Page 89 of The Wolf of Mayfair
An image slithered forward of Helia as she’d been locked in her rooms, at the mercy of that dastard. “Killing someone,” he corrected for accuracy’s sake. “I’ll feast on his fists for dinner.”
Helia paled.
Wingrave made another attempt to go, but Helia remained as tenacious as a stubborn weed.
“I won’t have you act in violence on my account.” She grimaced. “That is, anymoreviolence. You are a good man—”
“And killing him would make me a better one.”
Helia’s lips twitched. “You don’t believe that, Anthony,” she said tenderly. “That’s just one more of those things you tell yourself.”
He stared at her for a long while. Whowasthis woman? “God, how could anyone be as naive as you?” he asked, in abject perplexity.
“I’m not naive. I just don’t believe violence is the answer,” she murmured, smoothing her palms over the front of his shirt.
The air grew charged, like the earth just before a lightning strike.
As one, they looked down, registering her tender touch upon Wingrave.
His pectoral muscles bunched under her innocent caress. His cock went instantly, painfully hard. From a virgin’s untried touch? What madness possessed him?
A detestable and incessant frustration beat within him—at himself. He possessed enough self-control to not be moved by a lily-pure innocent.
Wingrave glanced pointedly at her palms, which still rested on him. “What is it about you, Helia Wallace?” he murmured to himself.
He slid a palm over her hip, and fisting the fabric tightly, he drew her close. Helia went unresistingly.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she whispered, her words tremulous, her voice breathless.
She clenched and unclenched her legs like one trying to assuage an ache that had built there.
He reveled in her desire.
“I was right, earlier,” he crooned. “You do want to come again. Very well. You do not have to toss me off.”Yet.“I’m more than happy to pleasure you, love.”
Wingrave guided Helia back until her buttocks rested on the edge of the desk and then dropped to his knees.
Never taking his gaze from her wide-eyed one, Wingrave grinned, and inch by slow, deliberate inch, he pushed her nightskirts higher. Ever higher.
“Wh-what are you d-doing?” she whispered throatily when he’d reached her knees.
“What am I doing?” Wingrave caught her left calf in his hand, and as he leaned down, he raised the smooth, graceful limb close to his mouth and paused. “Why, I am kissing you, sweet.”
Her eyes grew to the size of globes.
With that, he touched his lips to the place her knee connected with her sinfully lush thigh.
A low, hungry moan filtered from her lips. She caught the lower one between her teeth and bit.
Wingrave chuckled. “Oh, that is just the beginning, sweet.”
Helia trembled. “Wh-what are you doing?” she whispered again.
He’d long derided rakes and their pitiful fascination with deflowering debutantes. But with the hot, musky scent of Helia’s desire, he understood why they risked their bachelorhood for a taste of that forbidden fruit.
“You want me to tell you and ruin the surprise?” he teased.
She nodded.
