Chapter Twelve
T hen I shall take it.
Rosilee had never been a prude. Nor was she entirely innocent. She knew what happened between a man and a woman. There were enough books on the subject, and there was also a very, very intriguing book her brother had once purchased filled with different positions of that nature.
It was part of nature.
Which was why this setting was so perfect. Which was why she wanted to act bold here .
Now.
At their spot. Their haven.
Rosilee pressed herself up against him as much as she could, wanting the heat of their bodies to fuse together.
This feels so, so right.
The night air was cool against her skin, and she’d always loved the smell of earth, damp from the evening dew.
But nothing compared to him.
His scent was different—masculine, clean, with a hint of soap and worn leather, yet still earthy, but in a more untamed way. Like a storm waiting to break. She could almost taste the lightning of his breath.
The two of us following each other? Who would lead?
They could both lead.
With their hearts.
But she hadn’t been able to say this. Hadn’t fully sat with all that was brewing in her heart, even for herself. For now, she could only show him, and pray he listened and answered the same.
“You taste like heaven,” he breathed against her lips.
“The feeling is mutual, Duke.”
His teeth grazed her lower lip. “Blake. The feeling is mutual, Blake.”
“ Blake ...” She would have purred his name if she could have.
“I must have been mistaken,” he muttered in a pained tone. “You are a witch, not an angel.” His gaze bore into hers. “Now is the time to run.”
“Who is running? Certainly not me. Certainly not now.” She leaned up to kiss his chin covered in stubble. “I need you.”
So much.
He stripped off his coat and spread it on the ground. A moment later, Rosilee was lifted into his arms and laid on the duke’s coat. She inhaled a deep breath, almost a gasp but not quite, when his big frame hovered over her before his lips captured her again.
“I want to touch you everywhere.”
She smiled up at him. “So, then touch me everywhere.”
And then his hands were on her, moving with purpose—firm but reverent—as though mapping every inch of her body was something he had been waiting his entire life to do. His lips trailed kisses from her cheek down her neck, leaving a burning trail of awareness in its wake.
“This . . . You . . .” His breath whispered against her collarbone, and she shivered.
It was more than the sensation of his lips or his hands—it was the way he inhaled deeply against her skin, as if he wanted to memorize her scent, to imprint the moment into his very soul. He was drinking her in, savoring her like a man starved.
She wanted to devour him, too.
Rosilee’s fingers curled around the soft fabric of his cravat that bothered him so much. Her fingers tugged with a teasing slowness until it loosened. He lifted his head to meet her gaze, and she grinned at him as she yanked his cravat free, her breath catching at the sight of his exposed neck. She tossed the silk aside without a second thought, her hand hovering in the space between them, before she slowly trailed a finger down his neck, stopping at the base. She wanted to feel him—his warmth, his heartbeat, his heavy breath against her skin. But more than that, she wanted the man behind the cool and calm.
She wanted the beast he claimed to be.
His eyes darkened.
She lifted her chin until the tip of her nose grazed his skin and inhaled deeply. His soapy scent filled her lungs, absolutely intoxicating. “I love how you smell.”
“Rosilee,” he said following a low groan, his voice thick, his lips so close to her ear now that his breath tickled her skin, “you make me come undone.”
“I quite enjoy this coming undone of yours,” she whispered.
“Christ, I want to go slow, but I don’t know if I can.”
She arched into him. “You have all of me.”
Now have all of me.
His hands dragged her skirts up, his fingers leaving a trail of fire even as the cool air chased the trail. Rosilee arched her neck back, offering him more of herself as his mouth continued his siege, hot and relentless against her skin.
Nothing had ever felt this right before.
She barely registered her drawers vanishing, only gasping when his fingers began to slowly, seductively, rub against the silken, and supremely sensitive part of her body.
Her world exploded with sensation.
Her fingers burrowed into his shirt, tugging it free from his trousers to hunt for the smooth frame of his back. Her nails dug in deep. He let out a soft groan before slipping a finger inside her.
Heavens.
Rosilee breathed out his name, and his lips were there to catch it. But then, perhaps it was simply...
Fate.
Divine intervention.
Call it what you will, she was here for it all.
She almost cursed when his fingers left her, but soon, something else filled her, something bigger, something harder, and Rosilee cried out at the sensation. It was a feeling like no other. It stung, but that pain also brought with it the spellbinding pleasure of oneness . The most physical, and intimate way two people could become one with each other.
“How does that feel?” he asked gruffly, his temple lowering softly against hers.
“Like an adventure,” Rosilee breathed.
A low chuckle filled her ears, and shivers broke out all over her skin, causing her to clench there . This was the first time she’d heard him do anything near a laugh.
His gaze met hers. “I’m going to move now.”
Was it customary to speak in this way at such a moment? “Why are you telling me this?”
“So that you are prepared.”
Prepared for wha—
She gasped as he withdrew and thrust into her. Ah. So, this . Her whole being felt weak, but his arms tightened around her, holding her against him, grounding her, and his body took on a steady pace. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the rapid beat of his heart against her own. It was as if, in that moment, they were the only two people in the world.
She raked her nails down his spine, grasping him with a need she couldn’t name. He groaned, and she loved the raw, naked pleasure he got from it, so she did it again.
He cursed. “I love your hands on me.”
I love yours on me, Duke.
Rosilee shut her eyes and lost herself in the sensations of their bodies drawing pleasure from each other.
Could I stay like this with him forever?
Blake’s entire body shuddered at her touch.
He had meant to go slowly. He had meant to be gentle. Very slow, and very gentle. This night was already a miracle. That she wanted him this way was the biggest miracle of all. She was everything that was good. Everything that was angelic.
And he . . .
He was everything that was . . .
No.
He couldn’t think like that right now. Not while he was with her, even though a part of him raged that only a beast would take the woman of his dreams on the ground in the garden. But she had said it was perfect, and admittedly, he couldn’t say no to her no matter how much he knew he should push her away, walk away, run . But he didn’t possess that sort of strength. Not with her. Not ever.
Which was why he wanted to take his time to savor the moment and be as gentle as she deserved. But she didn’t seem to want that. Every touch, every single response, spoke of an urgency he himself shared.
She scraped his back with both hands again. His whole body jerked as, this time, she dug deep. His pace grew fiercer, deeper, harder.
Christ.
He brushed his lips over the swell of her breast, inhaling the addicting sweetness of her scent. Roses, he thought, but he couldn’t be sure. When had he last smelled a rose? He’d fill his garden with them when he got home.
She arched into him, a wordless demand for more. Blake was only too happy to provide. His mind, his body, and everything in between moved with its own force and beyond his control.
Pressure built at his base.
Every touch in his life had been woven through with distaste and horror.
Except for her. Only her. Always her.
She unraveled him completely.
“Bloody hell, Rosilee,” he breathed, his mind going blank as pleasure ripped through him. She shattered with him. The soft cry of his name broke the air, and damnation, it undid him. He caught it with his lips, desperate to claim it, taste it, to make it his—not wanting to miss the moment to draw that precious sound into him as if he could make it a part of his very soul.
His name on her lips—it was like a prayer.
No other woman had ever made him feel like this—no touch had ever sparked such raw, consuming fire.
The fingers on his back slackened.
No.
Not yet.
He didn’t want her touch to be over.
He rested his head in her shoulder for a moment to catch his breath before he flipped over, drawing her atop him, still inside her, while he waited for his— their —breathing to calm.
“Rose . . .”
“—ilee...” She lifted her head to look at him. “A simple name.”
“There is nothing simple about it.” She would never understand just how much her name represented to him. It was a beacon of light. Perhaps the only one in his life, and no matter how faint, it always served as a reminder that he hadn’t totally succumbed to darkness.
She wiggled. “You are still inside me.”
He shifted beneath her, but didn’t pull out. “Does that bother you? I can remove myself.”
Her head nestled on his chest. “Don’t. I like it.”
He held her a bit tighter.
“This spot must be bewitched,” she muttered after a while, chuckling. “It’s where we first met, then kissed, and now this.”
“Strictly speaking, we didn’t meet here.”
She rested her chin on her hands, which were splayed on his chest, and stared at him. “It’s still the garden. Close enough.”
“Close enough,” he agreed. His hands smoothed down her down her body and back up again. “I met my brother tonight.”
Her eyes widened. “You have a brother?”
“Half-brother. Seven of them, actually,” he admitted. “Tonight was the first time I met one of them. He looks just like me. Like my father.”
“That must have been such a shock.”
“No,” Blake murmured. “I’ve always known about their existence. Baston wanted him to nab you.”
She rose a bit. “What? He knew I was at the ball?”
Blake nodded.
“How?”
“It seems the man is more connected than I first thought. He seems to be no ordinary mercenary.”
She snorted, settling down again. “A man for hire never is. He has probably done countless horrible things for people. What about your brother? He is not going to cause trouble, is he?”
“No,” Blake said darkly, recalling his half-brother’s arrogant mug. “He knows not to make an enemy of me.”
“But then, Baston must know I am with you.”
“Yes, but I cannot be entirely sure how.” He should have handled the man back at the inn. But he had wanted to be good. He’d wanted to follow Rosilee’s guidance. That way, he could stay with her a little bit longer.
Selfish blackguard.
That he was. But any man who had been drowning in darkness and was given the rare opportunity to temporarily dance with a sliver of light would strive to make that dance last just a moment more.
“Should we be worried?” she asked softly, her voice chasing all the ugliness away.
“No,” Blake said, rubbing her back. “I shall have Bishop hire people to track him down and keep an eye on his activities. You just do what you need to do.”
Which reminded him of Stagbourne.
Blake grimaced.
Her lips brushed against his skin. “What if I just want to keep doing this?”
He groaned. How could he ever deny this woman? “Do you even know what you are doing to me?”
“I do.” She grinned at him. “It’s this thing called seduction, is it not?”
“What books have you been reading?”
“Naughty ones?”
“I believe it.”
She laughed, and Blake couldn’t help himself. It seemed he never could when it came to her. He kissed her. Nothing else mattered. Not their mission. Not Baston. Not Stagbourne. They had no business being in this moment.
He would worry about them tomorrow.