Page 33 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim
My knees weaken, and I’m trembling, trapped in the web of his confidence.
“Shall I lift your gown and prove it again?” His free hand grazes the hem of the satin, a wicked glint in his eyes, and I freeze, scandalized.
“You wouldn’t!”Not here, on this balcony, with hundreds of guests just beyond the French doors. Not with the warm night pressing in, the faint scent of jasmine from the trellis curling around us. And worse—God, worse—he’d find out he’s right. My thighs clench at the thought, and I can’t bear for him to know how badly I’m unraveling.
Before I can protest, he captures my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tipping my head back gently, a lie of his own. There’s nothing tender about this man.
Dorian claims my mouth, softly at first, a brush of lips that’s fleeting.
Then suddenly he changes tempo, becoming hot anddemanding, as he tongue-fucks me in a rhythm that leaves me breathless, dizzy, clinging to the lapels of his jacket for stability.
My resolve crumbles, a soft moan slipping free, and I kiss him back, desperate and hating how good it feels.
He pulls away, lips glistening, eyes blazing with triumph. “As I said, I’m ready to have you.” His eyes are dark with purpose. “And you’re just as ready as I am.”
Before I can respond, he goes on, “Don’t try to pretend otherwise. Or I’ll goddamn-well prove it.”
After what he’s already done, I believe him.
“Want to try me?”
“No.”The word tumbles out quickly, miserably.
“I thought not.”
He steps back, giving me a chance to smooth the front of my dress.
“Our accommodations await.”
“Accommodations?”
“A guesthouse. It’s on the property.”
So there’s very little time until he makes me his wife in the biblical way.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hating that the clock is ticking, and yet part of me wants the awfulness to be over with.
A footfall startles me, and Brennan emerges from the shadows, his broad frame cutting through the night. “Am I interrupting something?” His voice is low, a rich baritone that carries a hint of amusement, his faint scar catching the moonlight as he stops next to me, trapping me between the two of them.
Despite his casual tone, Brennan knows damn well what had been happening out here.
“We’re about finished,” Dorian replies, his gaze lingering on me. “Just letting Isla know what to expect soon.” He leans toward me, allowing his teeth to graze my earlobe in asharp nip that makes me suck in a shallow breath. “Very soon.”
How can he keep undoing me so completely like this?
“The car is waiting,” Brennan tells Dorian.
To drive me to my doom.
“Let’s go.” Taking my elbow, Dorian steers me back toward the ballroom.
A woman in a sequined dress glances our way, then quickly averts her eyes, and my stomach lurches. Did she see? The kiss? His hand in my gown? Humiliation wars with the heat still pulsing through me.
Back inside the ballroom, Jaxon’s energy is keeping the crowd buzzing. His voice booms over the speakers as he spins another sultry track—something with a beat that vibrates through the hardwood dance floor.
“Time to say our goodbyes,” Dorian murmurs.
Flanked by Brennan on his far side, my husband keeps us moving toward the stage.
