Page 59

“You must become adjusted but not comfortable,” he said, raising his voice.

“You can neither be a vixen nor a victim. A vixen will be more desirable to them, but a timid girl crying all night long like Cecily will only attract their attention in a different way.” He paced away from her.

“If we are to give the impression that I am fucking you often—daily, twice a day, whatever.” He waved his hand in the air noncommittally and turned to face her, walking closer.

“Then we need a passing understanding of each other’s bodies. ”

He came to stop in front of her.

“And you … you think Larissa is the one to teach me a passing understanding of your body,” she said acidly.

He narrowed his eyes at her, as if to say of course .

She put her hands on her hips. “And how often have you been fucking me, Toven?”

His eyes flickered before returning to gray. “What?”

“Shouldn’t you know?” she said “You certainly had an active imagination at dinner last week. You were well acquainted with how to unravel me, how to use your tongue on me. So how often does that all happen? Daily? Twice a day? How often do you fuck me just for your own satisfaction, and how often do you make me quiver for you?”

His jaw ticked as he glared down at her.

“You see,” she said, stepping closer to him until her head had to tilt backward to see him. “It seems to me I’m not the only one who needs to get all my details straight. Perhaps we should work on this together.”

He scoffed, and the air puffed across her face. “How in the stones should we do that?”

She shrugged. “You tell me. But honestly, I don’t know how introducing your ex-girlfriend into this mess is supposed to make it better.”

He breathed deeply, as if bracing himself. “She can inform you of … things you have less experience with—”

“Why don’t you inform me?” she said, with more bravery than she thought she contained. “Come on, Toven,” she continued, goading him. “Tell me how often I’m on my knees for you, and how often you’re on your knees for me.”

His gaze danced across her face, his pupils sinking into blackness, but she wasn’t done.

“Candles lit or snuffed out?” she said, repeating things she’d heard the maids talk about. “Do you bother to take your shoes off—?”

“Where do you hear these things?” he whispered, breath across her face. “What sinful conversations have you been listening to, Rosewood?”

“Do you call me Briony when you finish?” she asked, voice loose and chest tight. “Like you did last night?”

His face seemed to freeze in a smirk. She could feel the heat of his body just inches from hers. He breathed in through his nose, as if he was memorizing a scent, and suddenly he was even taller, forcing her head to tilt further backward.

“Generally,” he began, “I like to take you in the mornings. I’ll wake you by climbing into your bed. I find that you’re more pliable then.”

His voice was gravelly, and his eyes were black. Briony stared up at him without blinking.

“I push you on your stomach, or I curl around your side, and make you take me slowly, softly. Where you can pretend I’m your lover. You always come in the mornings.”

She swallowed, taking in the scene he was painting. Her heart pounded.

“I’m in only my pajama bottoms, you’re in a soft silk nightdress that slips down low over your breasts. If I find you wearing underwear beneath it, I don’t let you come.”

She felt the rumble of his words straight to her core. His voice was steady, and his eyes were even.

“Then sometimes in the afternoons I’ll find you in the library,” he said. His voice took on a musical quality. “I’ll remind you that it’s forbidden, but I’ll let you stay there and finish your book if you take off your dress.”

Her mind flashed to the time when Canning and Liam were there, when she’d spilled the whiskey on herself. But his words were painting a different picture.

“I’ll bend you over the table, or a chair, or just press you up against the window that overlooks the ponds, and I’ll tell you to keep reading as I enter you.

I’ll make sure you get to finish the chapter you’re on before I spend myself inside of you, then I’ll slap your ass and call you a good girl. You collect your dress and leave.”

Briony’s stomach was swirling with things she’d only felt rarely. Usually when this man was involved. She focused on his eyes, letting the images and sensations wash over her.

“But at night,” he said. A smirk graced his lips.

“At night, that’s when I kiss you between your legs for hours.

No matter how devious you’ve been throughout the day, I make you come on my tongue three or four times.

And when I’m done with you, I lie back on my bed and watch your mouth sink on my cock.

And yes. When I come, I call you Briony. And you love it.”

She shivered, and she knew he saw it. She felt her breasts pull into tight peaks, and her breath caught in her throat.

Could he possibly have these thoughts? Was he describing more than just a scene to her? A desire?

His head dipped down, and she thought he would kiss her. She thought she would let him.

“Does that make things clearer, Rosewood?” he whispered, breathing in her air.

She didn’t know what her face looked like, what kind of emotions were on display for him. She had no shields to protect her from Toven Hearst’s seduction.

“Crystal,” she said, her throat tight and her skin buzzing.

She stepped back and around him, heading for the door on shaking legs.