by Moira Rogers
She’d never been naked in front of him. Clothing had been jerked askew, or nightgowns shoved up around her hips, but she’d never been stripped bare. Never been defenseless, and she should have felt wary now. Instead she was excited, eager as she stroked her hands up his tense arms. “You want me.”
Archer didn’t pause in opening her bodice. “I still have my mind for now, and yet…” He held out a shaking hand. “Look at that. Trembling like a leaf.”
Grace dipped her head to kiss his fingertips. “I never have my mind around you, not completely. It drifts to the most obscene places, even when I’m not asleep.”
“If only that were it.” But he didn’t elaborate. Instead, he pushed her dress down off her shoulders and toyed with a ribbon on her chemise.
“Archer?” She caught his hand. “Are you all right?”
“No. But I will be.” He bent, caught the top edge of her chemise between his teeth and ripped it away.
Her heart skipped into her throat.
Sweet Lord, he was magnificent. Fierce and feral and hers, and she braced her hands behind her on the table and offered her newly bared breasts to him. “Better?”
He caught her lips with a growl, holding the back of her head as he plundered her mouth with a rough kiss. So rough that his teeth bit into her lower lip, so rough that it shocked her when she realized he was carefully pulling the pins from her hair.
Not out of his mind yet, but wild enough to leave her gasping for breath in the tiny moments between deep, unbridled kisses. Her toes curled as she reached for him, clung to him, her entire body throbbing with the rhythm of his tongue over hers.
When he pulled away, he sighed roughly. “You’re beautiful.”
“So are you,” she gasped, already regretting the loss of him. “I’m so selfish, I want this so much. You, all to myself.”
That made him laugh, though it was a strained sound. “You have me. All to yourself.”
Throwing caution aside, she slipped her hands under his shirt and dragged it up with a hungry noise, desperate to feel his skin against hers. He helped her for a moment before reaching for her dress, pushing it down until he had to lift her against his chest to slide the fabric under her hips.
Skin. That’s what she wanted. When he settled her against the table again she managed to distract him from his focused attempts to undress her long enough to get his shirt over his head. His broad chest had scars on it, and she spread her fingers wide against his skin and marveled at the heat of him.
Burning. He was a living flame, and she was the moth ignoring danger for a taste of his warmth.
Archer groaned and pulled her closer, pressing her bare chest to his as he bent near for another kiss. Both of his hands spread wide on her back, and with his strong arms encircling her, it felt like he was doing his best to wrap himself around her, to cover every inch of her body with his own.
She shouldn’t rush him. He’d take her soon enough, take her enough times that her body would no doubt be ready for respite, no matter how delightful the resulting soreness might feel. But the urgency that bubbled up inside her had no basis in logic or reason. It drove her to groan, to scrape her nails up his back as she nipped at his lower lip.
He grunted and tipped back his head. “Bed.” The word came out on a low rasp. “We need a bed.”
The door to the freshly cleaned room stood open, only a few paces away. It seemed too far as she squirmed a hand between them to fight with his belt. “I don’t mind the table.”
“I do.” He lifted her with one arm and crossed the room. “It’s too hard. You need something soft.”
“I don’t—” No. She bit her lip to keep from arguing and let him carry her over the threshold. “I’m not fragile. I promise.”
He held her there against his chest and smiled. “I know. It’s for me, not you.”
“Then I shall endeavor to let you be as selfish as you want.”
Instead of dropping her to the bed, he let her slide slowly down his body. “Good.”
When her feet touched the floor, Grace stepped back toward the bed. Her torn chemise slipped down to catch on her hips, and her hair was a disheveled mess without its pins. She must look half-wild, and she’d never cared less. “Will things change when the sun sets?”
“Probably.” Archer’s only movement was the rise and fall of his chest with each quick breath.
She moved slowly, stripping away the remains of her underthings as he watched with a barely restrained need that had her blushing. “Are you holding yourself back now?”
“Yes.” His hands clenched into fists. “I don’t usually, but…”
Still careful, she reached out to press one hand to the scar that cut a path across his chest. “Don’t hold back.”
“I have to—this time. I want to.” His eyes darkened. “So I can remember more.”
So she’d give him a sweet memory. Hunger and ready passion, and no hint of nerves or fear that might follow him into madness. Lifting herself to her toes, she slid both hands into his hair and kissed him.
He picked her up, and the room spun as he turned and dropped to sit on the edge of the bed with her astride his lap. “My boots,” he whispered against her lips.
This was a seduction she knew. One she’d played before, but without the fluttering in her belly and the trembling warmth that had invaded her limbs. She slid to the floor, to her knees, and relished the way he watched her, as if only sheer force of will kept him from reaching for her again.
He spoke. “You’re plotting something. I can see it in your eyes, honey.”
She smiled as she worked his left boot free. “Perhaps.”
“No question, Grace, except to wonder what sweet torment you have in store for me.”
The first night she’d been with him, she’d tried to keep control in the best way she knew how. The power would have been in the pleasure, in the tricks she knew to make a man beg, even as he fancied himself the one in charge.
Not now. As his other boot fell away, she measured her power in his shallow breaths, in the way his thighs tensed as she traced a slow but inexorable path toward his straining cock. No clever tricks required, not when a man truly cared.
Of course, they couldn’t hurt, either.
She traced her finger along the top button on his pants as she gazed up at him. “I want you to come in my mouth and remember every moment of it.”
He sucked in a breath and clenched both hands in the quilt spread over the bed. “Grace.”
The button popped free without much coaxing, and she stroked the backs of her fingers over the bulge of his erection as she moved to the next one. “You stopped me the first time,” she whispered, still holding his gaze. “I forgave you, considering how good your mouth felt between my legs. But now it’s my turn.”
“I didn’t stop you before,” he insisted, his jaw tight. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want your mouth on my dick. There was just something I wanted more.”
For the first time, she truly understood how the pursuit of someone else’s pleasure could be the greater satisfaction. Nothing had ever felt this right, this good, her own arousal magnified by the way he bit his lip against a groan as she finally freed his cock and stroked her fingers up its length.
“Harder,” he whispered.
Instead of obeying, she took him between her lips without taking her eyes from his.
Archer reached for her hair, stroking it before winding the locks around his hand. “Grace, love. Have a little mercy on me.”
Her whole body tingled at her name on his tongue, spoken with such wanting. She drew him deeper, worked him with her hand and tongue in a way that denied him one type of mercy in favor of a far cruder sort.
His muscles flexed, his hips arching off the bed. “Christ Almighty.”
Shivering, Grace licked her way to the head of his cock. “Do you want me to take all of you?”
“I want—” The words dissolved in a groan, and he dragged her up. She landed on th
e bed with a bounce, and Archer loomed over her. “I want.”
She reached for him without hesitation, without fear. “Then take.”
He ground out her name and seized her mouth in a fierce kiss, teeth and tongue and his hands in her hair again, holding her still for his sensual attack.
It was a claiming, nothing less, one that made it clear that the wildest of his previous kisses had been nothing more than the lust of a vigorous man. This was the beast, unchecked and unleashed. Ravishing her mouth with a primal rhythm her body hastened to match, tensing with each deep lick as she imagined being fucked with that steady, merciless concentration.
He broke the kiss, and his teeth scraped across her cheek. “Give in. Tell me.”
“Tell you what? How desperately I want you?” Those words were easy. “I’m yours to have, for as long as you need me.”
His eyes were shadowed, turbulent. “Say you won’t hide yourself from me.”
A harder vow. She swallowed and touched his chest, over his heart. “My real name is Arabella. Grace is my middle name, and I quite prefer it, but you can know all of me. Nothing hidden, I promise.”
“Arabella.” His hand slid under her hips and lifted her against his with a hard grind. “Grace. Grace suits you.”
She scrabbled to clutch at his shoulders as the friction set off trembling in her limbs. “I like the way it sounds when you say it.” If he thrust into her now, he’d find out how much.
But he only rubbed against her with a groan. “Grace. Grace.”
“Archer.” She met his next grind, rolling her hips up with a hoarse moan. His shaft slicked against her clit with every rock, making it hard to catch her breath.
Then he moved, shifting away as his hand slid down her stomach, between her thighs. “I want you coming when I fuck you.”
Dirty, rough words, and she thought this time release might be easy. She spread her legs and slid her fingers over his. “What if I help?”
He growled into her ear and covered her hand, pressing it closer and curling her fingers against her entrance. “What if I help you?” He pushed as he breathed the words, sliding one finger alongside hers, thrusting them both into her body.
She hissed out a breath and squirmed, but her finger was trapped under his, both curled at a maddening angle. The heel of her hand ground down against her clit, pressed by the weight of his hand, and she dug her head back against the blanket. “You make me love all the things I should find obscene.”
“Do you care?”
“No.” She rocked up. “I want more. Cruder. I want to be shocked at the things I want to do with you, and I want to do them all the same.”
“How crude?” He thrust another finger into her. “So many ways I could fuck you, love.”
His fingers were wider than hers, and the stretch was wicked enough. Not enough to drive her over the edge, but she could taste the promise of it now, could feel it in the tension coiling tighter with every breath.
He could touch her any damn way he wanted. “Pick one. Shock me.”
Archer pulled away and rolled to his back, bringing her on top of him. “Ride me.”
There was no hiding in the crush of her body against his, not this time. She felt the burning weight of his stare as she lifted her hips and struggled to align them above his. His hands gripped her ass and moved her into position, holding her there.
Waiting.
Without looking away, Grace slid her hand down her body. The barest brush of her own fingers made her tremble, but she moved slowly, slicking her fingertips closer and closer to her clit. “Do you want me coming when you fuck me?”
His gaze dropped to fix on her hand. “Do it.”
The command was almost enough. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. “All I have to do is remember your tongue,” she whispered, and then she did remember how it had felt the first time he’d sent her flying, when shock had propelled her past pleasure into a floating sort of bliss.
It didn’t take much. A few firm strokes and the knowledge that he was watching, and tension splintered into hot, shaking pleasure. She cried out as she came, and he pulled her hips down as he thrust up, burying himself to the hilt with a groan.
Her head snapped forward, and she braced both hands on his chest as she struggled for breath. Her heart still pounded with the rhythm of her body’s clenching spasms, but now she was tightening around him, and for a moment she couldn’t decide if she was still coming or coming again.
It didn’t seem to matter. All that mattered was moving, so she dug her fingernails into his chest and rocked up and down. “Like this?”
“Like…” Archer growled and guided her hips. “Fuck, like that.”
She tried to match his rhythm, but he’d tilted her hips so that every rock drove his cock over the spot that melted her bones. Within a few thrusts she was wound tight and tense again, but he had no mercy.
Her knees wobbled when she next tried to lift herself. She moaned, already tensed against the flash of heat that would come when he dragged her down. “Too good, it’s too good—”
He rose up, dropped her on her back, and pushed her thighs wide. “Too good?” He angled her hips and drove into her again.
It was everything she’d been afraid of the first time. Hot and glorious and so intimate, with him hovering over her. “Too good,” she whispered again, and she didn’t even mean the slow climb toward another climax. Sliding her fingers into his hair, she tugged urgently, wanting his tongue, his lips, his kisses. Wanting to drown in him.
Archer claimed her mouth, sweeping his tongue across hers just once before retreating to speak against her lips. “Should be no such thing.”
But there was, and they both knew it. She yanked at his hair, beyond any care for her own dignity as she begged. “That spot, right there—don’t stop fucking me. Please, don’t ever stop.”
He gripped her wrists and pushed them to the bed above her head. “Again—say it again.”
“Don’t stop.” Being trapped couldn’t frighten her, not when the hunger in his voice held a needy edge that made her pleasure the most powerful gift she could bestow. It hung just out of reach, but she didn’t grind up, seeking the touch that would set it free. For once she simply put her release entirely in his hands. “Don’t ever stop fucking me.”
Archer descended on her with a groan, sliding one hand under her hips to lift her into his thrusts. His teeth grazed her jaw, the base of her throat, and finally closed on the soft underside of her chin. A delicate bite, but timed with one of those maddening thrusts that drew her body tight, and it was too much to be contained.
Her world dissolved into sensation, into shuddering bliss and pulsing satisfaction, each throb so exquisite she only got through the first part of his name before the next one stole her breath.
He rode her orgasm with encouraging growls and moans before slowing to a gentle rock. “Grace.”
She whimpered, unsure if that twist of sluggish pleasure came from the way his voice wrapped around her name, or the realization that his cock was still hard and ready. Maybe he really could fuck her forever.
Be careful what you wish for.
Of all of her reckless wishes, this was surely the most hopeless…and the sweetest. Forcing open her eyes, she met his gaze and didn’t care if he saw the depth of her longing. “Archer.”
He stared back, quiet and serious. “It’s only beginning. I don’t know if I can control it—”
She cut him off with a kiss. “Don’t. I trust you, and I want you.”
“Then you’re all right?” he asked anxiously.
Was he supposed to be this worried? He’d prepared her for hunger and wildness, but not for this unchecked protectiveness. Fear lurked in his eyes, and she could think of only one way to banish it. Dragging her nails up his back, she bit his chin. “I’d be better if you hadn’t stopped.”
He rolled to his back once more and braced her above him. “Take what you want. Show me what you need.”
The corner of his lips quirked up, and for a moment it almost looked as if he was baring his teeth instead of grinning. “Where, love?”
Her cheeks flushed as hot as any border schoolteacher, but she rather doubted most of them would have her command of crude words. “I want your tongue in my cunt.” Not the first time she’d used blunt words, but it wasn’t an act this time, and that brought its own sort of thrill.
His hands dropped to the bed, and he lowered his gaze to the juncture of her thighs. “Can’t quite reach. You’ll have to come closer.”
“You want me to…?” Oh, the look in his eyes left no doubt. Already breathless, she crawled up his body until her knees rested on either side of his shoulders. The wall offered a suitable place to brace her hands, but self-consciousness kept her from shifting her hips higher. “Like—like this?”
His fingers closed tight on her hips and dragged her across half the remaining distance, but not all the way to his mouth. “Like this.”
Hot breath spilled across slick, already sensitive flesh, and she squirmed closer until his stubble scraped her inner thighs. Archer wrapped his hands around her thighs and teased her with his tongue, a quick caress that vanished too soon.
A moan of protest and his name in a desperate tone earned her another touch, but it soon became clear that Archer would settle for nothing less than begging. She gave in without protest, letting increasingly obscene pleas fall from her lips, words that made her previous requests seem tame.
She begged for his tongue and his lips, begged for the dangerous scrape of his teeth, begged for him to let her come and then to make her come again. When he sucked her clit between his lips and growled his way through an orgasm that left her slumped against the wall, she begged for his cock, begged for him to come with her, on her, inside her.
She begged, and he gave. Everything she asked for, even when the words began to slur into nonsense. Somehow he knew, understood enough to roll her to her belly and drag up her hips, or maybe in that moment they simply wanted the same thing. And what a fool she’d been to imagine that there was less intimacy in this, in the raw claiming of a man beyond control.
