Demurs vanished under molten pleasure. Vaguely through her thundering heartbeat, she heard material ripping. She hoped it wasn’t the only London dress that she almost liked.
Cam thrust his hand between her legs. When he found her core through the slit in her drawers, she decided that she’d happily sacrifice an entire wardrobe for this bliss.
“This is… revenge for last night, isn’t it?” she choked against his lips.
“Precisely.” His voice was even huskier than hers.
Before she worked out if he was joking, his tongue invaded her mouth and he penetrated her with one long finger. She jolted, bumping the bookcase.
He stroked hard and her muscles contracted. He swore softly, angled her up, and tore her drawers until they sagged in tatters around her ankles. With urgent purpose, he returned to her sleek passage. He found a place that set sensation clanging with the pure note of a hammer on gold.
She cried out in wonder. He kissed her again. Wet, succulent kisses that promised a mating without civilization or restraint.
When he finally lifted his mouth, she struggled to focus. Cam looked ferocious and determined, his jaw as hard as rock. As hard as the part of him pressing into her belly.
His musky scent was so powerful she felt drugged, lost in a narcotic haze of Cam. She sagged against the bookcase, grateful for its support. Her legs threatened to collapse.
“You want me,” he growled.
She didn’t know whether it was question or statement, although he had no reason to question her readiness. The glide of his fingers confirmed that she was primed.
“Yes, I want you,” she forced through a throat that tightened along with the rest of her.
Her breath emerged in rhythmic sighs matching his incursions. Before long she was shaking and whimpering. She was almost there when abruptly he stopped.
“Cam?” she asked uncertainly.
“Hold my shoulders,” he grunted, pinning her to the bookcase. His hands slid between them, releasing his trousers.
Stomach churning with longing, she firmed her grip. With both hands, he grabbed her hips and lifted. To prevent a fall, her legs circled his thighs.
She released a soft cry of surprise at how defenseless she felt in this position. Then another cry when he shifted until she impaled herself upon him.
He buried his face in her shoulder. Her hands clutched his back, feeling his uneven breathing. His heat surrounded her, filled her. From this angle, she had no control over the depth or speed of his entry. The sensation verged on uncomfortable, however greedily her body clung to his. Another whimper escaped and she jiggled to adjust to the thickness inside her.
He nudged his hips up and the dizzying climb that had started when he’d used his hand flared into blinding light. She convulsed in his arms, digging her fingers into his coat as she sought some anchor in this reeling, brilliant world.
It cost him not to move. Through her peak, she felt his quivering rigidity. His back felt like a steel column, his shoulders like planks of oak.
Drifting down from that astounding climax, she opened her eyes to see deep lines bracketing his lips. He looked furious.
She smiled her satisfaction. She’d learned that look could denote something other than anger.
She let herself dangle in his arms. If he released her, she’d melt into a puddle on the extravagant carpet. She rested her cheek on his coat, hearing the fierce heartbeat under her ear. There was something breathtakingly decadent about the fact that they were both dressed—mostly.
“You’re still fighting me,” he said unsteadily.
She started, trying to force her sluggish brain to make sense of what she heard. Her head was too heavy to lift. Honestly, at this rate, he’d have to carry her upstairs. Or call Thomas to help. Which could be interesting. “What?”
“You’re holding back.” His voice was a bass rumble, vibrating against her cheek. His hands gripped her hips, holding her in place.
She muffled a weary laugh. “Don’t be an idiot, Cam. You just sent me to the stars.”
“It’s not enough.” She felt him inhale. What sweet intimacy to be close enough to count his every breath.
“I don’t understand.”
Except she did. Didn’t she feel exactly the same when she stared into his eyes at the peak of intimacy and knew that he held himself separate?