Page 38 of The Hellion is Tamed

A fact that made him so goddamn ecstatic it scared him.

Her hands went to his coat, tugging until, with one arm yank, then another, he was free of it. His waistcoat buttons were her next project, her murmur of complaint causing him to loosen his hold and assist with the disrobing. Their tongues tangled, clashing, a chaotic kiss, the contact as feral as his thoughts.

He wanted them naked, and he wanted them nakednow.

“Hurry,” she implored against a sensitive spot beneath his ear, taking his skin between her teeth as he’d done to her ankle and biting. Harder than he had, the minx.

Ripping two buttons off his shirt in his haste to rid himself of the garment, he pressed a chortle into the crown of her head. “Emma, darling, I’ve never divested myself of my clothing with such rapidity. Even with talented hands, the practice takes time.”

She took hold of his shirt cuffs, snatching one arm free, then the other. Her gaze slithered up his body. Lingering for a long, arousing moment on the smattering of hair on his chest. The hunger reflected in her eyes when they met his took him by surprise. “I want you,” she said, her voice layered with amazement. Resolve. Desire. “I want you.”

His remembrance of the episode was fragmented after that artless declaration.

Recollections colored by piercing moans, moist skin, fevered kisses, questing hands. Impassioned commands, frenzied avowals. His boots hitting the floor, her gown ripping down the back. Breaking the kiss, he rolled to his feet and removed his trousers and drawers, not once considering slowing the pace. Not when Emma was biting and licking, touching himeverywhere. His stomach, his thighs, his cock. His earlobe between her teeth, his nipple beneath her searching fingertips. Disclosing luscious desires he was thinking but fearedsaying.

Her passion echoed off his bedchamber walls, surrounding him in a cage of yearning.

She followed without a hint of shame, slipping from the bed, whipping her disaster of a gown over her head and tossing it to the floor. Then presenting her slim, lightly freckled back—assistance with her corset. He worked the hook and eye closures with skill he knew he should conceal but didn’t once strive to do. Chemise, drawers, petticoat, the duchess’s priceless choker, all gone in a matter of seconds…

Until they stood before each other clothed in nothing but uncertainty.

Or, as Simon watched Emma take him in with a sweeping glance and a wicked grin, maybe that was just him.

A shimmer of unease rolled through him. The kind that made him wish frantically for a coin to spin between his fingers. One of the stolen cufflinks sitting on a shelf across the way.

He was too far gone, too mad for her.

Desperate in a way he’d never been, never imagined.

Lifting her hand, she traced a crescent scar on his shoulder. “Where did you get this? Looks like someone took a blade to you.”

He shrugged beneath her fingers. “Fighting with the duke’s men. Training since I was a boy.” His gaze shifted to her adorable toes in apparent avoidance. “So we can protect those we love from men like Hargrave.”

“Oh, no, don’t think to go running away from me. Don’t drag him intothis.” Clicking her tongue against her teeth, she stepped in until his arms could only surround her. Her body was hot, trembling when he powerlessly pulled her against him. “Don’t think to back out now, Simon. Not when I’ve waited years for you.” Then she buried her hands in his hair, walked him back until the mattress hit his thighs, tumbling them to the bed.

Laughing, he let her control the skirmish for a minute or two before wrestling himself atop her, tunneling his arms beneath her and capturing her lips, ending her domination. She reared up as they grappled, not taking the shift lightly, her hips mimicking moves he hadn’t yet started. After a moment, they settled into a matching rhythm, bodies fitting like they’d been created for each other.

Of course, she’d be a natural, making love like a warrior.

Which frightened him.

However, he wanted her more than he feared his ruin.

“We’ll go slowly,” he vowed and, disputing his statement, kissed his way to her pert breasts, clamping his mouth hungrily around her nipple, tongue lashing the pointed nub until she moaned and clutched his shoulder, digging her nails into his skin. When she began to pant, the little growls affecting him mightily, he moved to the other, the peak pebbling beneath his lips, that, and the sounds she was uttering, hardening his already stiff cock until it hurt.

She heaved a breath, a sigh, her body bowing into his touch, her legs locking around his. “More.”

He rocked his hips against hers, let her pick up his tempo. The tiny pulses of pleasure hit his spine and spread to his buttocks, to his shins, until his skin was aflame. One of the duke’s incinerations, charred destruction. When he felt the first tremor rock her, he steered his hand south, over her hip, between her thighs, to her moist, silky-smooth folds. “Let yourself feel; feel it all.”

Working his finger gently inside her, he almost went over the edge himself when she shuddered, her eager exclamation hitting his neck. Capturing her moan, he kissed her while thrusting his tongue and finger in tandem, pressing her deeper into the mattress. Her hips matched the melody only they could hear, breasts mashed against his chest, legs tangled, until she was wild, her hands on his back, nails clawing. Leaving scratches he honestly couldn’t wait to view in his mirror the next morning. Love marks he would gladly hide from his valet.

“I want,” she whispered against his lips.

“Then take,” he returned and slid a second finger deep.

Her hips surged, meeting his stroke. “It feels like floating.”

He closed his eyes to the sight of her, rosy cheeks and plump lips, cerulean eyes dazed from his rough handling.