Heartless (The House of Rohan 5)

There was no way he could argue with that. He began to unfasten his breeches, but she pushed his hands away, moving to the buttons and releasing them.

For a moment he’d been afraid of whores’ tricks—she would know them all, but that was another woman, not this shy creature in his bed. She pushed his breeches down clumsily, until he sprang free like a goddamned cork on the water, waving in her face.

She didn’t move, she simply surveyed him, and he realized with sudden amusement that this must by what she looked like when she was examining some strange medical growth she was going to remove. Even that unsettling thought didn’t inhibit him, though he’d be careful not to have scalpels around when she was angry. He lay perfectly still, letting her look her fill.

She rose up on her knees, pushing her thick, dark hair behind her ears, and moved closer, examining all of him with a distracted eye, and damned if it didn’t make him even harder, something he hadn’t considered possible.

She frowned, still that surgeon’s look in her eyes. “That is a great deal larger than the ones I’ve seen,” she observed. “Do you have some medical condition?”

This time he did laugh. “Yes,” he said. “Exposure to you.”

It took her a moment to realize what he was saying, and she smiled faintly. “Obviously everyone I’ve ever seen has been in my presence,” she pointed out.

“I’m more enthusiastic.”

She even managed to laugh at that, though he could see she was still trembling, just slightly, for all she was trying to appear scientific and matter of fact. “I won’t touch you until you give me leave to,” he rashly promised, wondering if he was signing his death warrant. He would keep that promise, even if it killed him, which it damned well might if she changed her mind.

“I’m not afraid,” she said, contradicting her earlier words.

“Of course you are, my poor darling. But I promise you won’t be.”

She looked at his face, not his raging erection, thoughtfully. “All right,” she said, sinking back. “I think I can stand it now. Go ahead.”

She really was going to kill him, he thought. “No.”

For a moment it seemed as if she hadn’t heard him. She was resting against the pillow like some virgin sacrifice, and she was probably trying to send her mind to that secret place she’d gone all those other times, with all those other men, just to survive. And then her eyes flew open. “No?”

“You came here. You got this far—it’s time for you to go all the way. If you want this, if you want me, then you’ll have to show me.”

God, was he the world’s greatest idiot? She was ready and willing—why was he demanding more?

Because she deserved more. It was that simple. If she couldn’t move past her fears, just a little, if she couldn’t even bear the thought of. . .

She moved so swiftly he was taken off guard, as she put her hot, sweet mouth against the scarred side of his face. She moved her lips slowly, carefully, down his neck with soft, little bites, and he moaned.

She pulled back quickly. “Did I hurt you? Old wounds can contain a kind of phantom pain, as if the wound were new. . .”

“Do it again,” he said in a choked voice. “Please.” No one had ever touched his scars. He didn’t blame them—they were repulsive, and he’d come to think of that part of his body as dead. It wasn’t. The torn, damaged skin was exquisitely sensitive, and her soft mouth felt like water in a desert.

She wanted to refuse—he could sense her reluctance, and he bit back his longing. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said again, and she was watching him, her expression unguarded and . . . needy.

“I want you,” she said simply.

He reached out and cupped her face gently, his fingers twining her beautiful hair. “Then what do you need me to do?”

“Show me. Show me what lovers do.”

A vast tenderness came over him, so different than his burning need for her. He’d never thought so much about sex in his entire life—he’d always been single-mindedly intent on rutting, though a woman’s response did heighten his. Now he was determined to give Emma pleasure if he died trying.

He tugged her down, deepening the kiss. Her breasts were soft against his chest, the sweet nipples just beginning to bud, and he slid his hand down to cup one soft, lovely mound. She pushed against him, clearly needing more, and his fingers closed around the nipple, tugging slightly. Her quiet moan was his reward and her nipple hardened. He gently pushed her down on the bed, leaning over her body to gorge himself on her richness.

Her eyes were solemn as she watched him, and he dropped his head down and licked across the tip of her breast. She jerked, surprised, and he allowed himself to wonder if no one but he had ever done this for her, to her. His licked again, teasing her, feeling the nub harden against his tongue, and then he gave in to temptation and put his mouth on her, sucking at her sweet breast as he covered the other one with questing fingers.

She practically rose from the bed as the pleasure spiked through her, and if his mouth hadn’t been so deliciously busy he would have smiled. He let his teeth lightly scrape against the edge of her nipple, and he heard her muffled shriek. She had sensitive breasts, he thought, but she liked an edge, and he bit down carefully.

“Oh, God,” she gasped, and he realized her fists were clutching the bed sheet beneath them. He wanted those strong hands clutching him as he drove into her, he wanted it so badly he would have wept.

But if he rushed things he’d ruin it. He had to go slowly, to ready her, to show her what pleasure could be had.