Heartless (The House of Rohan 5)

He tried to summon his fury, his sense of betrayal that had fired him for the last day, but it had vanished. All that existed was this naked, trembling woman lying beneath him, and he knew what he had to do. Remove himself, cover her, and go back downstairs, leave her to put on her nightgown and retreat to her bedchamber. They could pretend this had never happened, and tomorrow would be the very last time he would see her.

But he was only human. He’d wanted her when his body had barely been clinging to life, he’d wanted her as they’d danced and played around his brother’s moldering old country house. He wanted her now, and there was no way he could do what he ought to do and walk away.

Her mouth was cold beneath his, her lips quivering as she tried to hide her fear. She obviously hadn’t expected to be kissed—most men didn’t bother with it unless they had to, and in a brothel the patron ruled. He wasn’t most men, and he suddenly wanted to taste her, to feel her lips soften beneath his. He wanted what he had before, the hot, roiling heat of desire pulsing between them. He wanted to explore her, seduce her with his kisses, he wanted her shivering to stop and her body to melt against him, and damn, he wanted her pale nipples hard against his bare chest. He brushed his lips softly against hers, feathering them, then touched the tip of his tongue to them, dampening them. She was holding her breath, he realized with belated amusement, and if he didn’t get her to breathe she would pass out and he’d have no choice but to be a decent human being. He was going to hell for this night, and he intended to see it through.

He moved his thumbs against her jaw, pressing lightly, and her mouth opened like the blossom of a snapdragon, and he heard her raw, sudden intake of air. He gave her a moment before he set his mouth against hers again, and he deepened the kiss, using his tongue to gently stroke hers.

She quivered, a different reaction from her panicked shaking. Her head tilted back on the mattress to give him more access.

She tasted like spring flowers and innocence, she tasted like darkness and sin, and he moved against her, needing her, kissing her with slow, deliberate intent. He could tell that she was forgetting her doubts, forgetting her fears and her anger, forgetting that she probably hated this. He moved his mouth away for a moment, nuzzling her neck, giving her time to catch her breath before kissing her again.

He was still holding her hands against the mattress, but he released them, needing to touch her. He slid his fingers down the silky skin between them to cup her breast. When he felt the tip harden in his hand, his cock twitched in reaction. He pressed against her, getting her used to the feel of him, even though he was so hard, so damned packed into his breeches he wondered if he could do himself an injury. He longed to strip down as well, but he knew what would happen. The moment his pants were off he’d be inside her, and she needed to be handled carefully. He’d told her he would make her scream in pleasure, and he was going to do just that if it killed him.

He kissed her again, deeper, and she kissed him back with an absurd lack of expertise. She really didn’t know what she was doing. Kissing had definitely not been part of the services offered, as he expected, but for some reason her tentative clumsiness was more arousing than all the practice in the world. He wanted to keep kissing her, but even more he wanted to taste her skin, and reluctantly he released her, sliding his mouth down, kissing, licking his way down until he came to the small, soft, perfect mound of her breast. He ran his tongue over the pebbled nipple, and her entire body jerked. He licked it again, swirling his tongue around the tip like it was some delicious bit of candy, and then he sank his whole mouth over it, sucking it in, pulling on it, so aroused he thought he might come in his binding breeches.

But damn, he could stay here forever, just sucking at her perfect tit. Her hands had come up to his shoulders, her grip slowly tightening as he sucked at her. Much as he hated to leave the first one her second breast needed attention, and he moved over, putting his hand on the first one to pull and tease at it while he took the other one in.

Oh, his girl liked that, she did. Her fingers were digging in now, and she was making soft, anxious sounds of pleasure that he wanted to drink from her mouth, if only her breasts didn’t taste so wonderful. He wanted to put his mouth between her legs, lick her there, see what reaction he could get when he sucked her clit into his mouth, but he’d never make it through that in one piece. He’d do that the next time, he thought dimly, ignoring the fact that there’d be no next time.

She had strong hands, a surgeon’s hands, ones that could cut through flesh and bone, and he found he liked those strong hands on his body, wanted them on his cock. She slid them down his side, brushing across the scarring that marred him, almost seeming to stroke that rough flesh with especial tenderness before reaching the edge of his breeches, and she was pushing at them, trying to slide them off his hips, clearly in a hurry to get this done.

He was always agreeable to a lady’s wants, and he pulled up, unfastening the buttons, letting his cock spring out with a groan and a sigh. He was finally free, and he wanted nothing more than to bury it again, inside her tight cunt, and pump into her for hours, goddamned hours, until she exploded around him.

That wasn’t going to happen. He was going to go off like a schoolboy unless he concentrated on something else. He tried to think of farming practices and the Scottish parliament, but then she touched his cock, and he was lost, ready to come in her hand.

He couldn’t wait any longer. He reached between her legs, and she jerked in surprise. He should have gotten her used to his touch again, like dealing with a nervous filly, but he was past the point of rational decision. She was wet, slippery, thank God, for all her fears, and he had to feel inside her. He slid one finger into her, and she squirmed, startled, and then he withdrew and thrust two in, rubbing against her clit as he went, and her sound of need was the most erotic thing he’d ever heard. No latent decency could stop him now—hell, the building could collapse and he’d take her anyway. His need was that bad.

He caught her thighs in his hands and spread them, just enough. He hadn’t said a word to her, and he wasn’t going to—anything would be a lie or a reproach, and he’d been cruel enough already. He needed bliss, he needed forgetfulness, he needed her, and always had.

He caught his randy cock in his hand and brought it to her, rubbing the sensitive head against her dampness, against the folds and creases of her, and she made that soft, strangled noise again that he wanted to echo. This was too much, too good, too important. He looked down at her, and she still seemed faintly terrified, her eyes wide and beseeching, wanting something and not knowing what it was. But he knew. He levered forward and pushed, feeling the tight, clinging warmth surround his cock, closing his eyes at the exquisite pleasure that was better than anything he had ever felt.

He sank into her, slowly, so slowly that it was going to drive him mad, filling her inch by inch. He was bigger than usual and he knew it, she was much tighter than he would have imagined. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t stop, not until he was deep inside her, his bollocks resting against her, his body covering hers. He kissed her again, afraid to move and set off an imminent reaction. He needed her to relax against this invasion, and he put all of his attention to her mouth and his need to lure her into this game, this dance. He wanted participation, not endurance, and the shiver that ran across her body had nothing to do with fear but more with undeniable desire.

He’d wanted to throw himself at her, pump furiously until he was spent, but this was enough to slow him down. He rested his weight on his elbows, cupped her face with his hands and kept kissing her, nipping at her, his mouth dancing across her skin as he began to thrust into her, slowly, with exquisite care, and his own body started to shake with the power of his need.

And she was responding, raising her hips to meet him, growing wetter still, a thin sheen of sweat on her beautiful skin, unexpected desire warring with her resistan

ce. She hadn’t meant to respond like this, probably hadn’t thought she could, but there was no denying that her arms were around him, clinging tightly, and the soft, reluctant moans were urging him onward.

Words began spilling from his mouth then, when he’d been so determined to be silent. “Yes,” and “fuck” and “more” and “yes” as he moved faster, his own body beginning to shake with the power of his overwhelming lust. He couldn’t, wouldn’t say the word “love” but he could push into her, with dirty words whispered in her ear that made her tighten around him. He was fighting a losing battle with self-control, and he wanted to lose it, but she wasn’t quite ready, though he knew from her breathing, from a thousand other physical signs that she was near. “Don’t,” he said, his mind blank, “give it,” he muttered, and the battle was lost. “Now,” he groaned, feeling his seed boil up from his balls and spurt into her, and the last word he spoke, as he pulled free and collapsed beside her, was even worse.

“Harpy,” he said, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

Emma lay still, unmoving beside him in the bed. Her body felt raw, invaded, oddly incomplete, her mind and emotions were a merciful blank. She wouldn’t think about it. She refused to. She would just lie there for another few minutes and let the numbness settle around her.

She had no idea how long she lay like that. It was only when he stirred, muttering something, and reached for her that she made herself move. She scuttled out of his way so fast she ended on the floor, but she fell lightly, and he slept on, oblivious.

She had to haul herself to her feet—her legs felt weak, her heart was pounding, and when she leaned down to pick up her discarded nightgown she almost blacked out. She wasn’t going to think about it. She was going to go up to her room and bathe, that’s what she would do. There was no reason to think.

She held on to the walls on either side of the narrow stairs, and when she finally reached the top she wanted nothing more than to collapse on her narrow bed.

She couldn’t. She felt unclean, violated, wrong, so very, very wrong, and she couldn’t rest until she scrubbed her body clean.

Because she’d liked it. The most deplorable, shameful thing of all was that she’d actually begun to feel alive as she’d wrapped her body around his, taken him inside her, and she’d wanted more. She knew that some rare women could reach their peak as men did, and she could feel it just outside of her reach. She’d struggled, almost there, his filthy, arousing words in her ear, when he said the one thing that would destroy her.

Harpy.

He knew who she was.