A soft breeze brushed over her bare buttocks.
“Tell me you need me inside you,” he whispered, burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply. “Tell me you want this as much as I do.”
“You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted inside me.”
A growl resonated in the back of his throat. “Then raise your arms.”
“But my scars?” How might he love her while looking at the hideous marks?
“Our scars make us who we are. Raise your arms, Scarlett.”
She did as he asked, relished the feel of the material gliding up over her ribcage and skirting the outer curve of her heavy breasts. Then he dropped to his knees behind her, bit down gently on one buttock while caressing the other. Beginning at her ankle, he ran his hands up over her stockings, stopping at the top of her thigh.
Her sex throbbed for him to touch her there.
“I know what you want.” No doubt he wore the cocksure grin she loved. He untied the laces and yanked off her boot, smoothed his hands over the stocking again from ankle to thigh. The pads of his fingers grazed lightly over her sex, tearing a moan from her lips. “You’re so wet for me, love.”
Scarlett’s body tingled from her head to her toes. “Only for you.”
The scoundrel set to work on the other boot, traced a scorching path up her thigh to massage her sex again. He stood, gripped her hips and pressed his erection against her buttocks.
“What about my stockings?” She wasn’t sure how long she could stand these teasing touches.
“Leave them on.”
His solid manhood pushed through the gap between her legs, slid the length of her pulsing sex. He continued to tease her from behind, to caress her breasts, to roll her sensitive nipples between his fingers until he’d dragged a whimper from her throat.
The sudden thought that he might take her like this—bent over the bed, exposed, her scars on display—forced her to pull away and turn around.
Desire swam hot in his eyes. “There are so many things I want to do to you. My wicked tongue won’t rest until I’ve tasted every inch of your body.”
Lust emboldened her to say, “And I intend to ride you like I’m racing for the finishing line at the Derby.”
Things turned wild as their rampant emotions took charge.
But she was the one who kissed him as though she might die without his taste, without the feel of his tongue exploring the far reaches of her mouth. The need to protect her heart, the need to control him, found her pushing him onto the bed. She climbed on top of him, devoured every inch of bare skin, though she could not take his erection into her mouth—not after her degrading experiences at the hands of her husband. Instead, she straddled him, eager to feel full. Complete.
The sound of their ragged breathing filled the room.
“Now,” he panted. “Take me into your body before the agony of waiting kills me.”
“What do you do to prevent a child?” she asked as her fingers settled around his manhood ready to position him at her entrance.
Wycliff blinked, looked so consumed with passion he could not rouse a coherent thought. “French letter—but don’t stop now. Let’s worry about that in a moment.” He glanced at the milky tear weeping from the head of his erection. “I’m crying with need for you, love.”
Scarlett rubbed the head over her sex, teased him by taking him half an inch into her body. “Do you need me to take you deeper, Damian?”
“Yes.”
She slid down another inch as he stretched her wide. “Deeper?”
He jerked his hips impatiently. “Hell, yes.”
Without warning, she sank onto his hot shaft. Took the man who made her heart sing into her needy body, right up to the hilt.
Chapter Fifteen
“Fuck.” The obscenity burst from Damian’s mouth as he jerked his hips and pushed deeper into the silky channel of Scarlett’s body.