Page 81 of Rogue of My Heart

She was bucking against his hand, trying to chase her climax. “No, please don’t stop. But keep talking.”

“I imagined bending you over my desk and pushing into you from behind.”

“Oh God,” she breathed.

“You astride me, riding me hard, taking your pleasure from me.”

“Oh...oh...”

“Pushing you up against a wall and lifting your skirts because I couldn’t wait another damn minute before thrusting myself inside you. Which, as you know, did actually happen. That is not how I planned to take you the first time.”

And that’s when she broke. Her climax shook her entire body and she cried out his name, again and again. He couldn’t wait any longer. Moving himself on top of her, he notched himself between her legs. He leaned down and kissed her, and as his tongue entered her mouth, so he entered her body.

She squeaked when he was fully seated inside her and he stilled. “Did I hurt you, sweetheart? I can give it a minute so your body will adjust.”

She shook her head. “No, it feels so full and good. Please move.” She pulled her legs up, wrapping them around his waist and hooking them behind his back.

“Had you ever touched yourself, Charlotte, brought yourself to pleasure?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Never.”

“I have given you your only climaxes?”

“Yes.”

“I hope they feel as amazing as they look. You’re gorgeous when you fall apart. I’ll never get tired of how you feel wrapped around my body. Like you were made just for me.”

She felt amazing. So. Damn. Amazing. He was definitely going to have to make love to her more than once tonight. “One time won’t be enough tonight. One time will never be enough.”

His left hand snaked between their bodies. He found her clit and circled it as he pumped into her. She cried out at the sensation. He lost himself to the rhythm and could only concentrate on the pleasure building in his own body.

The muscles in her hot channel clenched around him as another climax hit her and her inner walls squeezed his cock. His own orgasm built and built until it splintered, and he spilled himself inside her.

Once spent, he fell onto her, covering her body with his own. Their hot breaths mingled and her leg still covered his backside. He swallowed the words he wanted to say. He wouldn’t tell her he loved her until he’d told her the truth about Jack.

Seventeen

Edmond had told her the night before that she could move into his bedroom. She was going to do it. Enough of them living separate lives. If they were to be in a real marriage, then they would be partners. They didn’t have any more secrets, now that he knew about her father and she knew about his mother.

She continued moving her belongings into the drawer where she had decided she would put some of her things. And then her hand ran across something silky. She wrapped her fingers around the material and brought it out to inspect it. She unfolded the fabric to find a simple black domino mask. She dropped it as if it had stung her.

Her stomach shuddered. Her heart thundered so loudly, it pounded in her ears. Spots swam into her vision. She squeezed her eyes closed and willed the moment to go away. No, no, no. Anything but that.

It might not mean anything, she tried to convince herself. Plenty of people in London owned similar masks. It didn’t mean that Edmond was the Jack of Hearts.

Except it did mean that.

She knew it with all certainty that she had married the notorious thief. And that Edmond—her husband—the man she’d fallen head over heels in love with, had been lying to her from the very beginning.

She bent to retrieve the mask and balled it up in her hand. She’d been such a fool.

Edmond came into the room. His eyes dropped to the open drawer, and then to her hand.

She unfurled her fingers, letting the mask dangle.

“Charlotte, I can explain,” he said, holding his hands up.

“I can’t believe you did this to me,” she said.