A Rake's Midnight Kiss (Sons of Sin 2)

He retreated, setting every nerve to shouting hallelujahs. Again he joined her, deeper than before. Dear Lord above, this was wonderful, unlike anything experienced or imagined. She felt restless and yearning, cherished yet frustrated. The next time he thrust, she instinctively raised her hips. Liking what happened, she repeated the action. She watched savage enjoyment flare in his face before she closed her eyes and surrendered to a blazing new universe.

Higher and higher she flew. She was an invincible, immortal eagle soaring into the incandescent sun. Her hands dug into his shoulders, her only anchor in a whirling world. Behind her eyes, the light was blinding.

Up and up she climbed. She shook and moaned with the fever. Her fever was desire. Desire twisting so tight that surely she must disintegrate.

Finally, at the point where she could no longer bear the twisting ascent, longing ignited into fire. She clenched to keep him. He groaned, the sound guttural. He tautened and jerked once, twice, three times. Liquid heat flooded her womb, augmented the overwhelming sensations.

When he collapsed gasping upon her, wonder held her still. His essence cloaked her. Lemon verbena and satisfied man. She couldn’t doubt his satisfaction. His back loosened under her stroking hands as if he’d exhausted all strength. Against her cheek, his hair slid damp and cool.

Her body felt stretched and used. Her face ached where Lord Neville had slapped her. Christopher was heavy, cramming her into the pillows. His weight reminded her that this bed wasn’t designed for love, but as a place to read a book on a quiet afternoon.

Now she’d found a new way to pass her idle hours. The wry thought added an edge of amusement to glowing pleasure.

Richard clung to the dark oblivion of sexual repletion as long as possible. How to measure the time he took to return from the stars? Genevieve’s musky, female scent filled his nostrils, the sweetest perfume he knew. That shattering climax still rumbled through him like a distant storm. He’d never found such pleasure with a woman.

Genevieve remained quiet, arms draped around his waist. He wondered if she slept. He must be crushing her, but he couldn’t bear to move. If he moved, his conscience might decide that he was willing to listen. And he damn well wasn’t.

But his conscience caterwauled until he could block it no longer. Making love to Genevieve had been the transcendent experience of his life. And unquestionably it had been wrong.

Groaning, he rolled away and sat up on the rumpled cushions, raising his knees and burying his head in his hands. From bliss to wretchedness in a heartbeat. This felt like the most God awful hangover. A spiritual hangover. Much nastier than the effects of too much brandy.

“I’ve made such a bloody mull of this,” he muttered, wrenching at his hair as if the small pain could compensate for the evil he’d done this woman.

“Well, that’s what a girl wants to hear after she’s taken a lover,” Genevieve said sourly.

He didn’t look at her as she scrambled away. He missed her proximity. Almost as much as he missed those luminous but unforgivable moments when he’d been inside her and she’d clasped him tight as if she’d never let him go.

“This is no joking matter.” He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw colored lights. When what he should see was the engulfing flames of hell.

He heard her moving about. “I’m sorry I didn’t meet expectations.”

Horrified, he raised his head to watch her marching around the temple lighting candles. She’d tugged her dress on, although without petticoats, her gown was nearly transparent.

“Don’t be silly, Genevieve,” he said grimly. The light blooming around him didn’t brighten his inner darkness.

She halted before him, glowering. She was so beautiful. A louse like him didn’t deserve to touch the hem of her skirt.

With a furious huff, she blew out the taper. “You certainly know how to make a girl feel like a princess.”

He didn’t smile. He felt lower than a snake’s belly, too low to summon his usual tricks to keep a lady happy once he’d tumbled her. With Genevieve, his tired old lines seemed cheap and shabby. He was cheap and shabby. And a damnable liar.

The lies were the problem. Lies as black as pitch and stinking like a fart from Satan’s arse.

Unsteadily he rose to tug on his trousers, then he slumped onto the makeshift couch to stare at her in despair. “Sit down, Genevieve.”

She folded her arms, pushing her lush bosom up. He was definitely a louse. Even now, his cock twitched with interest. His cock didn’t care that he was rotten to the core. His cock wanted to plant itself between Genevieve’s creamy thighs.

Stifling his baser impulses, he extended his hand toward her. “Please.”

Without touching him, she dropped onto the cushions. Her body was so tense he thought she might crack if he touched her. “Are you married?”

“Good God, no.”

On a shuddering breath, her shoulders relaxed. Guiltily he realized how his behavior must unnerve her. “Well, that’s something.”

He stared blindly at the candles on the rickety table across the room. His belly cramped like he’d eaten bad fish. Life had been considerably easier before he’d given a damn. Dear Lord, what if he’d got her pregnant? She’d curse the day he was born.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said bleakly, knowing that he should have told her before he took her virginity. That he should never have lied at all.