Chapter 11 Derek
Derek
Derek took hold of her jaw, squeezed. He wasn’t risking her getting away. “No throwing punches this time.” He cocked a brow at her.
She didn’t speak, but the muscles in her jaw rippled beneath his fingers, like she was grinding her teeth. What a surprise she was. He hadn’t felt a thrill as strong as this, hadn’t felt as alive as he did right now… Christ, ever.
He leaned forward in small degrees, and her eyes widened with every inch. She held herself stiff, mouth clenched tight, tension radiating from her, her pert nose flaring. If she thought she’d get away without opening that pretty mouth of hers, she was mistaken.
He chuckled deep in his throat. She was going to present a challenge.
It was a rare occurrence a woman refused him.
The way they threw themselves at him, he was the one who turned them away.
She would pay for her little trick. Stealing his clothes to manipulate him?
It was time for her to learn the Marquess of Dunmore’s rule about women.
They didn’t own him. They were never in control.
He pressed a soft, barely there kiss to her lips.
They were pressed so tight he could scarcely enjoy their lushness.
But she couldn’t hide their softness, as soft as the rose they stole their color from.
Massaging her jaw with his thumb, he tried to coax a response from her, but she remained rigid in his arms. He dragged his lips over and then trailed them over her jaw.
She shivered. His pulse picked up. Progress.
He tilted her head away from him, exposing her delicate neck. He inhaled deeply. Ah, vanilla. His eyes rolled heavenward. She was going to taste as sweet as she smelled. And he was going to devour her. He drew his tongue along the column of her neck. She gasped, and he smiled against her skin.
That’s it, darling. Don’t fight it.
He worked his way back to her lips, but she remained stock-still, mouth clamped shut.
He growled, and his blood heated, a dangerous combination of desire and frustration.
He licked at the seam of her mouth, but she rolled her lips inward, shutting herself off from him further.
She couldn’t possibly be unaffected by him.
That shiver. That gasp. They didn’t lie.
God knew his body was responding to hers, his blood simmering, ready to ignite the moment she let him in.
He grabbed her jaw with both hands and pressed his lips harder on hers, continuing to run his tongue over them. Nothing. He growled again, louder this time, and she flinched. An ugly satisfaction hummed through him. Good, she deserved to be scared. Women didn’t resist him. Women didn’t manage him.
He pulled back, caught those blue eyes, darker now, pupils blown wide. Gave her the opportunity to say no. She was denying him in every way. But she didn’t say the word, just stared back at him.
In challenge.
Tugging at her bottom lip with his thumb, he popped it free from its prison.
He latched onto it with his teeth, biting gently at first. She inhaled deeply through her nose.
She was putting on a great fight, not letting him in.
He soothed her bottom lip with his tongue, and an unsteady breath fled her.
Oh, how he wanted to sink his teeth into her. Mark her.
Pushing at the seam of her mouth, he tried to gain entry again, but she held firm. He pressed into her harder, without success, his mouth grinding against hers. His body was moments from combusting, his frustration a flame licking up his skin.
He shoved away from her. “Bloody fuck!”
Derek scowled at her, breathing hard. She leaned heavily against the door, glaring right back at him, hands fisted, panting heavily.
Who in the bloody hell did she think she was?
And for the life of him, he couldn’t tell if she was affected or not.
Flushed with desire…or defiance? Either way, she was refusing him. Like she thought to best him.
He was the fucking Marquess of Dunmore. She should be begging him for this opportunity.
Stalking up to her, he demanded, “You will let me in.”
With a growl, he grabbed the back of her head and crushed his mouth to hers, slamming his body into hers so she was caged against the door.
He could feel her body trembling against his.
He knew she could feel he was half-hard, pressing against her.
Was sure it overwhelmed and frightened her.
Right now, his poor prick was so confused.
With the frustration of denial, it didn’t know whether to be eager or discouraged.
Derek loved…prolonging the tension in bed.
He ground his hips against hers, and her hands slid to his chest. Disappointment sank heavy in his gut. She was going to push him away, and though it pained him to lose, he’d honor her wish.
Her fingers dug into his flesh, nails biting into his skin.
His heart sped up to a frantic pace.
She. Latched. On.
Oh, but this woman had iron running through her veins. She continued to deny him entry. If he could just show her a taste of what it would be like if she let him in, he would have her as malleable as pastry dough.
He finally worked his thumb to her jaw, pushing hard, forcing her open.
He would have his way. Delving inside her, he groaned low in his throat at the feel of her wet heat.
Finally. As he explored her, his frustration mounted again.
She was as still and impenetrable as a stone wall.
If her racing pulse wasn’t currently pattering under his palm, he would have thought she wasn’t a flesh and blood woman.
She did nothing. Her tongue didn’t move. Her lips remained still.
He broke away and glared at her. They stood there, eyes warring, their rough exhalations echoing through the salon. And then, the chit had the nerve to slowly lift her eyebrow at him.
Stepping back, he laughed cynically. “I know you’re not unmoved. You’re merely stubborn.” He said it with more conviction than he intended, unsure of whom he was trying to convince.
Without saying a word, she lifted her arm and swiped the back of her wrist against her mouth. He narrowed his eyes. The impudent little piece of baggage. He growled, his lips pulling back. God, she made him feel like an animal.
“Go. I’m through with you. For now.” He waved a dismissive gesture in her direction and turned to collect his clothes.
He called over his shoulder. “I will send a note tomorrow to schedule a call to begin planning your rise in society. And we will revisit…this. You may have resisted me this time, but you can only hold out for so long.”
The door snicked as it unlatched. He turned—the woman swinging the door open a discreet amount, about to make her escape. He snapped his fingers at her. “Name.”
She turned her head back to look at him, the force of her glare burning him with its heat.
“Miss Olivia Forester.” In a swirl of haughty skirts, she left.
He grinned. Her skirts may have been haughty, but her words had been breathless.