Page 41 of Road Trip With a Rogue (Her Majesty’s Rebels #3)

Quick as a flash, he caught her shoulders and rolled her back over, and she laughed at the rough way he handled her. He didn’t touch her as if she were made of porcelain, liable to break at any moment, and she appreciated it more than if he’d showered her with empty compliments.

She had no hope of actually overpowering him in a physical contest, but she loved the way he treated her as an equal, as a worthy opponent.

He wrestled both of her arms above her head, pressing them down into the covers, then threaded his fingers through hers so they were intertwined. Her heart gave an erratic little thump.

“Back to your research,” he panted, and she bit her lips against a smile as his thighs bracketed hers, preventing her from opening her legs.

He leaned down and caught her gaze. “I think a man who loved you would want to catalogue every freckle on your face.” He pressed a kiss to her nose, then her cheeks.

“He’d make a mental map of them, so he could see them whenever he closed his eyes.

He’d try to make shapes in them, the way the ancients did with the constellations. ”

He kissed the freckle at the outermost corner of her eye, and a strange lump formed in her throat. He was teasing, mocking her, even, and yet the gesture felt so tender. So sincere.

“I think a man who loved you would stare deeply into your eyes.” He did exactly that as he slid between her thighs and his cock teased the entrance to her body.

“He’d watch your face as he pushed himself inside you to see if he was pleasing you.

Because pleasing you would be his favorite thing to do. ”

Daisy held his stare as he matched actions to words, tilting her hips as he pressed forward, sucking in a breath at the delicious feeling of fullness. Her chest ached, as if sensations too large to be contained were pushing to get out.

His pupils had expanded so his eyes looked almost black. Their fingers were still entwined, and she curled her hands around his as he held himself motionless within her.

“Now here’s where things get a little more complicated,” he said, his voice low. “Would a man in love be gentle? Take his time?”

He moved his hips and started to withdraw, only to push back in with devastating slowness. She forced herself not to buck against him in desperation.

“Would he never be so cruel as to tease you? Would only a man who didn’t love you make you beg?”

Daisy could barely think. Her concentration was centered on the way he was sliding inside her, the way her inner muscles clenched around him, the way heat seemed to pulse where they were joined.

He pressed into her again, hitting that spot inside that made her twitch and tense with the promise of pleasure.

“Or would a man who really loved you know that you love to be teased?” he growled. “Know that teasing only makes it better. Maybe he’d start slow, then take you harder. Give you exactly what you need.”

He increased his tempo, and Daisy bit her lip as her excitement built. She tried to move against him, but with her hands still secured above her head, there was very little she could do. He was in total control, and he seemed to know exactly what she wanted almost before she did.

Faster. Harder.

Yes.

He was still talking.

“I think a man would tell you he loved you with his body, even if he didn’t say it with words.”

He finally released her hands, and Daisy wrapped her arms around his back, pulling him down to her so their chests were touching. He was a glorious weight, and she slid her palms over his shoulders and ribs, memorizing the bumps and hollows of his muscular frame.

She was beyond anything except sensation now, and she bucked against him as he drove into her, pushing her higher with every brutal thrust. She arched up and pressed a feverish kiss to his shoulder, tasting the salt on his skin as she strained and tumbled headlong into pleasure.

Her body had barely finished throbbing when he pulled out of her with a low curse and spent himself on the inside of her thighs, and she gasped for breath as the room came slowly back into focus.

A man who didn’t respect you wouldn’t have pulled out. The niggling little voice floated through her head. He’d care for nothing but his own pleasure.

Respect wasn’t love. He was simply a considerate lover.

Lucien rolled off her to relieve her of his weight, and Daisy stared sightlessly at the ceiling. Her body was utterly sated and all she wanted to do was close her eyes and sleep.

Instead, she slid her arm across to his, where it lay relaxed on the coverlet, and stroked her fingers over the textured scars on his forearm. He didn’t pull away, and she glanced up to find him watching her, his gaze hooded, yet alert.

Emboldened, she traced her finger up, over the silky sleeve of his robe and across his shoulder until she encountered the hot skin of his neck. She found the tiny, healing nick she’d given him with her blade, and his pupils darkened as she ran her finger lightly over it.

“Do you think you’ll have a scar?”

He caught her hand in his and brought her fingers to his lips. “Another one to add to my collection?” His crooked smile did something peculiar to her insides. “I hope so. It will be my favorite. The only one I enjoyed receiving.”

Daisy shook her head, confounded by his ability to go from scorchingly seductive to sweetly teasing in an instant.

He confused her in a way no man had ever done before.

The feelings she had for him were so much deeper and more complicated than what she’d felt for Tom.

Tom had been an easy, playful tumble in the sunlight.

Vaughan was suffocating in pleasure in the dark.

A tangle of longing, frustration, and desire. And moments of devastating charm.

The heat from his body was incredibly comforting, and she wanted nothing more than to snuggle up in his arms for the remainder of the night, but just as she was about to suggest that he stay, he gave a languid stretch and pushed himself upright.

“Stay there. I’ll get you a washcloth.”

She bit back her instinctive protest, and accepted the damp linen he handed her to wipe her thighs.

If they married, he wouldn’t have to pull out of her, and her belly clenched at the thought of him finishing inside her.

It was an intimacy they’d been denied, and the thought of it made her almost giddy with longing.

She wanted to feel him lose himself inside her, completely unrestrained, without having to retain part of his sanity to remember to withdraw.

Such recklessness could result in a child, of course, and while she’d never given much thought to whether she wanted children or not, the possibility of bearing him a child didn’t feel wrong. Quite the opposite.

But she held her tongue as he pulled his robe back around his body and tied it around his waist.

“I’ll leave you now. We’ve a long journey back to London tomorrow.”

Daisy nodded sleepily, but her heart stuttered as he leaned over and brushed her cheek with his thumb, smoothing over the freckles he’d waxed so lyrical about, and she found herself wanting to believe in the fairy tale he’d described.

She wished it had been her face he’d thought of when he’d needed something to take his mind off the pain of his burns. Wished he could love her for longer than a sweaty, passionate tumble between the sheets.

He bent and pressed an almost-chaste kiss to her cheek. “Sleep well, Hamilton.”