Page 47 of The Villain
He reached for her when she came near, his hold on her wrist so alarmingly gentle that she hardly knew what to make of it. Shifting back on the bench, he slammed the pianoforte shut, covering the keys before hauling her toward him. He pulled her down onto his knee, wedging her between it and the instrument.
Before she could blink, he had the bodice of her nightgown torn down, freeing her breasts. He released a heavy sigh before latching onto one like a starving man, suckling at her as if he’d never tasted anything sweeter than her nipple. She cried out, the pleasure of his lips and lashing tongue spiraling straight between her legs. Squirming in his lap, she ground her cunt against his hard thigh, seeking pressure and friction, relief from the desperation he’d created in her with nothing more than the touch of his mouth to her breast.
He released one and moved on to the other, cupping both orbs in his large hands and kneading them, squeezing and caressing as he tasted his fill of her.
Gazing up at her, he teased each nipple with little flicks of his thumbs, smirking when he drew a sharp gasp from her, then a yearning moan. He dragged his tongue slowly over one while pinching the other, and she gritted her teeth, hissing at the muddle the dual sensations made of her senses.
“Such a bonny little thing,” he remarked, still steadily stroking her nipples with the pads of his thumbs. “Especially with my fingerprints all over your skin. Those other men who coveted you … they valued you in your state of pristine goodness … your white muslin and frills, your smooth hair, and your perfect posture. But not me, little dove. I much prefer you like this … your hair mussed, your neck bruised from my lips, your back arched to its breaking point as I wrap my hands in your hair and pull.”
She gasped when he scraped a fingernail over the tight bud of one breast, easing the sharp sting by drawing it into his mouth.
“No one else has seen you like this, have they?” he demanded, staring back up at her with fire in his eyes, turning the inner prisms into molten gold. “Have they, Daphne?”
She shook her head, and he reached around to grab one of her buttocks, giving it a tight squeeze and then a slap. It stung through the layers of her robe and nightgown, its warmth radiating at her core and further inflaming her.
“Answer me,” he growled, nuzzling her breasts and treating them to little nibbles and soft, teasing bites. “Who has seen you like this?”
“N-no one,” she gasped. “Only you.”
“That’s right,” he crooned before taking one of her breasts deep into the cavern of his mouth, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh.
She groaned and thrashed in his lap, her channel pulsating with need, liquid heat gathering there and slicking the path into her body.
It did not matter if he hurt her when he entered her … she would invite the pain just as she would the bliss that would follow, leading her to the rapture waiting for her on the other side.
“Say my name,” he commanded, grasping her waist to lift her onto the pianoforte. “Tell me, who is the only man to see you like this, little dove?”
“Adam,” she moaned when he swiftly parted her legs and hauled her down onto the enclosure over the keys, poising her at the perfect angle to enter her.
She grasped the edge of the instrument for purchase, her mouth practically watering as he began opening his fall, revealing the hard root of his cock. She whimpered when he stroked himself, pointing the thick tip toward her opening. Her inner thighs were smeared with the evidence of her need, but even as he slid his head into her cunt, she knew her wetness would not be enough. She was still so swollen, too tender from his first assault to accept him.
Yet, accept him she did, when he hooked his arms beneath her knees and yanked her to him while simultaneously thrusting his hips. She threw her head back and screamed at the invasion—equal parts ecstasy and agony. Her swollen channel gave way to let him in, sheathing him to the hilt, wrapping him in throbbing flesh.
“Again,” he rasped, tightening his hold on her as he pulled back and prepared to drive into her once more. “Let me hear it again.”
“Adam!”
He grunted as he impaled her over and over, sending waves of pleasure surging through her, resounding to the far reaches of her body. She chanted his name as he fucked her, mindless from the ecstasy, her body creating music at his hands as he played her as masterfully as he did the thing she lay upon.
“Adam … Adam … Adam!”
He took her slower than he had the night before, but his presence inside her had no less impact, driving her to climax so swiftly, she could hardly catch her breath before she went spiraling. She collapsed back onto the pianoforte, the edge biting into her back as he used its hardness for leverage and quickened his strokes, seeming to reach for his own end.
Pulling out of her with a rough groan, he spent, his liquid essence spilling over her belly and thighs, marking her, staining her. Her cheeks flushed while deep inside, a part of her practically purred with contentment. The part of her that craved Adam’s depravity stretched and sighed happily, thrilled at being taken and sullied.
Closing her eyes, she fought to catch her breath, but also to avoid Adam’s gaze. Her limited experience with him had prepared her for what would come next. If he did not spew his venom, punishing her with words, then he would leave her there, stunned and thrown off-balance, her body still throbbing from his invasion.
She was unprepared for the touch of linen against her skin. Opening her eyes, she found him cleaning her with his own handkerchief, the snowy white material soft against her thighs. The flush in her cheeks deepened, her face flaming hot as he took his time, painstakingly removing his seed from her stomach, then folding the cloth and using it between her legs. His face gave nothing away, his eyes shuttered and his lips a firm line as he completed his task and replaced the handkerchief in his coat pocket.
Then, he swiftly buttoned his fall before grasping her waist and putting her on her feet. Her nightgown and robe fell to cover her; yet, when he gazed into her eyes, she felt utterly exposed. He studied her in silence for a long moment before moving again, taking hold of her hand and pulling her along, leading her to the door.
She stumbled, her legs having not quite regained their strength. Grasping the hem of her robe, she followed him, uncertainty making her heart pound and her mouth go dry.
Where was he taking her … and what would he do with her once they got there?
They reached her chamber a moment later, and he threw open the door and pulled her inside. She found it empty, but prepared for her—a fire still blazing in the hearth, the bedclothes neatly turned down, a clean nightgown laid out beside the washstand where a fresh basin of rosewater sat waiting for her.
As if Maeve had known she would need to clean herself up when she returned. She wondered if the maid had waited up, somehow discerning Adam would use her again tonight. Or, perhaps Adam himself had ordered all this done.
