They faced each other across the bed. He had that dangerous look in his eyes, the one that made her fine ideals about talking instead of kissing disappear.
“That’s what rakes do, Sandrine.”
“And this is what young ladies who are claiming their freedom do, Dane.” She marched around the bed and tangled her arms around him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A young lady, newly wed, must submit to her husband in all things.
—Mrs. Oliver’s Rules for Young Ladies
“I was afraid you would drown.” Dane crushed her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her small body.
“And I was afraid you’d be thrown from your curricle,” she replied, kissing him hard, scratching her nails down his back. “I want to punish you for making me so afraid.”
This was no gentle exploration. This was urgent and raw.
“Maybe we’re both addicted to danger,” he said.
He was addicted to her.
The rules of racing were that if the road threw you a curve, you leaned into it. And that’s all he wanted to do, lean into her, embrace her curves. Guide her to the finish line.
This hunger was a pounding, driving force. He didn’t care if it was wrong anymore. It was too strong to fight. Her kiss demanded an answer. He turned her around, to face the wall.
He undid the hooks at the back of her gown and slipped it down her shoulders. She stepped free. He molded the shape of her buttocks, pullingher shift tightly around the curves. “You have a luscious bottom.” He knelt and bit one cheek playfully, and she gasped. He reached around to touch her sex, and she melted back into him.
He rubbed his erection against the soft curves of her backside, and she moaned softly.
“I’m going to make you come now, Sandrine.”
He wouldn’t allow her to turn around. He was so hard and huge behind her, holding her with one strong arm across her chest and the other between her thighs. Her legs felt like jelly. She wanted to collapse, but he held her up; he wouldn’t let her escape.
His hand moved to her throat, covering it, moving her head. She was trapped, held so tightly. Her small throat clasped in his large hand.
He lifted the hem of her shift, and his fingers trailed up her thigh and then caressed her, exactly where she needed it.
“Yes,” she moaned.
He stroked her sensitive folds and flicked a finger over her core. The hand around her neck tightened just enough that she was aware of her pulse. She was completely in his control.
She could allow herself to let go and float.
Delicious, unpredictable freedom.
She was glad he couldn’t see her face. She must be grimacing, searching for that elusive pleasure. It was so close now.
He stopped touching her sex, and she whimpered. “Don’t stop.”
She felt him fumble with his breeches and then his hard length slid between her thighs, rubbing against her.
His hand left her neck, and he gripped her hips, sliding her along the ridge of his arousal. She fell forward, bracing herself against the wall, and he moved faster, pressing her thighs together around him, moving between her legs but not entering her, each stroke bringing her closer to her peak.
She pressed her bottom back against him and clenched her thighs together.
“That’s right. That’s my good girl.”
She flew into a shimmering climax as he moaned her name.