Page 20 of Obsession: The Unspoken Sin
“Alice,” he said.
His voice garbled, he confessed, “I can’t…set you away. I want to…kiss you.”
Alice lifted her head and tipped her eyes back to his. The long ends of her lashes fluttered. The sough of her breath came quick and warm against his lips.
With that, all sense was forgotten.
“I am lost,” he groaned.
“You’ve always been contrary,” Alice moaned. “For I am found.”
With that admission, the world melted away and from its remains sprung a long-suppressed desire he’d carried forever for this woman. Their mouths found each other. Even as Denbigh cupped a hand about her nape and angled her head, she caught him by his neck and drew him closer so their mouths melded as one. He kissed her over and over. He savored her lips. He cherished them first with gentle meetings. She deserved to know the way he’d once wanted to initiate her. And then, with every breathy moan and soft plea and escaping sigh, he deepened his strokes.
With his opposite hand, he used his thumb and forefinger to coax her lips apart. And she immediately granted him entry. She greeted him warmly and enthusiastically. They tangled with their tongues. His flesh and hers, a heated brand that they touched to one another’s, leaving each other’s mark, so this kiss could be imprinted upon, not only their flesh, but their very minds and souls and entire spirits.
“You are so perfect, Alice.”
“Laurence,” breathed Alice in between their kiss.
“I have wanted to kiss you forever,” he confessed at long last.
He’d denied that truth from even her.
Alice gasped, moaning. She tipped her head back and bared her neck to his worship. He complied, sliding a trail of light bites and kisses and licks until he found the place where her pulse was pounding for him.
He needed her. He needed her forever. One kiss would never be enough. Panting, Denbigh filled his hand with her lush breast.
She gasped through the fabric of her uniform. He ran his thumb along the pebbled peak of the mound.
Alice gasped. Catching his hand between hers, she pressed his palm against her flesh and anchored him there. Kissing her mouth once more, he massaged and molded the soft, supple flesh, learning the texture and feel of her.
“Oy! Thought you weren’t keeping rooms here.”
Denbigh and Alice broke apart.
Alice, with a gasp—this one of shock and horror—jumped to her feet, leaving Denbigh angrily digesting that the Earl of Dynevor had interrupted a moment that had been forever in the making.
The head of the club glared darkly, not at Alice, but, rightfully so, at Denbigh.
“Alice, see yourself out,” the Earl of Dynevor ordered.
A black curtain of rage fell blindingly across Denbigh’s eyes at the jaded young pup’s familiar use of Alice’s Christian name. At the bastard ordering her about and at the speed with which she hastened off like she was some servant.
“Alice, you’re not going to be ordered about,” Denbigh called after her.
She paused and glanced back. The look in her eyes told a different tale than the book he was reading from.
“I have to go,” she mouthed.
Then without another look back, she departed. The door closed with a slight click, and Denbigh and Dynevor were alone.
It wouldn’t do to anger the irascible earl more than Denbigh already had.
“You needn’t worry, Dynevor,” he said as soon as Alice left. “The lady and I have history together. We are family—”
Dynevor cut him off. “Do ye go about snogging your own sisters and cousins like that?”
Heat climbed Denbigh’s neck. He had no sisters, but the other man’s point was clear.
