Page 13 of Midnight Rendezvous (Sins & Sensibilities #4)

CHAPTER 13

P enny squirmed where she stood, pressing her thighs together as a slow, pulsing ache built between them. Her breath hitched, heat rushing through her limbs, through the very core of her, as Alexander's hands moved—slow, deliberate, confident.

Then her breath caught entirely. His fingers were at the fastenings of her borrowed trousers, slipping open the flaps, his touch a provocative whisper against the fabric and her skin.

" Friend, " he said, his voice low and filled with a dark promise that rippled over her spine, "if we are to be friends... there will be boundaries ."

Her heart pounded.

"No more sneaking into my home unannounced. No more tending to me when I'm fevered or bleeding. No more following me. No more asking after my health." His fingers paused just at her hips, heat radiating from his hands. "No more looking at me like I am yours. You are not mine."

She stared up at him, stunned, breathless and burning.

"We'll see each other at balls," he continued, his voice smoother than velvet, "at polite gatherings. You'll curtsy, I'll bow, and we'll speak of weather and waltzes. That will be all."

Penny felt something crackle inside her—pain, pride, desire. "And if I do not agree?" she tossed back, lifting her chin. Oh, what am I saying , she silently wailed.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then his hand moved with shocking boldness, sliding down over the fine linen between her thighs. Penny gasped, jolting when the backs of his fingers brushed intimately over the wet heat of her center.

Her mouth parted in stunned silence—too shocked to speak, too aroused to move.

"You're already drenched," he said roughly. "And yet you look at me like I'm the dangerous one."

She tried to step back, but he caught her hips, holding her in place. "This," he murmured, "is what we cannot have. Not again. Not unless I own you."

The words rocked through her, dark and possessive and wildly intoxicating.

"You do not," she whispered.

"No," he agreed, his lips close to her ear, breath scorching her skin. "But you want me to."

Her knees threatened to buckle. His fingers slid along her sex, slow and intimate, not yet inside, just stroking, teasing. She bit her bottom lip so hard she tasted blood.

"Say the word," he rasped, "friends with boundaries, Penny."

Penny's lips parted. She said nothing.

And his fingers slid deeper between her folds, claiming her with a slow, devastating touch. She arched, crying out softly, her head falling back as the heat built and crested, her body shuddering with pleasure that was both unbearable and exquisite.

He stroked two fingers deep inside her pussy, shoving her up onto the tips of her toes. Penny wailed, the sound torn from her throat like a plea. She tried to twist but was completely caged by his strength. Alexander kissed her throat and moved his fingers in and out of her sex, slow at first, then faster, and she quaked beneath the rhythm of his touch. Pleasure burned low in her belly, hot and twisting, and her clitoris ached—each pulse a torment, each stroke dragging her closer to the edge.

Over and over, he worked her until she was a trembling mess of moans and broken breath.

"Look at them," he said roughly, raking his teeth against her arched throat.

Her gaze snapped to the glass. The Marquess now had four fingers fully buried inside the countess's pussy. The woman was writhing, riding his hand with a kind of reckless abandon Penny had never imagined. Heat flamed through her, stealing her breath as she trembled in Alexander's arms.

"Do you want to feel a similar stretch, hmm?" he whispered, the evocative words sliding into her like another caress, scorching her with fresh, helpless lust.

She gasped when he nudged her legs wider, and then a third finger joined the others, stroking deep. Penny shattered. Pleasure tore through her in devastating waves, her entire body shaking with release. And still, he did not stop. His fingers continued their slow, relentless rhythm until she peaked again...and then again, crying out as if the pleasure itself might unmake her.

And then...Alexander stopped. Just as suddenly as he had touched her, he stepped away. She staggered, catching the edge of the wall for balance, her breath ragged, her heart pounding.

"Go home, Penny," he said softly, dangerously. "Before I forget every line I've drawn and take what we both want."

His hands were warm and steady as he unwound the cravat, slowly releasing her.

And just like that, she felt the loss. "I..."

He turned her to face him, his expression unreadable in the low light. "You've had enough for tonight."

She didn't know if he meant the sights...or him .

"Yes," she said faintly, though every part of her disagreed.

He stepped back. "Go home, Penny."

She nodded, unable to meet his gaze. Her breath was still ragged, and her heart hammered against a fragile cage of confusion and longing. Then she turned and fled as if the devil had chased her.

Alexander hadn't meant to touch her. He hadn't meant to want her.

And yet, here he was, his fingers still damp with her release, his breath still ragged from the way she had moaned—those sweet, broken sounds that would echo in his head long after this moment.

Alexander leaned back against the shadowed corridor wall, dragging a hand over his face as the hidden door clicked shut behind her. She had fled just as he'd intended, skirts rustling in haste, her slippered feet tapping a frantic retreat over marble. No doubt she was halfway down the corridor by now.

Good .

That's what he needed.

Christ . He shoved off the wall with a growl low in his throat, his body still tight with the aftershocks of restraint. His cock throbbed painfully against the front of his trousers, and he cursed the part of him that had wanted her to stay—to beg for more, to fall apart in his arms again and again. But Penny wasn't a mistress. She wasn't a faceless indulgence, and she certainly wasn't someone he could fuck and forget.

She was everything he had tried to resist. Every soft smile. Every sharp retort. Every haunting memory of moonlight and shadowed library and her calling his name as if it meant something.

"Damn it," he muttered, pushing through the crowd with a tight jaw and narrowed gaze.

He didn't even glance at the masked women who reached for him, nor the men who hailed him with nods of admiration. His boots clipped against the marble as he cut through the pleasure palace, ignoring the decadent moans and scandalous tableaux tucked into alcoves and behind silken veils.

Penny would have exited through the main floor. She had more courage than sense, which meant she likely didn't come with a chaperone. That fact alone made something primal coil inside him. He exited just in time to see her shape disappear around the corner.

Of course, she hadn't brought a carriage. Alexander didn't hesitate. He followed. The night was cool, the street lamps casting golden halos onto the cobbles. She walked briskly, the edges of her masculine jacket fluttering with each step. She didn't look back. But he kept his distance, boots silent against the darkened street, his eyes locked on her.

Penny was rattled, and he felt a curl of regret. Had he pushed her too hard? He had to. Because if she had stayed...if she had looked up at him with those wide, innocent eyes, trembling and flushed and vulnerable...he would have broken.

He could not be the kind of friend someone with her sweet nature possibly foolishly thought possible. Could not smile across crowded ballrooms and pretend she was not the only thing he wanted.

"Did you walk here?"

She faltered, then turned, her eyes wide with surprise. The moonlight glinted off the damp tracks of tears on her cheeks, and something inside him twisted painfully.

"No," she said hoarsely. "I... I took Thomas's horse. I... forgot."

"I'll have it returned discreetly to the mews."

Penny swallowed hard. "Why are you following me?"

"To ensure you made it home safely."

Her lips parted, and for a moment, it looked as if she might say something more, but then she pressed them together, turned away, and kept walking. He trailed her from a distance for another thirty minutes, each step through the quiet streets stretching something taut inside him. Only when he saw her slip through the servants' entrance of her home without pause did he allow himself to stop.

Alexander stood, shadows cloaking him in silence. His hands curled into fists inside his coat pockets. The boundaries had been drawn. And he would damn well keep them. He turned and walked away.