Chapter 14
He leaned closer and nipped her earlobe. The sharp bite resonated in her nipples, tightening her belly, creating a divine spark in her clitoris.
‘Then there must be ground rules. I will not risk going further than you want.’ His voice vibrated along the tiny hairs in her ear canal.
Oh my. Since when did rules become an aphrodisiac?
She inhaled through her nose, buying time.
But it backfired. Her lungs were full of soap and spice, and her thoughts scattered.
She pulled them back into order with extreme effort.
Because he was right; rules were necessary to ensure she didn’t lose her head.
Or her heart. And she would never risk that.
‘Rules. Yes. Good. Three, I think.’
He raised his brow. ‘Three? All right. The first?’
‘No penetration.’ She might be innocent, but she wasn’t an ignorant fool.
She had no interest in one night of exploration ending in a lifetime of responsibility.
Certain herbs could be brewed in such a way to discourage a man’s seed from taking root, but there was no method to completely guarantee a woman would not conceive.
She didn’t have access to her herbs and potions, but even if she had, she wouldn’t risk falling pregnant.
A moment of madness was allowed, but not if it altered her life’s trajectory.
He gave a silent nod of acknowledgement. ‘The second?’
She hadn’t thought that far. He ran his nose up her neck to her temple, burying it in her hair.
His lips tickled her ear. ‘Think, little witch. What is the second rule?’
Not helping!
‘I… um… h-honesty.’
He pulled back, quirking his head. ‘What do you mean?’
This was more embarrassing than the first time she practised spells with Aunt Rowan and accidentally caught the kitchen curtains on fire.
‘If I do something wrong, you’ll tell me.
’ She hated the idea of failing at this.
She didn’t know what she was doing, so missteps were inevitable.
But she would be damned if she didn’t learn. And get better.
Something melted in his eyes. ‘Impossible. Nothing you do between us could ever be wrong.’
She narrowed her gaze. ‘What if I singed your bollocks? Or accidentally incinerated your willy? Would that be wrong?’
He swallowed. ‘Point taken.’
‘Brilliant. I won’t have you pretending something is good if it isn’t. You’ll tell me if I do anything you don’t like.’
‘And you will tell me the same. Before you resort to blasting me with hellfire.’
‘Witchfire.’
His brows drew down in a question.
She couldn’t hold his gaze. ‘That is my gift. Witchfire.’
‘Ah. You truly are a wonder.’ He grazed his thumb over her lip, and she had an impulse to bite him. Taste the salt of his skin. ‘All right. Honesty. And what is the third rule?’ His voice was burning brimstone.
‘If I tell you to stop…’
‘I will stop.’
She knew beyond a question he would hold true to his word. Which gave her enough courage to step into the unknown. ‘Then we have an accord. Tonight, I give you the reins, Grey.’
‘Thomas.’
No.
Names held power. If she used his name, he would cease to be her enemy. He would become more. Far too much more. She pulled free of his grip on her chin, shaking her head. ‘I think not.’
He opened his mouth to dissent, but she pushed up on her toes and closed the space between them, claiming his lips and stealing his argument. He tasted of whisky and pepper and smoke in the forest.
He froze for a moment and then came alive.
Taking over the kiss, he licked her mouth, his teeth scraping over her lips, his hard hands insistent as they ran down the length of her arms, encircling her wrists, lifting them above her head so her breasts thrust against his hard chest. She only wore a thin cotton nightgown, but he was still dressed in his dinner jacket, vest, shirt, and cravat.
He pulled away, holding her wrists tight in one hand as he untied his cravat.
‘You gave me the reins tonight, Clio. And I want you to call me Thomas.’
She lost all logical thought as he jerked his cravat free in tight movements, whipping the white silk away from his neck and snapping it.
He looked above her head, searching for something.
When his lips curled into a wicked smile, anticipation warred with apprehension. What had she gotten herself into?
I can ask him to stop. He will honour my command.
She knew this was true.
And if he does not, I will simply incinerate him.
Also true.
The fire cracked, sparks flying out of the hearth. He glanced over his shoulder as the embers flared from red to black before landing in sooty specks on the wood floor. He turned back to her, his black brow raised in censure. ‘Is this going to be a problem?’
She didn’t know. Her powers had never been so unpredictable. ‘No?’
‘If you burn down Blackthorn Manor with your witchfire before Lady Langley can seduce her footman, she will be most displeased.’
A giggle burst free before she could stop it. This man was a wonder. He could infuriate her, arouse her, terrify her, and amuse her all in the course of one evening.
‘Heaven forbid.’ She pressed her lips together to keep the laughter within.
‘Heaven has nothing to do with this.’ Grey let her wrist go and captured one hand, tugging her several paces to her right before positioning her once more against the wall.
‘What are you doing?’ Her unexpected burst of joy spun into something headier.
‘Do you trust me?’ He held the cravat up, then looked at her wrists.
‘In this?’
‘Just this.’
She nodded.
‘Then give me your hand.’
She hesitated. Could she do this? Give him her hand? Let him tie her? She had asked for this. Did she actually want it?
Yes.
When she held her hand out, something dark and hungry flashed in his eyes.
Slowly, carefully, as though her wrists were made of glass and not flesh and blood, he wrapped first one, then the other.
It was obvious he knew what he was about, and that caused a rogue wave of hot, wet need to wash through her.
His knots were loose enough they wouldn’t constrict her blood flow, but as he lifted her bound hands over her head, she realised what had caused his smile and why he shifted her to the left.
An iron wall sconce with an empty candelabra wasn’t lighting the room, but Grey had found a better use for it.
The decorative swirls were perfect for hooking his cravat, and it was high enough to force Clio onto her toes.
‘These older homes are so sturdy.’ Grey pulled experimentally on the sconce before securing her arms over her head and stepping back.
Clio felt like a painting on the wall as Grey’s emerald gaze lit small fires wherever it touched her.
Throat, breasts, belly, legs, and the shadowy patch between her thighs.
‘I should strip you naked.’ His tongue made a lazy swipe over his top lip as he assessed her.
‘Would you like that? To be on display for my eyes alone?’
An errant thought of Lissa flashed through her mind.
Would he compare her with his wife? But as soon as it came, she pushed it back into the depths.
Tonight was about Clio and Grey. No one else.
She nodded her head in jerky movements. The heat building in her sternum licked over her skin.
She knew she would be glowing in the dark room, but she couldn’t stop the power washing over her, reaching out in swirling reds and blues.
Grey’s eyes widened, but he didn’t step back. ‘Call me Thomas.’
She bit her lip and shook her head.
‘Do you know what happens when you refuse to follow my lead?’
‘Generally, things work out in a much more satisfactory fashion.’
Humour glimmered before he shut it down. He pressed his lips together in a firm line. ‘Outside of this night, perhaps. But tonight, when you refuse to follow my commands, you must suffer the consequences, Clio.’
She had never been good at following orders. But never before had the repercussions seemed quite so enticing.
‘And what are my consequences, Grey?’ She couldn’t stop her rebellious smile.
His jaw muscles jumped as he stepped closer.
The heat of his hand seeped through her thin cotton shift as it hovered just over her left breast. Her nipple hardened painfully, and she inhaled, waiting for the inevitable pressure of his palm.
The sharp sweetness of his fingers. The pain that spun into pleasure.
‘Do you want me to touch you, Clio?’
Of course he would make her say it. But she was too lost in desire to deny him. ‘Yes.’
‘Then tell me, what is my name?’
Realisation dawned. This was what he meant by consequences.
‘Bastard,’ she hissed.
He lifted his hand to the lace edge just above her collarbone. His finger slid over her skin in a silken glide, tracing the scooped neck. But it wasn’t what she needed. It wasn’t even close. And he knew it.
‘No. That isn’t it, although Sir Robin thinks otherwise.’ He leaned closer, his hard chest almost pressing against her aching breasts. His lips hovered near her ear. ‘Say my name, Clio. Say my name and I’ll rip this nightgown off you and suck those sweet nipples until you scream.’
Sweet goddess!
Flames wrapped around them both, holding them in the moment.
She turned her head, trying to catch his mouth, bite his lip, force him to bend to her will, but he was too quick, leaning away from her.
She narrowed her gaze. ‘Sir Robin is a very intelligent bird. If he calls you a bastard, it’s probably because that is exactly what you are.
’ Her breath was coming hard and fast. The shift of cotton against the sensitive buds of her breasts only made her need worse.