The Duke with the Dragon Tattoo (Victorian Rebels, #6)(82)

Desire slammed into him with all the violence of a war hammer, lancing the breath from his chest. Years of forgotten needs roared to the surface, overwhelming his senses. Everything that made him lethal and ferocious snarled to claim her. To be tamed by her.

But he couldn’t do that. Not to this soft creature in his arms. She was the antithesis to the endless battle of pain he’d only surmounted by the force of his will and the strength of his back. His Lorelai was lush and warm where he was unyielding and hard. Instead of seeking revenge, she survived by means of endurance. Despite her own difficult battles, she healed her little broken creatures with all the care she had left to give.

Her lips parted beneath his. Inviting. Pliant.

God, what he could do to her mouth.

With a raw moan of protest, he thrust her from him. “Not now,” he gasped. “Not tonight.”

Hurt shimmered over her features as she stood where he abandoned her. Lips swollen and slick. Eyes clouded with what he wanted to believe was desire.

“You … don’t want me?”

“Christ, Lorelai,” he growled, wiping the sweet taste of her from his lips. “You can’t be that na?ve!”

Her eyes went positively owlish, little reserves of tears gathering in her lashes. “Wha— I … You just said—”

He grasped her hand and shoved it between his legs where his cock strained against his trousers, desperate to be thrusting into any part of her. Her lips, her hands, her ass, her sex. He’d claim it all before their lives were through.

“Does this feel like a lack of fucking desire to you?” he gritted out.

Her eyes became as dark as the sea tossed about by Calypso’s wrath. Color tinted her cheeks and lips, as blood rushed through her. “No,” she breathed, her fingers twitching against him. “But … then … why?”

“I am not myself,” he warned. “And you still need to recover from last night. You said it earlier.”

To his utter astonishment, she grinned. “It’s happening already,” she marveled, sidling closer.

He squinted at her, trying to make out her meaning. His move, meant to shock her, had backfired somewhat, and he was having a devil of a time stringing thoughts together with her shy fingers now cupping his shaft through the fabric.

“Not so long ago, you claimed my discomfort wouldn’t have mattered,” she said with a sense of triumph.

He closed his eyes against the onslaught of guilt at the thought of terrifying her. He’d been such a barbarian with her only days ago … and that barbarian was now screaming to be let out.

“That’s what I’m saying.” He tossed her wrist away. “It won’t in a matter of minutes. If I were you, I’d find a sturdy door, get behind it, and lock it. Now that I’ve had a taste of you, I want everything, selfish bastard that I am.”

His nostrils flared. His chest couldn’t seem to hold enough air as he watched her throat work over a swallow.

“You think I feel less need than you?” she challenged. “Less frenzy or wildness? That after last night, I want you any less than you want me?”

“I know you do.” Nothing she could conceive of could match the hunger he now battled.

She stepped to him, sliding her hand down his front until it gently, but instantly, clutched his cock. “I can take it, Ash,” she whispered in a low, needful octave he hadn’t thought her sweet voice capable of attaining. “I can take you. All of you.”

“Lorelai.” His last warning was underscored with a plea. Who was this woman before him? This temptress?

This goddess.

“You don’t know what hurting you would do to me,” he rasped, held prisoner by her lithe little fingers.

Her other hand reached around his neck, tugging his head down to hers for a scorching kiss. A feral beauty licked her innocence away, leaving him utterly speechless. “Veronica told me of a way to pleasure you that would cause me no pain.”

When she lowered to her knees, he lost his ability to move.

*

There was power in this, Lorelai realized. Veronica had neglected to mention that.

This beast in a black suit. This primal, ferocious male was hers to command. It was her hand that absorbed him. Her lips that would claim him.

He mouthed her name, but no sound escaped. His nostrils flared, but he remained motionless, his eyes swirling with unmitigated lust and something else that broke her heart.

The gasp that fled his throat as she freed him from his trousers was laced with pain.

She’d almost forgotten how intimidating his sex could seem, every bit as immense as the rest of him.

His body went splendidly rigid as she wrapped her hand around the thick base of him. Moisture suffused her mouth as she breathed over the length of him.

“Lorelai,” he groaned. “You don’t—”

The words were ripped from his throat by a harsh cry as her lips closed over the blunt tip in a vulgar parody of an openmouthed kiss.

She found she enjoyed the flavor of his flesh. Salt and musk and something so intoxicating she felt a bit light-headed.

Another desperate sound ripped through him. This one an overt plea.

Slowly, she slid her moist lips over the plush, velvet head of him and let her tongue ease down the ridge beneath until he met the back of her throat.

She felt his knees tremble, and was rocked by a wave of victorious feminine lust. She widened her jaw to its capacity and secured her lips over her teeth before dragging those lips as far as she could, leaving trails of moisture in her wicked wake.