Page 46 of Making of a Scandal
His finger pressed against her in just the right spot and she buried her face against his shoulder to muffle her moan of delight, her legs clenching around his thigh.
“You’ll taste so fucking good. He’ll devour you until you fall apart, screaming and moving against his tongue, riding his mouth and smearing your juices all over his lips.”
“Dominick,” she cried out, fisting his coat as her body began to move of its own volition, seeking more pressure, more of the mind-numbing pleasure his touch sent coursing through her veins.
It didn’t matter that he wasn’t the man she should want. She was so close tosomething, her body bucking and straining as he took hold of her hips and pulled her up his thigh, cupping her buttocks and grinding her against him. The taut ridge of his thigh was hard and unrelenting, stimulating the throbbing nub nestled at her center, sending waves of urgency and need through her.
“Christ, the way you cry his name, the way you feel, the way you taste … he won’t be able to withstand it anymore. He has to have you. He has to fuck you.”
Heat jolted through her at his crass words, her body reacting far differently than the first time he’d spoken to her this way. Because, now she understood what it really meant, how it could feel—and he was only touching her through her clothes. She held onto his shoulders, her hips undulating in the grasp of his hands, her entire body winding taut as if preparing for something monumental. She felt it looming closer and closer, bright and vibrant like a shooting star.
“Is that what you want, Callie?” he rumbled in her ear, biting the lobe as he rubbed her against him, pushing her toward culmination. “Do you want him inside you, his cock filling and stretching you? Slow and sweet at first, but then … you’ll be begging him for more, wanting him to fuck you hard and fast.”
Something inside her gave way, flooding her insides with molten heat. She arched, her head pressed back against the wall and her hips jerking against him, her breasts filling his palms as she shook and groaned through gritted teeth.
“Yes,” she hissed through a clenched jaw. “Yes … yes … yes.”
It was spectacular, this torrent of spasming, throbbing waves washing through her core, rippling outward on waves of blinding bliss. Her thighs gripped around his hips, the fluttering between her legs swelling and growing in intensity with each drag of her mound over his thigh, his hands tight and possessive against her buttocks. She lost herself to the moment, the pinpoints of the stars blurring overhead, and her awareness narrowing to the parts of her that reacted to such stunning ecstasy.
Eventually, it melted away, the pounding ripples receding and softening to slight flutters that slowly died away, leaving her trembling. He slowly eased her back to her feet, his hands holding fast to her waist, as if he sensed she needed a moment for the strength to return to her legs. As it was, she felt as if she would collapse against him, drunk on what he’d just made her feel and the promise of more.
“There you are,” he whispered against her lips. He licked into her mouth, then nipped at her chin, her jaw. “I think I like that no one else sees you as you really are. I think if that ass, Lewes, had ever seen you as I just did, I’d be forced to snap his neck.”
At the mention of Martin, Calliope felt as if she’d been doused in the face with cold water. She drew in a sharp breath, pushing Dominick away and fleeing toward the railing of the terrace. Having not fully recovered, her legs failed her, and she stumbled, bracing her hands on the wrought iron to steady herself.
“Calliope.”
Dominick’s hands were on her shoulders, and the heat of his body touched her back. That most male part of him—hiscock, he’d called it—was hard and threatening at her back, reminding her of what she’d given into, what she’d done by allowing him to touch and kiss her.
“Stop,” she whispered, her voice low and hoarse as she hung her head. “Please … I cannot do this.”
He released her, but she still felt him nearby—far too close. “What are you afraid of, Calliope? I think we both know you’ll never have with Lewes what you just had with me. And there could be so much more.”
“Carnality,” she spat, turning and jabbing the center of his chest with her finger. “A temporary infatuation that will last as long as it takes for you to get what you want. And when you are done with me—”
“In case you have forgotten, I’m the courtesan here. I’m at your service untilyouare done withme, and if I had my way, that wouldn’t be for a very long time.”
“No, I haven’t forgotten what you are. That knowledge is exactly why I cannot believe I just allowed you to … to …”
She paused, taking a deep breath. This was nothing. She’d had a moment of weakness that had now passed. It didn’t matter that the things he’d made her feel would likely haunt her for the rest of her days, or that she’d allowed him such liberties when Martin had never so much as kissed her. It didn’t matter that she would go to her husband tainted and corrupted by another man’s touch. No one ever had to know.
“This will never happen again,” she said, steel threading through every word. “For the duration of our arrangement, you are to do as I ask and refrain from touching me unless absolutely necessary. If you cannot abide by those rules, then I will be forced to put a stop to this.”
Nick’s expression became like stone as he stared down at her. Only, his eyes erupted with jade fire, defiance shining from the deepest prisms. To her surprise, he merely nodded, though there was a stiffness to the movement, as if he hadn’t wanted to agree.
“I think we’ve been seen together enough this evening. I’ll part ways with you now. Good evening, Mr. Burke.”
His jaw ticked in response to her formal address of him, but again, he said nothing. He stood there, his gaze burning into her back as she rushed toward the terrace doors.
They couldn’t have been out of sight for very long—a few minutes at most, though it had felt like a lifetime, as if a part of her had died and something new had been born. Something that missed the nearness of him already, the delicious touch of long, dexterous fingers between her legs and hot, filthy words whispered in her ear.
No, you mustn’t think of it,she chided herself, pasting a bland smile on her face as she re-entered the ballroom and sought out a footman for a glass of champagne.It happened, but you must not allow it ever again.
Dominick might be adept at coaxing these mindless, voluptuous responses from her, but that was all he would ever give her. What else could there be with a man who sold his body for a living—whose very existence was a study in debauchery and excess? She would do well to remember that the next time he tried to seduce her, and despite her warning Calliope knew therewouldbe a next time. Dominick seemed incapable of keeping such urges at bay.
Spotting Martin across the ballroom, she put Dominick out of her mind. Physical compatibility was something that could be conjured with anyone; he had taught her that. Which meant even if her stomach didn’t erupt with butterflies at the sight of Martin, even if her knees didn’t grow weak when he kissed her hand, he could still be everything else she wanted in a husband. He could still make her happy. He could make her forget about salacious whispers and writhing bodies in the dark, and the glittering green eyes of a man who would prove her destruction if she allowed it.
Calliope avoidedDominick for several days following the ball, hoping to recover from the incident on the terrace. She’d spent the rest of the evening dancing, after going into supper with Martin and doing her best to keep her gaze on him and off Dominick. Try as she might, she couldn’t ignore him. He was always in the periphery of her vision, his gaze on her no matter where she stood. The prickling awareness caused by his unguarded perusal set her on edge, making her feel as if what she had done was written all over her face.
