Brazen and the Beast (The Bareknuckle Bastards #2)(89)

I wish we could have more than tonight.

She reached for him, kissing him deep, leading the caress in a way she’d never done before. Putting every bit of herself into it—Hattie who resisted the past, Hattie who dreamed of a future, and Hattie who wanted a man like this to love her the way she’d always dreamed, quietly, in the darkness, when no one was looking.

She kissed him until they couldn’t speak, because she was too afraid to speak—too afraid that she might tell him that she wished for something he could not give her. Too afraid that he would leave her before she had the last taste of him. Before she had all of him. And when they pulled apart, she whispered against his lips, “I wish for the rest.”

He watched her for a long moment, and her heart stopped as she considered the possibility that he might not give it to her.

She slid a hand down the front of him, over his bandages, until she reached the waistband of his trousers, left unbuttoned when he’d pulled them on. She hesitated there, at the edge of the dark, tempting opening, knowing that another woman would move with more certainty.

As Hattie hesitated, so, too, did Whit, freezing above her, his breath stilling. She met his gaze. Asked a silent question.

“Now,” he said. “Do it.”

And she did, sliding her hand inside the dark, promising V of the fabric, reveling in his quick inhale when she touched him. “Does that feel—”

“Yes.”

She smiled. “I didn’t finish the question.”

“It feels like heaven, love.”

She shook her head. “But it can feel better.”

He closed his eyes. “I don’t think I can bear it feeling better.”

She leaned up and kissed the sharp line of his jaw. “I think you’ll do fine. Show me.”

His attention flew to hers. “You’re not a warrior. You’re a fucking goddess. Did you know that?”

She liked that very much. Unable to keep the smile from her lips, she repeated herself. “Show me.”

He did, placing his hand on hers, showing her just how he liked to be touched, the firm, smooth heat of him sliding over her palm as she stroked him. “You’re so soft,” she whispered, her eyes on their hands in the V of his trousers. “So hard.”

He grunted. “Never harder.”

She met his eyes. “Is that true?”

“Yes.”

She wanted to touch him, to learn him, to give him all the pleasure that he gave her. “Show me how. Teach me.” He let her push his trousers aside, revealing him—full, thick, strong, and, “Beautiful.”

He swore softly and grew impossibly harder at the word, guiding her touch, squeezing her around him, almost too rough, until she stroked him and he growled, the sound like a gift. She smiled, watching their joined hands work him. “You like this.”

“So much,” he said, the rough words drawing her attention to his face, where the muscles in his jaw clenched and he looked like he was barely hanging on to control.

She stroked him again. Down. Up. His throat worked at the sensation, and then she paused, rubbing the pad of her thumb across the tip of him, and he closed his eyes, throwing his head back. “Fuck, Hattie.”

She grinned. She couldn’t stop herself. “You like that very much.” She did it again, and he groaned, pulling her to him for a long kiss, tongue stroking deep as she put her lessons into action. She’d never felt so powerful.

After too short a time, he pulled her away from him. “Stop.”

“But . . .” She paused. “I was enjoying that.”

He huffed a little laugh. “As was I. But you asked for the rest, did you not?”

The honest words had excitement coursing through her. “You promised me the rest.”

He stilled, his fingers tracing over her temple, pushing her hair back from her face as he searched her eyes, suddenly serious beyond words. “Be certain. Be certain that you choose this. That you choose me.” His thumb traced over her cheek and his voice lowered to a whisper. “Be certain that you are willing to give this up to me, because I will take it and I will keep it and you can never have it back.”

And in that moment, as the words settled between them in that remarkable, decadent room, filled with silks and sin, Hattie knew the truth—that she would never want this back. She would treasure this night and this moment forever. Because she would never want another the way she wanted him.

Even though she knew, without question, that she would never have more of him.

She closed her eyes at the realization, taking a deep breath before she spoke. “In my life, I’ve been a daughter and a sister and a friend. I’ve had love and respect, and lived a happier life than many . . . than most.” She paused. “But I have never been an equal. Even as I fought for all the things I wanted, I never had a choice. Not really. I always had a father or a brother or friends to tell me what I should choose. What I could have. Who I am.”

She met his eyes, their amber fire unwavering on her. “And then I met you. And from the very start, you offered me choice. You never told me what I should want. What I could and could not have. You made me your equal.” She smiled.

His brows snapped together. “And then I took it from you.”

She nodded. “And tomorrow, we shall be rivals. But here is the truth; I could not be your rival if I were not your equal. If I were not your . . . match.”