Page 131 of The Lyon Whisperer
With a grunt, he released her and strode toward the grate, and the sofa he’d vacated when he heard the scratching at the door. He retrieved the half-drunk snifter of brandy he’d left atop the side table and downed the contents before sprawling lengthwise on the sofa, his eyes fixed on the dancing flames.
“Chase?” She’d moved farther into the room.
“You have it all wrong, Amelia. I’m not angry, at least not with you. Go back to bed.”
He could not look at her. If he did, he’d be tempted to reach for her. He waited for the tell-tale click of the door as it opened and closed.
Instead, her soft footfalls told him she moved closer. Soon, she stood before him.
He nearly groaned. The light from the fire burned through the thin lawn of her nightshift and wrapper, outlining the shape of her slender body as if she wore nothing at all.
He dropped his head into his hand. “I said go back to bed,” he growled.
Rather than obey, she lowered to her knees. She brushed his hand aside and cupped his hot cheeks with her blessedly cool, silky-smooth palms. “Please, talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking. I’ve been so worried. So anxious.”
He drank in the sight of her pale, heart-shaped face, her wide, searching eyes. Her siren’s mouth.
“I don’t want to talk,” he said in a gravelly voice.
She blinked in surprise and hurt.
He was fairly sure he slurred his words. He’d drunk more than his share tonight, hoping to blot out the guilt, the need, the insatiable craving for the woman he’d married.
It was useless. She’d crept under his skin, taking up residence as if she belonged there. Losing her now would be like cutting out a part of himself.
“I don’t understand. If you’re not angry with me, then why shun me?”
“Don’t you see? I wantyou, exactly as you are. You’re sweet, so God damned good and giving and I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you, but I won’t give you up, Amelia. I can’t.”
He shut his mouth. He was making no damned sense, and he knew it. He turned his head. “Go.”
He heard the whisper of material as she rose. He could just make out the sound of her slippers as she moved toward the door.
With every inch of distance her footsteps put between them the ache in him grew. But it was no good. He’d won her on a bet—a bet he was sure to lose. He could no more demand she change than—
“Chase.”
Startled, he turned to face forward and felt the air freeze in his lungs. The blood singing through his veins burned like liquid fire and his cock went instantly, painfully hard, despite the liquor he’d imbibed.
Amelia had removed her wrapper and nightshift. The stuttering light from the grate danced over her naked body. Her raven tresses flowed down her back and over her shoulders, partially, but not fully, concealing her breasts.
“You want me? Take me. I’m yours, Chase. Always. I love y—”
He was on his feet, dragging her close, covering her mouth with his before she could get out the words.
His hands shook as they roamed over her angel-smooth, flame-warmed flesh. His mouth devoured hers. A whimper sounded—his.
She clung to him just as fiercely, arching into him. When her hands slithered between their bodies to unbutton his fly, freeing his erection, he stopped breathing.
Her cool fingers encircled him, exploring the rigid length of his shaft, tracing over the tip to spread the fluid leaking from him.
His hips, his entire body, shuddered with the force of his abject need. “I…can’t…wait,” he choked.
She said nothing as he lifted her off her feet, and merely wrapped her legs around his hips.
Groaning, he moved sightlessly forward until he had her back pressed to an empty space of wall.
In one sure move, he thrust into her tight, hot channel, sinking himself to the hilt. Again. Again.This. Thisis what he needed.This woman.She was his.His.
