The Rogue's Wager (Sinful Brides #1)(81)

She cried out and lurched upwards. His mouth blazed a fiery trail over her skin, that tempting trail sending warm heat pooling at her center, so she was liquefied under the power of his touch. “So beautiful,” he whispered, his breath fanning her skin.

Helena tossed her head back as he closed his lips around the tip of her right breast. He drew that sensitized bud into his mouth and sucked gently, then more incessantly. Her hips lifted in a desperate rhythm that came from wanting him and he worked the fabric of her gown up until he found her dripping center with his hands.

Robert swallowed her cry, and teased the nub of her femininity until she was incapable of anything but sensation. Her breath rasped sharply, and she closed her thighs tight around his hand, anchoring him close, needing so much more. She let her legs splay open, and with a pained groan, he drew away and rolled to his side.

Helena’s body throbbed at the loss of him, and she hurried onto her knees beside him. “Why did you stop?”

“I cannot take you like this,” he gritted out between great, rasping breaths. He flung an arm over his eyes.

Helena drew his arm back and lowered her face so their lips were a hairsbreadth apart. “I want this.”

“You deserve marriage and a proper bed with satin sheets,” he said gruffly. “You deserve—” She covered his mouth with hers, swallowing those words.

“I am tired of others telling me what I need or deserve,” she whispered, slipping her hands inside to stroke him under his jacket. “I want you.”

Robert hesitated, and then, in one smooth movement, stood, swept her into his arms, and carried her deeper into the gardens. He laid her down and she studied him through heavy lashes as he removed his jacket and laid it on the thick, green grass in this pretend Eden.

Helena shoved up on her elbows, and eyed him hungrily as he came down over her. His lips found hers once more, and she moaned and he slipped his tongue inside, tasting her, and the taste of him, brandy and mint, filled her senses.

“I have wanted you from the moment I first saw you, Helena Banbury,” he said, between kisses. He dragged his mouth lower to worship her breasts once more, and she wound her fingers in his luxuriant silken tresses, holding him close.

Never stop. She bit her lip as he suckled and teased and tasted until she was a quivering bundle of desire. He dragged her skirts up and slipped his hand between them, finding her drenched center. Helena bucked against his hand, thrusting into his palm, needing him and only him.

Robert reached between them and freed himself from the confines of his breeches. The sight of his jutting shaft, tall, bold, proud, and stretched toward her, sent twin waves of heat spiraling and she reached out and wrapped him in her palm.

His eyes slid closed on a hiss, and he rocked into her hand. A thrilling sense of power at driving this strong, powerful man to desire surged through her, and she continued to stroke him in her palm. Up and down in slow, exploratory strokes until his hips were frantically pumping into her hold.

In a remarkable display of self-control, he pulled away, but he was only positioning himself between her legs. He slid his shaft inside her smoldering center, stretching her wider and wider, and she flailed her head back and forth on the earth, the throbbing ache at her center growing, the one only he could fill. Then he stopped, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out.

Sweat beaded on his brow, and she reached up, brushing back a loose golden strand. “Please,” she implored.

But he only lowered his head to her breast, suckling her until she was pulsating, a moment from shattering.

He thrust inside.

Bloody hell!

Robert swallowed her cry with his kiss, and she jerked as pain shot through her. He froze, allowing her body to adjust to his length filling her. She closed her eyes, and drew several deep, steadying breaths.

Robert touched his lips to her eyelids, her forehead, and then he again kissed her mouth. “So beautiful.” And even with her scars and imperfections, in this moment, in his arms, she actually believed it.

Helena opened her eyes, and trailed her gaze over the chiseled planes of his face. And as he began to move, their gazes remained locked. The pain receded and with it came that slow, aching pleasure. She began to move, lifting to meet his thrusts, until their bodies met in a perfect harmony, until their hips rose and fell with a desperate urgency that drew Helena higher and higher to that maddening edge of ecstasy.

He pressed deep and she cried out, exploding into a sea of blinding white light and feeling. Robert shouted, and then poured himself deep, in great, rippling waves that filled her and left her replete.

With a great gasp, he collapsed atop her, careful to brace his weight on his elbows.

A dreamy smile pulled at Helena’s lips as she stroked her fingers over his fine cambric shirt. There were so many reasons they could never be together. Not the least of which were his revelations last evening of Lucy Whitman and his broken heart. They came from different worlds, and she had the Hell and Sin . . . and he would one day be a duke.

All of those realities could intrude on the morrow.

Now, she’d have nothing but this.

“We have to return,” he said, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot where her ear met her neck.

Helena angled her head to better receive that gentle caress. For more than a month, she’d lamented the folly in leaving her door open at the Hell and Sin, only to find the greatest gift had come from it. She’d let Robert in and she’d have it no other way. “Must we?”