Ask for It (Georgian 1)

“Not yet.” He smiled when her scowl deepened. Stepping nearer, he slipped their joined hands around her back and tugged her to him.

Her gaze narrowed. “What are you about?”

“I’m distracting you. You are overwrought.”

“I am not.”

Her lips parted as his head lowered. He smelled gunpowder and her heady vanilla rose scent beneath that. Her palm grew damp within his and he nuzzled his nose against hers.

“You were magnificent this afternoon.” He brushed his mouth across hers and felt her sigh against his lips. He nibbled gently. “Although it disturbs you to have shot a man, you don’t regret it. You would do it again. For me.”

“Marcus . . .”

He groaned, lost in the sound of her voice and the sweetness of her taste. His entire body was hard and aching from holding her so closely. “Yes, love?”

“I don’t want you,” she said.

“You will.” He sealed his mouth over hers.

Elizabeth sank into Marcus’s hard chest with a sob. It was not fair that he could overwhelm her—by touching her, caressing her, seducing her with his low, velvety voice and rich masculine scent. His emerald gaze burned, half-lidded with a desire she’d done nothing to arouse.

Against her will, her hands slipped around his lean waist and caressed the powerful length of his back. “You’re horrid to be so tender.”

His sweat-misted forehead rested against hers. He groaned, his fingers slipping under the long hem of her riding jacket. “You’re wearing too many damned clothes.”

He took her mouth again, his tongue caressing with lush, deep licks. Lost in his kiss, she didn’t realize he’d lifted and moved her until he kicked the door to his bedroom closed behind them, shutting them away from the world.

Protesting, she attempted to pull away. Then his hand cupped the curve of her breast, bringing aching pleasure even through the barrier of her garments. She moaned into his mouth and he tilted his head in response, deepening an already drowning kiss.

Elizabeth stood rigid, her arms at her sides, her thoughts warring with the dictates of her body. Her blood was on fire, her skin hot and painfully tight.

“I want you.” His voice was a rough-edged caress. “I want to bury myself inside you until we forget ourselves.”

“I don’t want to forget.”

His tone deepened. “I must think of this mission and the events that took place today, but I cannot. Because all I can think of is you. There isn’t room for anything else.”

Placing her fingers over his lips, Elizabeth silenced the seductive words that should have sounded practiced and confident, but didn’t.

He tossed the counterpane back, revealing decadent silk sheets. With soft, tender kisses, he attempted to distract her from his fingers, which worked with deft skill to free the row of buttons that barred him from her skin. Slipping his hands under the open flaps, he pushed the jacket to the floor. She shivered even though she was flushed and he crushed her to his chest.

“Hush,” he murmured against her forehead. “It’s just you and me. Leave your father and Eldridge out of our bed.”

She buried her face in the linen of his shirt and breathed him in. “I hate it when you leave me no privacy at all.”

Turning her head to rest her cheek against his chest, Elizabeth took a shuddering breath. The bed was massive, easily big enough to sleep four large men side by side with room to spare. It waited . . . for them.

“Look at me.”

Her gaze found his again, discovering a deep needy emerald hunger. Her lips quivered softly and Marcus leaned over, brushing his mouth across hers. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered.

Remaining in a bedroom with him was the worst sort of danger. Far more dangerous than the attacker in the park. That man struck swiftly, like a viper. Marcus was more of a python. He would wrap himself around her and squeeze the life from her slowly until nothing of her independence remained.

“I’m not afraid.” She shoved him backward as her stomach clenched tight. Caring nothing for her jacket, longing only to be away from him, she walked quickly to the door. “I am leaving.”

Escape was seconds away when he grabbed her roughly and threw her face down upon the bed. “What are you doing?” she cried.

Marcus held her down, his grip tight as he bound her hands together with his cravat. “You would leave here half-dressed,” he growled, “in your eagerness to put distance between us. This fear you have of me must be banished. You have to trust me implicitly, in every way, without question or you could be killed.”

“This is the way you win trust?” she snapped. “By holding me against my will?”

He came over her, his knees straddling her hips, his large body caging hers to the bed. His teeth nipped her ear and his voice, low and angry, made her shiver all over. “I should have done this years ago. But I was lost in your charms and failed to see the signs. Even until this moment, I thought you so skittish that a gentle hand was necessary not to frighten you. Now I realize you need a good, hard riding to be broken properly.”

“Bastard!” Heart pounding, Elizabeth struggled beneath him. In response he sat on her, effectively crushing her protest.

Nimble fingers tugged at the fastenings to her skirts and bustle. Then his weight left her. Standing at the edge of the bed, Marcus yanked the garments down. She briefly considered rolling on her back to conceal her buttocks, clearly visible beneath the thinness of her chemise, but didn’t, deciding the front of her was far more needy of protection. “You won’t get away with this,” she warned. “You cannot keep me bound forever and when you release me, I’ll come after you. I’ll—”

“You won’t be able to walk,” he scoffed.

He reached for her boots and she lashed out at him, kicking with all her might. She screamed at the sudden sharp sting to her arse. The first spank was quickly followed by several more, each drop of his hand burning more than the last until she buried her face in the counterpane and cried with the pain of it. Only when she stopped flailing, and took the abuse without movement did he cease.

“Your father should have taken you over his knee long ago,” he muttered.

“I hate you!” She turned her head to look at him, but couldn’t reach around far enough.

Marcus’s sigh was loud and resigned. “You protest too much, love. You will thank me eventually. I’ve given you the freedom to enjoy me. You can fight all you want and still get what you desire. All the pleasure and none of the guilt.”

His hands cupped the flaming curves of her derriere and stroked gently, soothingly. The gentleness of his touch aroused her, the contrast startling after his previous treatment. “So beautiful. So soft and perfect.” His voice deepened, became cajoling. “Let yourself go, sweet. If you must be forced, why not relish the experience?”

When his hands moved lower to the hem of her chemise and then slipped under it, she moaned in anticipation, her skin prickling with goosebumps at the feel of bare skin on bare skin. Her blood heated, her anger melting into something intoxicating as his thumbs moved higher, massaging either side of her lower back. Deep inside, her body softened at his skillful touch. The feel of air directly on her burning flesh coaxed a whimper of relief from her.

“You would fight me to the death, my stubborn temptress, if you were able, but tied up for my needs brings unexpected rewards, does it not?” He rolled her to her back before gripping her shoulders and pulling her into a seated position.

Elizabeth bit her lower lip to hide the pout of disappointment she felt at the unwanted distance between them. Her nipples ached, peaked hard and tight, eager for the pinch of his fingers to ease their torment. Marcus’s dark green gaze narrowed on her flushed face. There was no tenderness, no sign of possible mercy, just stark intent and she knew he would not be swayed. Her stomach flipped as moisture pooled between her thighs at her helplessness.

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He assisted her to her feet and moved her to the nearby chair whose wooden arms curved so beautifully. Pressing her down to the seat, he then tugged his shirt from his breeches, before pulling it over his head.

Elizabeth stared, arrested by his virility which was displayed so beautifully by rippling muscles beneath golden skin. His left shoulder was marred by a circular scar left by a bullet and silver ribbons on his flesh betrayed nicks from the sharp edge of a sword. As magnificent as he was, the sight of his past injuries reminded her that he was not meant for her. Even as her blood heated, her heart chilled.

“The agency has left its mark on you,” she said snidely. “It’s revolting.”

Marcus arched a dark brow. “That explains why you cannot take your eyes from me then.”

Peeved, she forced herself to look away.

He crouched before her and cupped the backs of her knees, spreading her legs wide and hooking them over the carved arms of the chair. Her face heated in embarrassment as the damp lips of her sex were opened to his view. “Close the curtains.”

Frowning, he stared at the apex of her thighs. “God, no.” He brushed across her curls with his fingers. “Why would you wish to hide this? It’s heaven you hold here. A sight I’ve longed to see for far too long.”

“Please.” She squeezed her eyelids tightly together, her body tense and then trembling.

“Elizabeth. Look at me.”

Tears accompanied the lifting of her lids.

“Why are you so frightened? You know I would never hurt you.”

“You leave me nothing, you take everything.”

He ran a blunt fingertip through her cream and then dipped a bit inside. Against her will, she arched into the caress, despite the painful tension the angle placed on her arms.