Dark Side of the Sun

Her breath caught, wanting never to think of that place again. “I don't understand.”

“The Marquise of Glauster. I drowned him in the Thames.” Gregory stroked her cheek as if he could wipe away such pain. “Over several hours he confessed much, begged for your forgiveness, and cried like a child.”

“My God...” Arabella could not breathe, more tears welling hot in her eyes.

“So tell me.” Gregory held her closer, breathing his words upon her parted mouth. “Did I do that for you out of hate?”

Her lower lip still trembled even as he pressed the lightest of kisses against it.

“Tell me, Arabella,” Gregory whispered, looking at the sorrow, the fear, the gratitude, and the utter disbelief mingling and disconnecting her expression. “You will say it aloud.”

She shook her head as much as his grip on her nape would allow. “I never asked you to do such a thing.”

“You'd never need to ask.” He shook her just enough to make certain she heard every last word. “You never need to ask me to care for you.”

There was only so much she could bear, and he always knew just what pressure would assure she'd crack. Her sob was meant to be slander. “Why? Because you love me?”

A groan of pure, unadulterated delight came from the man. Pressing her back toward the bed, laying her down so he might crawl over her, Gregory agreed. “That must be why.”

Her legs tangled in the night gown, pinned by calloused hands seeking what was underneath, she sought to avoid the eyes of the man above her whose cooing purr made her shiver, and whose heat seemed to say everything was as it should be.

“I would never hurt you.” Through all his words, Gregory's nose ran like a feather over her face, neck, and chest. “There is no need to tremble so.”

“You are hurting me,” she whispered, eyes screwed shut at the threats, the lies... the murder.

“You were never to know of Lilly,” he sounded almost apologetic. “But do you not see that no one can be informed of my intentions until your enemies have been destroyed? Her part to play is necessary. And, yes, I am aware she believes we have an understanding.”

“It is evil to use her.”

“I never claimed to be good.” In a graceful sweep of motion he cupped her jaw, caught her wet eyes, and spoke with uncustomary warmth, “She may look the part of the angel but her heart is as rotted as mine. I prefer the woman who has the very guise of a succubus, and the foolish goodness of a saint. How could you think any differently?”

“With all you do to those around you, how could you ever imagine I might trust you?”

“It is

unfortunate, I will admit.” Higher her gown went, until the red curls above her sex were exposed, until Arabella's soft belly was available to a warm mouth already peppering it with ardent kisses. “But you will learn.”

Staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling, laying on a rich bed in a strange room, she tangled her hands in the dark waves of the man who spoke of love and murder in the same breath, a beast whose tongue licked a deep taste up the slit between her legs and growled savagely, like a wolf over his prey. Each lap of his tongue twisted her mind between comforting disillusion and abject lust. Choking back the noise of her pleasure, she found him reaching up to press his fingers between her lips, telling her to suck and not cry out at the flick of his tongue on that nub of flesh he sought to pull between his teeth.

And she did, tasting him as if he were a part of her, listening to the music of his noisy sucking and grunts of pleasure. When she began to buck, his hand moved over her mouth. One more breath and she screamed her overburdened release against his palm.

Climbing over her, watching the undone woman blink in stupefaction, he pressed kisses to her jaw and asked like a boy desirous of praise, “Are you still angry?”

Her mind was nowhere near the place to process anything beyond the tremors and heat. He took advantage of her distraction, Gregory's hands everywhere until her night rail was peeled away and soft flesh was his to feast on. Half-aware, she struggled to stop his movements, because she was still angry—and because she desired him and knew it was absolutely wrong.

Arching up in frustration only led the man to moan, twisting only to make him bite, and the longer she wriggled, the more determined he became, until he set his weight upon her and spread yielding thighs.

Gregory whispered in the dark of how beautiful she was, drawing out soft breaths and whimpers until Arabella began moving her hips, not to escape the brand that sought out her folds, but to writhe against it.

He was killing her—that was the only thought in her head when the head of his cock swirled so sweetly where she was so unbelievably wet.

Leaning down, his voice low and tempting, he breathed against her mouth, “Does this please you, dear wife?”

She refused to answer, so he began to torment—teasing, tempting—entering just enough to drive her mad. He would barely breech her, then deny her gratification, flick her pearl with his thumb just enough for her legs to shudder, but too slow to do more than make her drip for him. When Arabella was certain that she was going to scream, he took her hand and led it to his stiffened cock. Thick and pulsing with need, it twitched in her grip as he surrounded her fist with his own and moved her up and down the length of him.

The weight of his member in her hand, the feeling of something so large and so pleasing made her ache for it. Her thumb circled the bulbous head, played with the foreskin, gripping almost too tightly as she stroked down. “Does this please you, man who is not my husband?”

Her intention had been to insult him, not make him smile beautifully down at her. “It is pleasing, Imp.” He pumped his cock in her fist once, reminding her of his size and expertise as he purred to her and promised, “Though not as pleasing as your cunny will be, my love.”