Brazen and the Beast (The Bareknuckle Bastards #2)(90)

Her hand settled to his chest, and she felt the strong, sure beat of his heart beneath her palm. And she wondered, madly, what it would be like if she were his match in all things.

It didn’t matter. “I have never been more certain of anything.” She leaned in for his kiss, and he met her halfway. “Ruin me.”

He didn’t speak, instead giving her the kiss for which she asked, moving over her, kissing down her neck and over her breasts, lingering at the tight buds there until her fingers were in his hair and tugging him back up for more lingering kisses, slow and languid and setting her aflame.

She opened her thighs and he settled between them. They both gasped at the sensation, the smooth head of him cradled against the warmth of her, and he held himself up over her, not touching her anywhere else, his weight on his massive arms. “I have never done this,” he whispered.

She smiled. “I don’t believe you.”

He shook his head. “Not like this. Not so important. Not with such a goal.” He rocked into her, the hard length of him pressed perfectly at her heat, and she sighed. “I want you to remember it.”

“I will,” she said, her hands coming to his hips. “How could I not?”

How would she ever forget the look of him? His beautiful face and his eyes like flame and the chiseled warmth of his body?

“Well, love,” he said. “I want you to remember it well.”

She reached up to him, sliding her hands into his hair, holding his eyes. “I shall. How could I forget this? The way you look at me? Like I’m . . .”

Beautiful.

Perfect.

“. . . Like I’m precious.”

He swore and kissed her, his tongue stroking against hers, slow and deep before he pulled back and pressed his forehead to hers. “You are precious, Hattie. More precious than you know.”

Don’t say it. Not like that. Don’t make me want more than I can have.

As though she wasn’t impossibly far gone on that front.

As though she hadn’t made the terrible mistake of falling in love with this man who was too much for her.

“I don’t want to be precious,” she said softly. Precious things weren’t beloved. They were protected. She wanted to be the thing he couldn’t bear to part with. She wanted to be loved. She wanted to be threadbare.

“What, then?”

She swallowed back the words. “I want to be wanted.” She pressed up against him, and they both groaned as he slid over her, once. Twice.

He was staring into her eyes, the truth laid bare in them, stealing her breath. “I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you.”

She stroked a hand down his side, reveling in his smooth skin. “Prove it.”

And he did, easing into her gently, just barely pushing inside, filling her with the broad, hot tip of him, stretching her in the strangest, most delicious way. Her eyes went wide at the sensation and she wriggled beneath him. “Is this—this is—”

She moved again, and he growled. “Fuck. That’s good. You’re so soft. So wet.” One of his hands came to her hip, his fingers curving into the flesh there, lifting her thigh to ease his movement, but he did not move. His beautiful eyes were on her face, filled with concern. “How does it feel?”

She smiled at him. “I thought it was supposed to hurt?”

He gave a little laugh. “It’s not supposed to hurt.” He leaned down and kissed her again. “It’s never supposed to hurt, do you understand? It’s supposed to feel glorious.” She wiggled again, and he added, through his teeth, “Christ. Like that.”

Hattie grinned. “Is there more?”

Concern gave way to surprise. “I—what?”

“I’m told there’s more. Is there?”

Surprise gave way to understanding. Then a laugh. “Yes, my lady. There is more.”

She lifted her brows. “And would you be so kind as to show me?”

For a moment, Hattie thought that she might have gone too far. After all, coitus was supposed to be a serious affair, she’d always thought. But this didn’t seem like it should be serious. This seemed like it should be entertaining. This seemed like it should be enjoyed.

Did he agree?

One side of his full mouth lifted up in a winning smile. “More,” he said, and sank into her, slow and smooth, until he was seated to the hilt and breathing as though he’d just come out of a fight.

Hattie hissed in a breath at the sensation—tight and full, and not entirely comfortable, but not entirely uncomfortable, either.

“Hattie,” he panted, searching her face. “Talk to me, love.”

“I . . .” She hesitated, considering. And then, “What if I—” She lifted her hips, sliding just a touch higher on him, then back. “Ohhh.”

“Mmm,” he grumbled. “My thought exactly.”

She did it again, a tiny little thrust. “That is—” And again—this time, with him helping her. “Oh.”

He cursed. “You liked that.”

She smiled. “How did you know?”

He met her gaze, his eyes full of sin. “There are no secrets in this. I can feel it.” He rocked his hips into her, leaning down to lick the skin of her neck until she sighed. “The lady likes short strokes.”