Page 86 of To Pleasure a Prince
He loosened her chemise ties with his teeth. But when he went to pull it down, he couldn’t lower it far enough to bare her breasts, because of her arms being over her head.
So he dropped his hand to the hem of her chemise and pulled it up. He tugged her hands free of the fretwork only long enough to drag her chemise over her head, closing them back around it seconds later. “Don’t let go,” he ordered. “You’re chained.”
“Am I?”
His gaze shot to hers, heated, intent. “For the moment.”
A wanton thrill coursed through her. “All right.”
Next he removed her stockings and drawers, leaving her lying fully naked before him. She squirmed as his eyes raked her from head to toe. How exquisitely sinful this seemed.
Then he left the bed and went to sit in an armchair facing her. All he did was stare at her.
A delicious shiver swept her from his distinctly ravenous gaze. With the firelight playing over the stark planes of his scarred face, he actually looked like a dragon brooding over his captive female, preparing to feast himself on her flesh.
She swallowed. Hard. But still she clung to the fretwork.
He removed one boot. “I believe I like you chained.” His voice was guttural, needy.
It spiked her own need even higher. “That only proves you’re very wicked.”
His other boot thudded to the floor. “Then how good of you to indulge my wickedness. Few women would.” He rose to approach the bed, his gaze fierce and hard as it scoured her. “Even fewer would take pleasure in it.”
Embarrassed that she’d shown herself to be as wicked as he, she jerked her gaze from his to scan the room. But that only made it worse, because the painting taking up half of the wall opposite the bed—a painting not at all in the Chinese style of the rest of the room—featured a whole array of half-clad nymphs. No, they were sirens, beckoning a shipful of hapless sailors to dash themselves on the rocks.
With a groan, she glanced back at Marcus. “Whose room is this?”
“Mine.”
“And your father let you havethatpainting on the wall?”
He chuckled. “Hardly. I added that later.” His eyes played warmly over her. “I have a particular interest in beautiful sirens.”
“Like those beauties you can purchase in any brothel?” she said tartly.
“Like you,” he countered. “I could never afford any beauty as priceless as you, dearling.”
The blatant approval in his look burned away any lingering embarrassment, leaving her feeling restless. Hot. And strangely hungry.
Then he began to undress. He took his time about it, too, his eyes never leaving her body as he sloughed off his coat. Next he unbuttoned his waistcoat with slow, deliberate movements that made her breath quicken in anticipation. She could see the bulge in his trousers, yet he continued his maddeningly slow process.
Low in her belly, her flesh began to quiver…then tighten…then ache. She thought she might die if he didn’t touch her soon.
He removed his cravat, then approached the bed to skim the scrap of silk over her highly sensitized breasts and belly and evendown there.The cursed fabric roused her need to a fever pitch without satisfying it.
She squirmed as he dragged it one last time over her breasts before dropping it on the floor. “Now I know why they call you a dragon,” she grumbled. “Because you can be perfectly beastly sometimes.”
With a grin, he unbuttoned his shirt. “Ah, but you like me beastly, don’t you? It feeds your thirst for adventure.”
“I do not have a—” She broke off as he dragged his shirt off over his head. “Dear Lord in heaven.” His chest would rival that of any wrestler’s, a thickly hewn wall of flesh that narrowed down to a surprisingly lean waist.
His grin widened. “Do I meet with my lady’s approval?”
“You look perfectly…um…beastly.”
After shucking his trousers he lay down on the bed beside her, still wearing his drawers, though they didn’t leave much to the imagination.
“Then I shall get right to my beastly duties.” When he bent his head to suck her breast, she let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “Does that please you?” he rasped, then tugged at her nipple with his teeth.
