Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(52)

“How can you act as though my past doesn't matter?”

“Because it doesn't. Not to me. I'd gladly take your sins upon my own soul, and burn for them, if that was the price for being with you.” She sensed rather than saw the mocking curl of his mouth. “What does that say about my character?”

“That you're a rutting fool,” Tasia said miserably.

Luke had the audacity to laugh. “And worse.” He slid his arm around her back and pulled her close, ignoring her protest as the sheet slipped away. He leaned his forehead on hers. Suddenly his amusement changed to soft-voiced ferocity. “I wish I could be perfect for you. But I'm not. I've sinned a thousand different ways. I'm badtempered and self-centered, and I've been assured by friends and enemies alike that I'm an arrogant know-all. I'm too old for you, and in case you hadn't noticed, I'm missing a hand.” His jaw flexed with a faint smile. “Considering all that, I can accept you and your blighted past with no reservations.”

“It's not about you, or your faults,” she said heatedly, trying to twist away. His grip tightened, and they fell sideways on the bed in a heap. “A-and your reasoning doesn't work. Just because we're both flawed doesn't mean we belong together!”

“It means we'll understand each other. It means we'll enjoy ourselves a hell of a lot.”

“I don't…call this…enjoyment,” she grunted, trying to throw off his weight, gasping at the tangle of sheets and na**d skin she had found herself in.

“It takes some getting used to,” Luke said in her ear, jerking the white linen away from their bodies. “The first time is always the worst for a woman. You'll like it more later on.”

Tasia had liked it far too much already, but she was hardly going to flatter him by telling him so. “I couldn't stay here even if I wanted to,” she said breathlessly. “Prince Nikolas will find me. It's only a matter of time—”

“I'll be at your side when he does. We'll deal with him together.”

“Nikolas doesn't negotiate or compromise. He'll accept nothing but your full cooperation in sending me back to Russia.”

“I'll send him to hell first.”

“You are an arrogant know-all!” she whispered sharply, squirming beneath him. “I won't stay. I can't.”

“Hold still, we'll end up on the floor. This bed is too small.” He crouched on top of her and wedged his knees between hers. Tasia flailed helplessly in an effort to throw him off, until she felt the hard silken pressure of him against her belly, and the seeking tug of his mouth at her breast. She went still with a gasp, while her skin turned hot and her nerves shot urgent messages through her body. His large hand clasped her throat as if he held a flower stem, then moved to the fragile curves of her ribs. “Did I hurt you before?” he whispered, tracing the shape of her bones, the soft dip of her stomach.

“A little,” she said breathlessly. It was wrong to allow this…immoral…but somehow she couldn't seem to make herself care. These were her last hours with him, and all she wanted was to lose herself in his arms once more.

His mouth was at her ear, his teeth gently seizing the tiny lobe. His voice was nothing but a puff of warmth. “It won't hurt this time. I'll be careful.”

And he was ruthless in his restraint, every movement slow and easy. She groaned at the languid path of his mouth sweeping across her skin, the combination of wet tongue and scraping bristle that made her weak with craving. He whispered against her stomach, words she couldn't hear, only feel. His dark face lowered, and his mouth pressed to the moist patch of curls in brief sojourn that made her body jerk fearfully. She writhed at the tender stroke of his tongue.

“No, no—”

He stopped immediately and levered himself upward, pulling her against his chest with a comforting murmur. Trembling, she linked her arms around him, her fists digging into the sleek hardness of his back.

“I'm sorry,” Luke whispered, breathing roughly in her hair. “You're so sweet…so beautiful…I didn't mean to frighten you.” His hand slid between her thighs, his fingers circling the place where all feeling gathered. Tasia closed her eyes and choked back a whimper, giving herself entirely into his care. He touched her as if he owned her, playing on her senses with devastating skill.

But the mastery wasn't one-sided. Soon she discovered that her novice touch had the power to excite him just as deeply. She smoothed both palms over his long muscled back, down to the springy fur on his legs. The textures of his body, hard, rough, large-boned, were exquisitely different from her own. He pushed against the touch of her hands and settled over her with a growl.

Her thighs spread in eager welcome, a wanton invitation he accepted at once. But as he entered her, it was slow, gradual, causing only a flash of pain. Tasia lifted herself upward in greedy demand, and Luke laughed softly, as if she were a child trying to gorge on sweets. Moving in deep nudges, he pressed inside her, barely thrusting at all. She made an impatient sound in her throat, struggling closer to him, wanting more, more—

“Not yet, Tasia,” he murmured. “Not for a long time.” And in spite of her demands and outright pleading, he made her wait, until the world had spun away and there was only the slow, regular plunge of him within her. Every nerve, impulse, cell, focused on attaining the satisfaction he held just out of her reach. She had no energy left to cry out when he finally allowed her release. With a soft moan, she shuddered violently, her face buried in his sweat-slick shoulder. He was similarly quiet in his cl**ax, his breath hissing through his teeth, every muscle clenched. Relaxing, he fell asleep at once, curling his hand into the sheaf of her hair. Tasia crawled halfway over him and closed her eyes, too tired for worries or nightmares or memories, grateful for the temporary peace he had afforded her.