Chapter Eighteen
Reaching the deepest shadows of the alcove, Charlotte took a deep breath and turned to press her back to the wall. Before she finished her exhale, he was there. Consuming her immediate space. Blocking the subtle reach of light. Claiming what she feared was already his.
Before she could lift her gaze, he gripped her waist in his large hands and stepped into her. When he could have pinned her to the wall with his body, he allowed space between them—a suggestion of choice, an option for retreat.
His breath stirred tendrils of her hair. His heat soaked her skin. His scent…
Filled her.
Tempted her.
Destroyed her defenses.
She was lost. She knew it.
“You cannot walk away from me tonight.” His growled words seeped into her chest, into her blood. “I’m in command here,” he murmured, heavy, thick, and dark.
Charlotte’s body thrilled to the sound. He was right.
They were not in the safety of the roles that existed within the Lyon’s Den.
The rules didn’t exist here. And she could no longer deny it was exactly what she’d been wanting.
She hated admitting to herself that she didn’t have the courage to take what she really wanted from this man.
But she could give it.
Dropping her head back against the wall, she peered through the dark and heavy shadows to find his even darker stare. Even with her body already acknowledging and capitulating to his dominance, she couldn’t stop herself from taunting him. “Are you certain of that?”
The sound he made was feral. Deep and delicious. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
Charlotte didn’t deny it as she stared back at him in defiance.
“No more,” he growled.
He slid his hands up her back to curl his fingers over her bare shoulders, he pulled her against him as he forced an arch to her spine that exposed the length of her throat.
As she gasped a needed breath, he lowered his head, pressing his open mouth to her neck.
His kiss was consuming and hot and wicked.
He sucked her skin against his teeth and teased with a hot flick of his tongue.
He found her fluttering pulse and rubbed his lips along it reverently.
Charlotte trembled. Against any conscious direction, her hands lifted to fist in the lapels of his coat. Her legs shifted restlessly against his, seeking a more solid connection.
His compliance was perfection as he pressed his muscled thigh between hers, high against the apex, until she felt the hard surface against her melting sex.
A moan escaped her lips and he caught it deftly with a kiss that sunk straight to her soul. He took from her then. With a viscous intent. Like a man too long denied. He drew her breath into his lungs and thrust his tongue deep into her mouth, obliterating any remaining resistance.
Though a thread of fear ran through her, Charlotte focused on the pleasure. The sharp, explosive passion and desperate yearning.
She arched into him. She twisted her tongue against his, tasting a hint of anger in his passion and loving it. He thought to punish her for avoiding him. She wanted to be punished.
Rocking her pelvis along his thigh, she gasped at the sensations. Unabashed in her desire, she pulled him closer. She wanted to wrap her legs around him. She wanted to consume him. Take him into her body. Make him hers.
But the blasted man apparently had other intentions.
He pulled away. Releasing her mouth to set his forehead against the wall beside her head.
His breath panted over her bare shoulder.
His heart thudded against her ribcage. And then he smoothed his hands slowly down her back, pausing to squeeze her waist, before settling heavily on the curve of her hips where his fingertips kneaded into the swell of her buttocks in a rhythmic pattern she suspected he wasn’t even aware of.
She wanted to insist he keep going. She knew that once their mouths weren’t kissing, he’d want to do something else with them and she was in no mood to talk. When she tried to sidestep out of his embrace, out of the shadows and out of the alcove, he tightened his grip.
She stilled. Perhaps, it was time to face the truth of what was happening between them.
“Why?” he asked.
A single word. Growled and low and confused and a bit angry, but also still so very lustful.
Charlotte shivered. She understood the chaotic mixture emotions. She felt them too.
But how to explain…?
And he did deserve an explanation. By now, things had gone so far beyond her original intention.
Though she’d felt far more hatred and fury in these last few months than in her entire life combined, leading her to do things she’d never have considered prior to her mother’s death, she wasn’t truly a masochist. She was just… angry. And…
Sangbleu.
How could she possibly explain something she didn’t fully understand?
Frustration roughened his voice. “Where did you come from?”
This, at least, was something she could answer.
“Paris,” she whispered. “Before that…Rome. Before that…Edinburgh.”
“What brought you to London?”
This made her tense and tremble as a thickness threatened to close her throat.
As though sensing her distress, he turned his head and pressed a light kiss to her temple. Did he think to comfort her?
Charlotte felt herself melting and quickly hardened herself.
“Vengeance.”
There was a long pause.
“Against me?” he asked.
“No. You are a complication.”
“First a distraction. Now a complication,” he muttered hoarsely. “Why bother with me at all?”
She sighed. “I shouldn’t have. It was a mistake.” But then she couldn’t help herself from adding, “But you deserved it.”
The hum rolled richly from his throat. His hands clasped her more tightly. He drifted his lips along the outer shell of her ear, then murmured, “You cannot keep doing this to me.”
He was right. It had to end. But she couldn’t stop herself from asking in a breathy whisper, “What am I doing to you?”
The sound he made was deep and visceral.
Then he dipped his head to murmur his reply against the pulse in her throat.
“You make me hunger and yearn for something of my own. Something the world cannot touch or deny. You give me a taste of freedom. But then you take it away.” His tone lowered and roughened as he pulled her body into his.
“Every time you leave me in that room by myself, I feel lost. Adrift. You make me want you, then you walk away,” he finished with a harsh sigh and a gentle scrape of his teeth along the muscle of her shoulder.
Charlotte gasped an inhale as tingling bolts of sensation arced through her body. “You want what the masked woman makes you feel,” she countered. “Not me. Not Charlotte Dickson.”
He stiffened, his body going swiftly tense as he lifted his head. Finding the courage to look up at him, she saw the dark turbulence in his eyes, the denial in his expression, the clench of his jaw.
“Say I am wrong,” she whispered.
His brow furrowed heavily and his hands flexed on her body, but he did not speak.
Before she could respond to his silent acknowledgment of the truth, a pair of voices were heard not far from their alcove.
With a fierce expression, the marquess stepped into her, pressing her farther into the shadows, concealing her body with his.
The hardness of him—the strength and breadth—shielded her from more than that the passing guests.
In that moment, the rest of the world disappeared and the two of them were all that mattered.
Heat billowed through her being. Her belly twisted sharply with longing and every bit of purpose, all sense of reality, just slipped away. Only one truth remained.
When they left these shadows, it would be over.
So, she had to take what she could get before it was too late.
Her hands were still pressed firmly to his chest and with the pressure of his body leaning into hers it took a moment to ease them free to reach up and curl around his neck. He’s had his head turned to the side, watching the hall behind them, but her movements brought his attention sharply to her.
“Kiss me,” she ordered.
He didn’t hesitate. His mouth swooped down to cover hers, heavy and hot and hungry.
Her tongue met his at the edge of his teeth as she licked into his mouth.
His low moan of pleasure fueled her desire and she continued to pull desperately at his mouth, kissing him with a fervor that was dangerous. But it got her what she wanted.
His hands slid down to her buttocks where he gripped her firmly with his large splayed hands and lifted her off her feet.
Pinning her to the wall with his body, he held her in place with one hand and he yanked her skirts up with the other.
The slim style of her gown prohibited her from wearing undergarments.
As soon as she was able, she parted her legs and wrapped them around his hips.
With a heavy groan of possession, he pressed himself to her. His hardness fitting thick and long against her aching softness. Despite the layers of clothing between them, she felt the ridge of his cock as he gave a hard thrust of his hips.
Pleasure spread through her blood, igniting a fire that would surely consume her. The deep moan that escaped her throat was swallowed by his mouth as he rocked his hips again, then again.
Keeping her against the wall, he eased a hand between their bodies.
His knuckles brushed against her inner thigh before his fingers found her.
Gliding through her wetness with ease and skill, he tormented her heated flesh, dancing over her sensitive nerves, sending ripples of pleasure throughout her body. All while ravishing her mouth with his.
She felt herself nearing that pinnacle and the realization shocked her. Never had her pleasure gathered so easily. Never had she been so ready for a release.
Her eyes flew open and she dropped her head back against the wall, breaking the kiss as she stared at the marquess with a combination of horror and awe.
Noting the sudden change in her, he stilled completely. His breath was short and shallow. His gaze so hot and infinite. And his body seemed to hum against hers.
“Holy hell,” he whispered in astonishment as the realization of what had nearly just happened dawned in his features. “I need to get you to my bed.”
Charlotte could barely think with her body poised so acutely on the knife-edge of a pleasure she knew would be nothing but obliterating. But she managed a single breathless command. “No. Now.”
His gaze darkened. Staring into her eyes, he circled her clit once, twice—drawing a stuttered gasp from her throat. Then he eased a finger into her hot, wet sheath.
Charlotte’s eyes closed, her head fell back, and her jaw went slack.
The intimate pressure of his touch—the simple, beautiful presence of him inside her—set her off. The deepest, most profound pleasure expanded inside her. From a singular origin, it expanded in rippled waves to every point of her existence. And beyond.
She clung to him through the aftermath. And he held her just as fiercely. His arm strong around her, his body solid between her spread thighs. His ragged breath heavy against her neck as he pressed kisses to her flushed skin. His fingers delicate and possessive against her pulsing core.
The next moments were a blur as he eventually lowered her back to her feet and smoothed her skirts down over her legs, while she concentrated on drawing breath into her lungs and remaining upright.
She realized with a start that she had no idea if the people who’d owned the voices they heard a few moments ago had passed by without seeing them.
And she couldn’t really bring herself to care either way.
The cool rush of air against her body as he stepped back, giving her space, finally brought her around to her full senses.
“We have to return to the party before our coinciding absences are noted,” he said, his voice was raw and hoarse. Then he lowered his chin and peered forcefully into her eyes. “We will continue this…conversation.”
He did not even wait to receive her agreement.
Fully embodying his role as marquess now, he likely couldn’t imagine she’d dissent.
And as he took another step back and gazed out toward the hall, Charlotte noted the strong lines of his profile.
He was determined. Fierce. Intention and purpose sharpened every angle and hardened every plane.
A shiver danced through her—subtle, soft, and terrifying.
She held her breath as he stepped from the alcove, but before she could slump back against the wall, he turned back to her, snaked a hand behind her nape and pulled her mouth back to his for another mind-stealing, soul-snatching kiss.
Thrilling sensations coursed out to her fingertips and toes.
Desire, possession, and something a little bit dark and disturbing swirled through her core.
Before she could give into it, he tore himself away with a harsh grunt and left her there with the sound of his retreating steps.