Page 67 of A Certain Appeal
The word choice confirms he was able to make out what I hissed at that asshole, and it’s almost enough to mortify me anew. But he says it so carefully, I know he’s not giving me a hard time; he’s asking for my consent. Asking. Not taking. The emotions tumble in me: anger and humiliation and want. The appeal of having an outlet, of feelinghim, is too strong to deny.
I nod slowly. “Yes. Please.”Oh, God, Bennet.Please? Really?
Darcy closes the space between us, placing a hand at my waist. The heat of his palm sears through the layers of silk and boning, and I silently celebrate my skimpy costume.
His hold tightens.
I stop shaking. And breathing.
My hands rise to his chest, resting lightly on either side of the line of buttons on his shirt. He brings his fingertips to my chin, tipping my face up to his. He’s focused solely on my mouth, his look so intense, I have to close my eyes.How is this happening? How is this what I need right now? How—
His lips press to mine.
He’s gentle, lips moving tentatively as though feeling me out, trying to gauge my commitment to this remedy. But,oh—his lips are soft, and his tongue, teasing along my upper lip, is cool from what hewas drinking before he found me. I savor the unexpected sensation, but the whole thing, the extremes of the past five minutes, is too much to process.
So I stop trying. And I kiss him back.
Darcy shifts a hand to cup my cheek, fusing me to him with the arm at my waist. His tongue sweeps along my lower lip, then presses in to tangle with mine. My knees threaten to buckle.This is a distraction. It’s still Darcy. He’s why Jane is hurting. He’s a proud, rude shit. You’re using him. You’re using him.
Then I find myself sliding my hands up to knead the thick muscle between his neck and shoulder, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him. The sound cuts off the monologue in my head, and my number one priority is getting him to do it again.
My hands scorch down his chest. I make a tactile record of him through his shirt, registering the firmness of his pectorals and the muscle along his rib cage, then lower, tracing the ridges of his abdominal muscles. The path leads down to the defined outlines of his hipbones, and I track them to the waist of his trousers, where I let my fingertips rest on his belt. He, in turn, has moved one hand so low that it’s technically pressing against the top of my ass, and the other cradles my head, cushioning me as he backs me against the wall.
The hand at the top of my rear eases down, following the outside of my hip to the top of my thigh. I melt into the contact, and it’s a testament to my loyalty to Jane that I keep myself from wrapping my leg around him. I nip at his bottom lip, and he gasps again.GoodGod, that sound—
I resolve to apologize to Jane.
I arch, lifting my knee slightly, and in a display of impeccable instincts, he pulls my leg up against the outside of his. Then he’severywhere, kneading my hamstring and backside. He smooths me over, as if working to erase the contact from before, to overpower the unwanted imprint. It works. Each movement is long and slow and deliberate, until there’s no trace of the intruder, only him. Only Darcy.
When I wrap my arms around his neck, he tugs my leg higher, hand moving farther inward on the underside of my thigh, grazing the edge of my panties. I angle toward his hand—
And let out a yelp of pain.
We break the kiss at the same time. Darcy shifts his hold, lowering my leg the millimeters necessary to dislodge the corset boning jutting into the top of my quad.
He lifts his face from mine. “Are you—”
I shake my head. My heart hammers against my sternum, and I’m grateful for the wall because I don’t think I could stand on my own. “Corset,” I pant. “Not ideal for... this.”
“Ah,” he breathes, and smiles faintly. He kisses my temple, then my cheekbone, and angles down to the corner of my mouth, lingering there.
I try to slow my breathing, exquisitely aware of the brush of my lips against his at every tiny movement. It would be so easy to get back to it, to turn my head or dart out the tip of my tongue, to taste him again—
“Thank you for your service,” I manage, the words cool, though they come out on a shaky breath.
He chuckles, nuzzling lazily against my cheek. “Anytime.” He presses a kiss below my ear, and I’m glad the position of his face prevents him from seeing the ecstasy crossing mine. He smiles against me. “This was a much better idea than what I offered.”
I giggle, and he gives me a little squeeze.
“Did it help?” His question dances across my skin.
“A bit.” I smile. “Thanks for not making me feel like a creep for asking.”
He straightens enough that I have to look up at him. One hand cups my face. “Bennet, kissing you isn’t a sacrifice. Touching you...” He rubs his thumb along my cheekbone and I close my eyes, almost purring at the contact.
He lets out a low sigh. “I’m just sorry it wasn’t under better circumstances.”
I flutter my eyes open, checking to see if there’s any hint of what I’m gleaning from his comment in his expression. I’m met with the same intensity from earlier. My knees go wobbly again.
