Page 15 of The Marquess Match (Love’s a Game #3)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A sh hadn’t planned on this. Hadn’t planned on her —on Clare Handleton appearing in his life like a slow-burning match, igniting something he had no hope of controlling.
But he had stopped trying to fight it.
Tonight, there was no pretense, no teasing deflections. She had come here for him.
And he was about to give her everything she wanted. Everything he wanted as well.
With nothing more than a look, he procured a key from one of the barkeeps, slipping a coin into the man’s hand before turning back to Clare. He held up the key between two fingers, watching the way her gaze flickered toward it—toward him.
He didn’t ask her to follow.
He didn’t need to.
She already had.
As they climbed the stairs, their eyes smoldered at each other, the tension between them taut as a bowstring. She was silent, but her breath quickened slightly when he led her down the dimly lit hallway, past gilded sconces and heavy doors that concealed the secrets of the ton ’s most immoral elite.
He stopped at room ten. Turned the key in the lock. Pushed open the door.
And then, before they stepped inside, he turned to her, his arms wrapped around her waist, his voice a dark whisper at her ear. “Are you certain?”
Clare held his gaze, no hesitation in her eyes, only hunger and something else—something that mirrored the ache inside him.
“Yes,” she murmured.
That was all he needed.
The moment the door closed behind them, he pushed her roughly back against it. His hands tangled in her hair, tilting her head back as his mouth claimed hers, hot and unrelenting. She kissed him back with equal fervor, fingers digging into his waistcoat, pulling him closer, as if she couldn’t get enough—as if she had been waiting for this just as long as he had.
He turned her then and walked her backward until her spine met the far wall, pinning her there with the weight of his body.
“My…appetites are dark,” he murmured against her lips.
She exhaled a breathless laugh. “You think you’ll scare me off?”
His brow arched. “You’ve been warned.”
Her fingers curled around the lapels of his coat, yanking him even closer.
“Try me.”
Damn her. That was his last attempt. The last bit of valor in him to try to get her to run away from here, run away from him. Even though something deep inside of him already knew she wouldn’t leave. Not now. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. And he was nearly mad with it.
He kissed her again, harder this time, stealing the breath from her lungs. His hands captured her wrists, pressing them above her head, securing them against the wall as he devoured her, lips and teeth and tongue, leaving her gasping beneath him.
She was fire. He was lost.
His hands slid downward, fisting in the fabric of her skirts, pulling them up in one smooth motion.
He found her beneath her shift, his fingers brushing against her silken heat.
And when he touched her—when he discovered she was already wet for him—his control snapped.
He lifted a brow, his breath uneven.
“What can I say?” she whispered, her voice full of wicked challenge. “I suppose I like dark.”
Fuck .
His fingers slid inside her, and she moaned, head tipping back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut.
Ash watched her.
Watched the way her lips parted, the way her body arched into him, the way she lost herself completely in his hands.
He kissed her again, swallowing her sounds, then moved to her ear, his voice a husky command. “I’m going to touch you. All I want. And you’re not allowed to make a sound. Do you understand?”
She nodded, biting her lip.
“Not words,” he reminded her. “Nod.”
She nodded again, her breath coming hard and fast.
Ash curled his fingers inside her, watching the way she struggled for control, her lip caught between her teeth, her chest rising and falling in sharp little gasps.
“Oh, yes, sweetheart,” he growled against her ear. “Let me see it on your face.”
She trembled beneath him.
“You want me?”
A nod. A whimper.
“You want more?”
Another nod, more frantic this time.
He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing her in.
“Have you ever climaxed standing up?” he murmured. “Against a wall?”
A tiny shake of her head.
He smiled. “Ah. Then let’s do that, shall we?”
Clare stilled her hips, eyes dark with desire and trust.
And that trust—that was what undid him.
He had spent his entire life indulging in pleasure with women who knew the game, who played by the same rules, who never expected more than what he was willing to give.
But Clare—she wasn’t just a conquest, wasn’t just another night to be forgotten.
She was a risk.
A dangerous, beautiful risk.
And God help him, he was willing to take it.
“Keep your hands here,” he instructed, releasing her wrists and dropping to his knees before her.
She gasped softly, tipping forward slightly, her fingers splaying backwards against the wall, wrists bent to steady herself.
He pushed up her skirts, his hands bracing her thighs, parting them just enough to claim her completely. She was beautiful, all pink and hot and wet and wanting. He breathed in her maddening scent, his cock so hard it hurt.
And then—he tasted her.
The first stroke of his tongue sent a violent tremor through her, her thighs quivering as she gasped, whimpered, struggled to stay silent.
He didn’t stop.
He licked and teased, his fingers sliding inside her in a slow, relentless rhythm.
She bucked against him, and he held her down, a rough hand gripping her hip, keeping her steady as he brought her higher and higher, watching the pleasure break across her face.
When she shattered, she didn’t stay silent.
She cried out, her fingernails digging into the wall, her body writhing beneath his lips as he devoured every last tremor of her release.
Ash finally stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He arched a brow. “You weren’t quiet.”
Clare panted, her face flushed, her body still trembling. “I know,” she breathed. Then—gathering herself, regaining her control—she lifted her chin and met his gaze. “What are you going to do about it?” she murmured, eyes dark and daring. “Punish me?”
Christ.
Ash’s control snapped all over again.