“You tortured me tonight,” He growled against her lips, “flaunted yourself in front of me with another man.” He bit her neck. “A very dangerous thing to do.”
Ilya drew her closer against him. Corset gone there was nothing but layers of silk between his palms and her hot delicious skin.
“Little bird,” his mouth devoured her, neck, ears, brows, hair. She responded with hot open-mouthed kisses of her own, on his neck, his chin, his lips, as hands with tiny nails pressed into his arms giving punishments of her own.
“Ilya…,” the sound of his name on her lips sent scorching heat through him, his hands tighten, pulled her closer.
“You play a dangerous game, little bird.” Sharp teeth sank into his shoulder and he dropped his head back savoring her attack.
“How so?” She nipped and kissed, scratched through his shirt.
“You wore the dress.” His hand slid down over her hip, her thigh, forward into the apex between her legs and cupped her.
“Mmmm.”
His fingers pulled up the fabric of her night gown until he touched the soft curls of her sex.
“You wore the dress and flirted outrageously with St Alban.”
“He is my fiancé.” She murmured rocking her sex against fingers that sought out her heat. He pressed in, one finger, two.
He bit her neck. “Cruel little bird. I have read the papers.” His fingers curled, rubbed that spot on the inside and she crooned.
“I didn’t think you read,” she panted.
He growled in her ear. He knew how to play. His fingers withdrew, and he got a delicious growl back. He pinched her nub. She made that sound against his mouth, that sound as if she were in pain, and suffering with her need to have him. A sound that was a balm to the tightness that had curled black in his chest all night.
He ripped whatever that gorgeous material was that covered her. Ripped it until it fell away, kissing her so she sobbed against his mouth, sobbed against his neck as he dragged his vest off, his shirt. Her hands frantically pushed down his trousers and he picked her up and threw her on the bed. She bounced and then he was there on top of her, her legs wrapping around him and her sex thrusting up, rubbing against his arousal, his trousers.
Ilya struggled out of the last vestiges of clothing and looked down at her. The sight made his heart trip. Her golden hair splayed across all the pillows, her breath was coming hard, her eyes glazed, her breasts, god help him, those perfect breasts rising and falling as she struggled for air. Her arm reached for him. “Ilya…set me free.”
Oh, he intended to. But not until they had sorted out the anger, the pain between them.
He reached for her legs and pulled her to him, pressed them back against her chest as he pushed himself into the hot, wet, heat of her; told her in every language he knew, how she felt around him.
His hand fisted in her hair and he drew her up to his lips and kissed her as their hips met in a frantic pounding of need. Claimed her at long last without any impediment. Every silken inch of her as he slid in and out made his head light, his body tighten as the pleasure built. Giving and taking with all the want he’d stored for months, months that felt like centuries.
Her fingers curled into his skin. Her thighs tightening across his hips. “Ilya…” She was close “Ilya …let me fly.”
“Tell me little bird. Tell me you love me.”
Her hips tried to take over the pace and he drew out. The tip just there, tantalizing her entrance as his heart hammered, his nerves stretched but he needed her to say it more than anything in his life.
“Tell me…please, Seraphina.”
She sobbed, shook her head, the pain still sitting in her eyes. Determined he gave her the next climb up. He thrust, thrust deep and hard, lifted her head and took her lips, pressed his tongue deep into her mouth so she sucked it and rode him like he was all she could taste and feel. And then he slowed, slowed and lowered her head back down.
Her claws scratched down his arms and her hips tightened their hold not letting him leave. He ground against her, ground and stilled, ground and stilled, until she was crooning and undulating under him.
“Tell me little bird. Tell me,” he murmured. “Tell me how much you missed me; how much you love me. How much you need me. Because I nearly died with longing for you.”
She shook her head no. Her eyes stubborn in her determination.
There was sweat on them both. They were both strung tight, balanced on the edge. Backing away and building, backing away and building, each time breaking her down, breaking down the pain that he’d put there, breaking down the barriers she’d built in return. Pushed them both until it all broke and there was only them. Skin to skin, breath to breath, him deep inside her and her welcoming him into the very core of her where he belonged.
And just like that, he went too far, went too far and she spilled over. A shout, a cry and she went taunt, her core contracted around him. Nothing in the world had prepared him for the way her body clasped around him, as she milked him as she came. Squeezed and pulsed and there was no physical way he could pull out, he shot his pleasure into her as his head spun and the world went blank and there was nothing but the explosion of blissful sensation through his body, the pulse, the throbbing of her around him.
Ilya slipped his arms around her as she clutched him back. Rolled to the side pulling her close as his head spun. Her sobs against his chest said everything he felt. Everything raw, everything broken open. He held her tight, crooned every nonsense a man ever told a woman he loved and meant it. Crooned and kissed her hair, her head her lips as she pressed against him as if he were life itself.
“I love you.” She murmured and he clutched her closer. “I love you. I love you.”
The satisfaction, the pleasure it was in the way she clasped him, in the holding of her. In knowing they had made it to the other side. That he had her and she had him.
“I love you too, little bird.” Then against all the rules of seduction and rakedom he fell asleep.
Chapter 27
The door to Seph’s bedroom opened waking her up. The light streamed through the bedroom window and the sound of birds playing in the tree outside floated into the room.
Her eyes opened and she saw Ilya walk through the door, the morning papers under his arm chomping a piece of toast. Warmth washed through her at the sight of him until reality hit.
“Ilya! The servants know you’re here?” She leaped out of bed. “You have to leave.” She reached out and pulled on her wrap. Ran her hand through her hair which cascaded down her back. “What time is it? Aren’t you supposed to leave before people wake?”
He was totally non plussed as he set down the papers.
“I think it’s too late. I made sure to introduce myself to the household and have arranged for more breakfast.”
“Are you out of your mind!” She started to pace. This was disastrous. “The news will be in tomorrow’s paper if not the next edition today!”
“Scandalous,” he drawled, totally unperturbed. “Forcing a man of Russian nobility to marry you like this. Clearly a harpy.”
“I am not forcing you to marry me. If you leave now, we might weather it?”
“You think so?” He crunched on more toast. “I had a cigarette on the porch earlier, spoke to your neighbor. Lord Winfield? Seems like a nice chap. I said he can come for a ride in my car later.”