Page 69 of A Rogue's Rules for Seduction
Chapter 22
After a moment, a slow, wicked smile spread across Dom’s face. “Going to suggest something... with your permission.”
Willa warmed from his willingness to cede control to her. But that warmth grew far hotter at the carnal promise in his eyes.
“Very well,” she said as imperiously as she could manage, given the fact that Dom was quite, quite splendidly naked. His body truly was a marvel, so powerfully made, generously muscled as if he existed in the realm of myth. He’d made a perfect Hercules.
And just like the fabled strongman, there was tragedy in Dom’s past. She’d understood, logically, that his life had been far different from her own, but she’d never suspected that violent death had scarred him. Whether or not he was responsible, no one would ever know definitively. But it had left a mark on him, one that blazed on his souland made him believe that he was fundamentally unworthy of anything good.
It was a hard thing to hear, that he thought she’d reject him because of his crime. That he could think she wouldn’t understand or accept him. God... she’d been so intent on protecting herself, the barriers she’d erected had shut everyone out. Especially him.
They knew each other now—not as the illusions they had each imagined and created, but as flawed and beautiful beings.
“I’ll make everything ready for you, lioness.” He rose to standing, putting her face level with his groin—and impressively scaled penis, astonishing even when it wasn’t primed and ready.
She could hardly believe he’d fit inside of her, but then, sometimes impossible things became possible.
Dom moved around the cabin. From a small kitchen area, he grabbed a clay bowl, and then went outside to stick his arm out from beneath the shelter of the porch. She’d no idea what he was doing, until he returned with the bowl full of rainwater. He took the water and poured it into an iron pot, which he set up over the fire.
He had a surprisingly fluid grace, and she appreciated how competent he was in handling these small tasks. It showed that he was a man used to doing for himself, and was equally capable of taking care of her.
She valued her independence, yet there was something very primally satisfying in having someone attend to you.
“Are you making soup?” she asked. “Tell me what you’re doing.”
“Patience, lioness,” he said, smiling over his shoulder.
Her heart seized at that brief but almost happy grin from him. It was a rare event to make Dominic Kilburn smile, and when he did, it was as though a gleam of light appeared in the middle of a shadowy thicket, guiding the way.
A few minutes passed, and then he removed the now gently steaming iron pot from the fire, setting it down on the flagstones on the hearth. He located some towels in a cupboard, and arranged them beside the warm water.
He strode to her in all his glorious nudity. Before she knew what was happening, he’d gathered her up in his arms and carried her to the fireplace.
“Is this when you burn the witch?” she asked, glancing toward the flames.
“It’s when the witch burnsme.” His eyes shined as he laid her down, lying atop the blanket, which he carefully spread out onto the floor. He took the mound of pillows from the bed and tucked them beneath her head and around her.
“It’s almost as if you’ve done this before,” she said breathlessly.
He made no answer as he reached for one of the towels.
“Is this one of the steps in how you seduce someone?” She watched the firelight shine on his muscles and turn the hair curling on his body into tiny glints of gold. “Perhaps rogues have rules for seduction. Rule number one, always distract your lover with your impressive equipment before coercing them into doing something entirely wicked.”
“You don’t need coercing to be wicked.” He dipped a corner of the towel into the pot full of warmed rainwater. “And all rules go on the rubbish heap when it comes to you.”
“I’m learning that.” Her breath caught as, kneeling beside her, he stroked the warm, damp towel over her body in long and languid caresses. She moaned as he slipped the towel between her thighs, cleaning her with soft but purposeful glides.
“Like that?” Despite his question, he smirked, already knowing the answer.
“This... is nice...” she murmured as he ran the towel over her breasts. “You’renice.”
He snorted.
“Not the right word,” she said with a low chuckle, which was a feat, considering how each of his caresses fueled her desire to rise higher and higher. “You’re different. From anyone I’ve ever known.”
“And you,” he growled, following one swipe of the towel across her breast with a hot, trailing kiss, “are unlike anyone else in the whole world.”
He sucked her nipple into his mouth, and she arched up as if she was a bowstring being drawn before being loosed. She gripped his head as he continued to lick her breasts, all the while he stroked the towel over her fevered body.
