The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(51)

He had no argument for that.

She wants me. She trusts me.

Damn that tiny voice rationalizing his insatiable hunger for her. Only, it wasn’t tiny. It was growing louder and louder by the second.

No one will know.

Her hand didn’t stop, slowly dragging over his erection, and he had to lock his knees to keep upright. The backs of his legs ached, the need for her doubling, tripling in his veins, until he arrived at the inevitable decision.

How could he possibly continue to fight when they wanted each other this badly?

“Oh, my beautiful reinette,” he said, his voice nearly unrecognizable with lust. “The filthy things I am going to do to you.”

If the promise worried her, she gave no indication. In fact, her mouth curved slightly. “When?”

“Right now. The bedroom is directly behind you.”



As if drugged, Katherine made her way into the bedroom. Her body buzzed with excitement, the knowledge that her plan had worked. He’d agreed.

He’d agreed.

Soon they would be naked. In bed and touching one another. Nerves bubbled inside her at that realization, turning her palms damp. Yet she wouldn’t turn back now. This was what she wanted, even if the prospect felt daunting at the moment.

The bed was large, the size of it taking up most of the small room. A wardrobe and side table comprised the rest of the furniture, and she stopped, unsure what to do. Preston went to the side table and turned on the lamp. He unfastened his cuff links, then shrugged out of his shirt. Only a thin undergarment remained, outlining every inch of his tall, powerful frame.

Then he removed the last piece of clothing.

She sucked in a breath when he stood, his body on unapologetic full display. And really, what did he have to be sorry for? He was . . . magnificent. Michelangelo never sculpted so perfect a man. Wide shoulders and tapered hips. A powerful chest with dark hair that trailed down to a flat stomach and his groin. He was a towering slab of bone and tissue, every bit as imposing as the buildings he constructed all over the city.

His thick erection pointed at her, standing out from his body in primal demand, and she realized she had a new number one item on her nightly list.

“Change your mind yet?” his deep voice asked, as if he expected his naked body to send her running from the room.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Fingers itching to touch him, she eased around the side of the bed, all the while pulling the pins out of her hair. Long locks fell around her shoulders, and he watched this avidly, as if mesmerized by the sight.

When she finished, she lifted the heavy mass of hair and presented him with her back. “I won’t change my mind. Now, remove the rest of my things and make good on your promise.”

Anticipation hung heavy in the room, like a vapor clinging to the insides of her lungs. His warm breath gusted along the back of her neck as he loosened the corset’s strings, and heat rolled off his large body to wrap around her, the sensation both soothing and exciting.

When the strings eased, he popped the corset fastenings with a dexterity that spoke of experience. Just how many times had he done this? She pushed the question far from her mind. His past hardly mattered. They weren’t married—now or ever.

The heavy garment fell to the floor, and she blinked as he lowered to his knees, his face just above her breasts. “Jesus, Kat. You are lovely.” Large palms swept over her ribs, to her breasts, cupping her through the thin chemise. As he lifted the mounds higher, he dropped his head and began pressing open-mouthed kisses to her exposed flesh. She sighed and placed her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. He was surprisingly gentle, worshiping her with his lips and mouth, little nips of his teeth that made her knees quiver. For all their frenzy at the French Ball, this was the exact opposite.

He treated her like he had all the time in the world. Like she was all that mattered.

It relaxed her, this unexpected tenderness and care, yet it also excited her. Everywhere he touched came alive, and the hard points of her nipples ached along with her core. After a few more minutes of his caresses, she dug her nails into the meat of his shoulders. This wasn’t enough. She needed more.

“Preston,” she whispered, the single word a plea.

He tugged her chemise to her chin, baring her to his dark gaze. As she removed the garment, his hands returned to her breasts, this time with no barrier between them, and he immediately drew her nipple into his mouth. Wet heat pressed on the tip of her breast and she sucked in a breath. He laved her with his tongue, suckling her, and she felt every tug and stroke between her legs, too, as if her breasts were directly connected to her sex.

“I’ve been dying to see these,” he said, nuzzling her nipple. “I’ve spent quite a lot of time imagining the shape and taste of your breasts.”

“And what have you discovered?”

“Perfection,” he sighed, drawing her into his mouth once more.

Never had she expected this to feel so good, so all-consuming, like she was drunk on pleasure. Dimly, she was aware that he switched to the other nipple to give it the same attention, but she could only moan and close her eyes, her pulse pounding in her ears.

“Kiss me,” he rasped, suddenly rising, and his mouth quickly claimed hers in a kiss that was far from gentle. It was all teeth and tongue and grasping hands, his hard shaft between them, pushing against her belly impatiently.