Page 21 of Ruthless with a Rogue
The floorboards creaked as Lord Dunmore approached the settee.Once again, he sat next to her.Once again, he was much too close.Once again, he overwhelmed her.His thigh rubbed up against hers, his foot pressed into her skirts.She took a steadying breath.
Her turn to seduce.
She slowly lifted her gaze to his.And held it.His eyes had darkened, pupils dilated so large his irises appeared a deep evergreen.She lost herself in that forest.What an exquisite place to be lost.
Hold on to control, Livy.
Her turn to seduce.
He reached out and took her jaw in a biting grip, stroking her bottom lip softly with his thumb.And just like earlier, her skin came to life under his touch, an incessant buzzing taking up just beneath the surface.She licked her lips, her tongue clashing with the tip of his thumb.His pupils flared.Visions of their encounter at the ball came flooding back.Her breath quickened.She could almost feel the heat, the hardness, the heaviness of him pressed against her again.
Livy stared into those heavy-lidded eyes.It was time to poke the beast.Not because she was curious.This was purely strategy.A calculated decision to keep him thinking he was making progress.Distract him from her slip.
Her turn to seduce.
Nothing more.
“Say probability one more time.”His voice was low, soft.Laced with threat.
A shiver stole over her skin.She almost didn’t realize what he’d just said.He…wanted her to say probability again?The way he asked… It was like he craved it.Her pulse sparked to life, a dangerous heat flowing through her veins.
One that inspired dangerous actions.
She whispered one word.
“Probability.”
In the next moment, Livy’s jaw was wrenched forward, and Lord Dunmore’s mouth collided with hers.He didn’t bother with soft and coaxing kisses this time.His tongue surged forward, like he feared if he hesitated, he would miss his chance, determined to be granted entry.And she let him.
She didn’t just let him.
She kissed him back.
Even though she’d yielded to him, let him think he was making progress, she wouldn’t let him dominate her.She pushed back.Pushed his tongue out of the way.Pushed intohim.A startled sound came from deep in his throat, and a thrill shot through her.Maybe it was bad that it thrilled her, thrilled her that she’d surprised him.That wasn’t what she was supposed to want.She was supposed to conform.Be the expected.
Frustration simmered in her blood, and she kissed him harder, her hand sliding up to grip his cravat, a burning urge to attack rising inside.Because this kiss was a battle.She wasn’t sure who was fighting whom, if she was fighting him or fighting herself.Or maybe the injustices of the world they lived in.
He tilted her jaw, better aligning them, deepening the kiss.At the next slide of his tongue, she bit down softly.A growl rumbled deep in his chest.Against her chest.Oh dear.The beast purred.Heat pooled low in her belly.
One of his hands slid around to cup her nape.What would it be like to surrender to this man, to be fully at his mercy?A man untamed, unrestrained.His fingers were a whisper over her skin, a contradiction to his hard grip on her jaw.He prompted a reaction in her, conjured up vivid fantasies.Fantasies she would never have thought herself possible of imagining.Like what it would be like to be imprisoned by him.Bound.Restricted while he used that gentle touch over the rest of her.Or maybe…the other way around.Him at her mercy.Her skin prickled, her nerves thrumming.
Nothing could have prepared her for this.For the way the clashing of teeth and tongues would mix with pent-up frustration and combust into this wild, reckless war.They dueled with tongues, maimed with teeth, bruised with fingertips, neither willing to be conquered.
Somewhere deep down, she hated herself for getting lost so deep in him, in his kiss, in this moment.But now that she’d realized her intellect wasn’t something he detested, but something he desired—her defenses were crumbling.And for the love of gooseberry pie, the man worespectacles.How was any woman supposed to resist that?
Her fingers slid up until she found bare skin.For the first time ever, she was grateful for her threadbare garments, for how easily she could feel the heat of him through them.He shivered against her, and something heady and sharp rushed through her.It was powerful, seducing this man.But how far did she go?When did she retreat, let him think he’d won, even though she was really the one in control?
Soon.She would revel in the glide of his tongue over hers for a moment longer.Of this man melting into her.
This was so much different from kissing Warren.
Oh God, Warren.
She shoved herself away from him.She fisted her skirts, panting heavily, and stared unseeing at the floor.A bone-deep nausea took up in her stomach.She had let it go too far.Felt things she shouldn’t have felt.
The click of heeled slippers echoed from the hall.“I beg your pardon for my tardiness, Lord Dunmore.I apologize for any inconvenience.”Aunt Mellie’s cheerful tone rang through the parlor.She curtsied deeply to Lord Dunmore, who had instantly stood upon her arrival.And apparently divested himself of his spectacles—back to cold, brooding marquess.Aunt Mellie glanced at Livy, but besides an infinitesimal widening of her eyes, she didn’t let on that anything looked out of place.
“Lady Elliot.”Lord Dunmore bowed.He turned toward Livy, a glint in his eyes.“Not an inconvenience at all.”
