Chapter 13 #2
She made a soft, broken sound, and he took it, drew it into himself, kissing her with a hunger that bordered on ruin.
It was no longer merely a kiss but a slow, deliberate, intent claiming, as though he meant to learn every response she could give and draw it from her until she had nothing left to withhold.
Sebastian tightened his hands at her waist, holding her firmly against him as desire surged, sharp and immediate.
He wanted more.
More of her mouth and breath, more of her body softening beneath his hands, her pussy opening to his tongue, his fingers, and then his cock.
The sensual press of her against him sharpened that need until his cock hardened against her, insistent and impossible to ignore.
It had been some time since he had wanted a woman with such immediacy.
Without breaking the kiss, he lifted her.
She exhaled a startled breath, her hands clutching at him as he turned, carrying her easily through the press of bodies.
The crowd parted with little notice, too consumed with their own indulgences to remark upon his.
He knew precisely where he intended to take her: up to the third floor, where they might have privacy and freedom from interruption. By the time he reached the base of the stairs, his restraint had thinned to something dangerously fragile.
She wrenched her mouth from his. “This is where I bid you goodnight, my lord.”
The words struck like cold water. Sebastian stilled and said nothing for a moment, drawing a slow breath with her taste still upon his mouth and the sharp edge of his desire abruptly unmet. At last, he exhaled in quiet, reluctant resignation. “As you wish.”
Sebastian lowered her to her feet with care, though his hands lingered for a fraction longer than necessary.
She did not look back as she fled, and he stood watching her retreat, the press of the crowd closing in around him once more, with the heat of her lingering upon his skin long after she was gone.
“Well,” a voice drawled from behind him, “I was about to visit Lady Ellen’s chamber and watch her with Lord Pennington. Join me.”
Sebastian grunted and cast a glance toward Grantham.
His friend was a curious contradiction. Though he frequented Aphrodite as often as any of them, he never indulged.
Not once had Sebastian seen him take a woman to his bed, nor even appear tempted.
He observed everything and yet remained wholly untouched by it, his habitual air of indifference never quite disturbed.
Only in Madam Rebecca’s presence did that composure fracture, revealing something sharper beneath.
“Are you coming?” Grantham prompted, lifting a dark brow, his hazel eyes gleaming.
Sebastian dragged a hand over his face, irritation lingering beneath his skin. “No. Nothing else here holds my interest this evening.”
Grantham huffed a quiet breath, his gaze drifting across the room. “I find myself in much the same state. There is only one thing in this damned house I want, and with each passing day she slips farther beyond my reach.”
Sebastian stilled, turning a fraction more fully toward him. It was the first time he had ever heard such a dull note in Grantham’s voice.
“Then stop speaking in riddles and tell her plainly,” Sebastian said.
Grantham stilled. “I have shown her in a dozen different ways, yet she remains wary of me.”
Sebastian frowned. “Showing is not the same as saying it. Perhaps she fears she is merely another diversion to you.”
Grantham gave a low grunt but offered no reply.
A restless energy stirred within Sebastian.
It had been some weeks since he had taken a lover.
He let his gaze sweep over the guests crowding the hallway, some already unsteady, laughing as they drifted past him and up the stairs.
The usual offerings remained plentiful. Women laughed, beckoned, and enticed.
Any of them would have come willingly to his bed, eager to please, eager to be chosen.
He felt nothing: no spark of interest and no desire to pursue, claim, or indulge. The absence was most unwelcome. With a faint tightening of his jaw, Sebastian turned away. “I shall take my leave.”
Grantham studied him a moment. “Take care, Raine,” he said lightly, though there was a knowing edge beneath it. “It would not do for you to be bitten by the same fever that has undone so many of our acquaintances.”
A mocking laugh escaped Sebastian. “You mistake me entirely. That particular affliction will never trouble me.”
The very notion was absurd. Love and marriage remained the furthest things from his thoughts, surfacing only when his mother chose to press the matter. He intended to enjoy at least another decade of life’s finer pleasures before submitting to domesticity.
A faint smile touched the corner of Grantham’s mouth. “I saw the look you gave Red just now. You looked as though you would devour her.”
“I have no intention of being ensnared,” Sebastian said coolly. “I want a few nights” diversion, nothing more. Once satisfied, I daresay I shall forget her entirely.”
Grantham’s brow lifted, though he did not challenge it.
Sebastian did not wait for further comment.
He made his way through the crowded rooms and into the relative quiet of the corridor, the sounds of revelry fading behind him as he stepped out into the night air.
The cool night air struck his skin and cleared his head.
He signaled for his carriage and waited beneath the portico.
As he waited, it was not Red who rose foremost in his thoughts but Miss Darcy Whitley: the purposeful grace of her walk touched with unstudied sensuality, and the smile that persistently led his thoughts astray by fixing his attention upon the fullness of her mouth.
Sebastian stilled, displeased by the turn of his thoughts.
When the carriage arrived, he dismissed it and chose to walk, as though distance might exhaust the restless energy neither woman had any right to inspire.