his jaw to his ear and throat. He winced at the shock of pleasure that ran through him, meeting the barrier inside her at that same moment.

  He felt wild with the need to possess her, to make her his, at least for this moment.

  At least for tonight.

  Thomas gently bucked his hips, sinking to the root. Beneath him Sophia pulled back, sucking a breath between her teeth; he sensed her flesh tightening with pain. He bent his neck so that his nose grazed hers. In the dark he could make out the gleam in her eyes, wide with uncertainty.

  Where their bodies were joined he grasped her hand and together their thumbs moved over her flesh. Her eyes fluttered shut, a moan of pleasure in her throat.

  He pressed his lips to hers and began to move, slowly at first, soft, languorous strokes; Sophia rose to meet his caress. She did not hesitate; her movements matched his own, her hips riding against his as their hands tangled in her sex between them.

  She sighed, a happy, luxurious sound, almost a laugh, and Hope felt in the midst of his merciless desire for her a tightening in his belly and his throat. She was impossibly beautiful, this woman, and he wanted nothing more than to make her laugh. To make her happy.