A Scoundrel by Moonlight (Sons of Sin 4)

ulty believing that.

She kept her lips closed as his physical reality enveloped her. Heat and musk, overlaid with horses and sandalwood. With a muffled groan that vibrated on her lips, he wrenched her closer until she sprawled against him, too aware of every muscled inch.

She tried to force a gap between them, but against his implacable hold, she had no hope. The last time she’d been in his arms, they’d shared a joy that she refused to recall, because events since had tainted it so fatally. The last time she’d been in his arms, he hadn’t needed to fight to keep her. She’d been avid to stay—and she still couldn’t forgive herself.

He raised his head and stared down impatiently. “Kiss me, Eleanor.”

“Your kisses are lies,” she hissed, straining uselessly in his embrace. She’d always known how strong he was, but only now, when he used that strength against her, did she realize how gentle he’d been.

Her fear—and wicked excitement—sparked higher when his eyes narrowed in rage. “Then let me lie some more, my dear.”

She was mortified how easily he restrained her with one arm. He caught her chin and tilted her face. His grip was hard without bruising. She resented that he retained such control when his nearness ate at her willpower like rust at metal. “You’re contemptible,” she spat.

The smile curving his lips was wolfish. He knew how she struggled against giving in. “Let me prove it.”

Nell’s panic mounted to titanic heights. Not panic that he’d hurt her. Despite her silly fidgets earlier, he wouldn’t crush her rebellion with violence. No, he’d crush her with pleasure. And with the aid of the enemy inside Nell, the woman greedy for his touch.

Ruthlessly he kissed her. “Open for me, damn you,” he muttered.

She flattened her hands on his chest and tried to shove him away. This was like trying to move a mountain with a spoon. A warm, breathing mountain. A mountain that smelled like the promise of heaven.

He nibbled at her lips until she trembled. Still she wouldn’t relent. Even when she was so giddy with need that if he released her, she’d fall.

“Let me go.”

At her hoarse plea, he took advantage to slide his tongue between her lips. The satiny invasion shuddered through her and made her hands curl into his coat until she held him instead of pushing him away. He kissed her until she clung without any show of reluctance. If his touch could vanquish her like this, could he be the evil man she believed him? Could he deceive her so profoundly?

After their night together, he knew what stirred her. In her daze, she didn’t recognize the purpose in his touch until her bodice sagged. Vaguely she was grateful that he’d unhooked her dress instead of ripping it away. Even through rocketing arousal, she knew that beneath this calculated seduction, he was angry. If she had any pride, that anger should freeze her responses. Instead it whipped her to a frenzy.

“You’re a… swine,” she managed to hiss, then spoiled any show of defiance by turning her head until her lips met his.

“You don’t know the half of it,” he sniped back, sounding like he hated her.

She couldn’t even pretend that her shiver wasn’t anticipation. He’d always had this power. Only now did he exercise it with no regard for her inexperience. And the brazen, unprincipled woman who had never stopped wanting him, no matter what he’d done, reveled in every caress.

Those strong, capable hands, hands that had once touched her so carefully, wrenched at her clothes. He groaned deep in his throat as her breasts bobbed free. Before she thought to cover herself, he bent to suck her nipples. To her humiliation, they ached for his touch.

His hands spread across her back, curving her into him to offer better access. She muffled cries of delight as he scraped his teeth over one crest and set her on an exquisite edge.

As a bite intensified the pounding pulse between her legs, she cradled his silky head to her. She moaned, and the sound spoke surrender. At last she admitted that she wanted this. She was as damned as he was. God help her if he truly was the villain of her accusations.

He hauled up her skirts. Staggering, she parted her legs to let him touch her where she yearned. He shuddered and muffled a curse as his hand curled around her mound. She gasped into his shoulder when he invaded her with one long finger, stroking to build a response that already threatened oblivion.

Still no tenderness. He touched her hard, lifting her quickly toward climax.

Then when she was on the brink, ready to tumble over into rapture, he pulled free. She’d so lost contact with reality that this seemed spiteful, rather than a merciful escape. With another moan, she pressed forward, digging her fingernails into his fine cambric shirt. Somewhere in this profane encounter, he’d ripped away his coat.

Still he didn’t resume that glorious torture. Instead he caught her by the shoulders. Slowly she opened eyes that she’d kept closed against shame and confusion.

His expression was composed and watchful. She’d almost believe that she suffered this lust alone. If he wasn’t hard against her quaking belly. If his eyes didn’t glitter with primitive hunger.

“What is it?” Her voice sounded raw, as though she’d already screamed her fulfillment to the roof.

“Do I have your consent?” he asked hoarsely.

“Don’t talk.” Past all caution, she cupped him.

He groaned and ground into her palm. For a heady moment, she thought she’d won, then his grip firmed on her shoulders. “Is it yes, Eleanor?”