While the Duke Was Sleeping (The Rogue Files #1)(35)

Her name on his lips broke something loose inside her. Ignited her. She leaned into his mouth, finally kissing him back, starved, touching her tongue to his.

He made a deep growl of approval, his hands gripping her thighs tighter and hefting her higher. She squeaked and gripped his shoulders.

“I’m not dropping you,” he rasped on her mouth. “That’s not happening.”

Her heart tripped as his big hands slid around, holding her up by her bottom. Her mouth devoured him, tongue tasting and exploring, savoring.

He lifted his head and the air left her in a rush as she looked up into his starkly handsome face. His gaze drilled into her. “Who knew the little kitten could kiss like that?”

“Oh,” she croaked, half expecting him to lower her to the ground now. It had to end. Reason and sanity had to surface eventually.

But he didn’t move away. He stared down at her, his eyes dark and full of something she couldn’t read.

She pushed the tendrils of hair that had come loose off her face. She moistened her lips, reaching for her composure—the last of which fled as she watched him glance down at the bare amount of flesh peeking above her bodice. His eyes smoldered at that scant sight of her skin.

His words brushed over her, murmuring, “You want my mouth again?”

She nodded jerkily.

He rocked against her, rubbing his hard length along the core of her that was covered up with far too much fabric. He lowered his head and brought his mouth against her neck, directly beneath her ear. She felt his words vibrate against her skin. “Good. Because I want to taste you here. Now pull your cloak wider for me.”

She nodded even though a part of her rebelled at being told what to do. Her hands curled around the edges of her mother’s cloak, exposing herself for him. In this moment, he wielded total control over her and she reveled in it. For the first time she felt like she could let go.

His mouth dragged down her neck in a trail of searing kisses. Lips, grazing tongue and softly nipping teeth. She gasped and whimpered, wiggling against him, need pumping through her. His lips reached where her neck and shoulder met. His warm breath fanned in the hollow there for an agonizing moment. Anticipation zipped through her as she waited for more. She trembled, holding her breath for his kiss there.

Finally it came. A savoring, openmouthed kiss followed by the slight scrape of teeth. His lips moved against her skin. “You taste so good, Poppy. Like there’s nectar buried in your skin.”

She shivered at his words and his teeth sank deeper, marking her, claiming her. A choked gasp ripped from her as her bones liquefied and a rush of heat pooled between her legs. Her eyes flew wide and she gasped. She had no idea that a bite could affect her so pleasurably. That she would like such a wicked thing so much. That she would feel it so deeply.

He pulled back, laving the tender flesh with his tongue.

Her head spun, chest lifting with ragged breaths.

His eyes gleamed down at her. “See? We can get along.”

“Wh-what—”

“There are benefits to being more . . . amenable.”

“Amenable?” she echoed, attempting to shake off the fog of desire. “Oh!” She pushed at his rock solid shoulders.

His hands adjusted on her, leveraging her so that the hard ridge of his manhood thrust harder against her—deliciously so. She gasped and bit her lip in an attempt to cut off the sound and not appear the total wanton. Little late for that, Poppy.

“Wouldn’t you rather be doing this than fighting? You and I would fit together just right, lass.”

She shuddered. Yes . . . yes.

She was damp directly where she rode him, his hardness rubbing deeply against her. Dear heavens. Shame washed over her as an invisible band coiled tighter and tighter in her belly. He could probably feel how moist she was between their clothing. As much as that mortified her it didn’t stop her from whimpering and moving against him, seeking something near and yet elusive.

His lips returned to her throat and she was helpless against arching into that mouth. “You’re wasted on him,” he growled against her skin.

The words vibrated through her, shaking her awake. She did not mistake his meaning. He was saying she was wasted on the duke. Because he thought she was with the duke. He thought they were together romantically, intimately. He thought she had been like this with his brother . . . mouth to skin, their bodies straining against each other in full, heart-pounding hunger.

It was a sobering thought. It made her feel tawdry and something else. Something confusing and different and not unpleasant.

She felt desired. Coveted. And it made her heart swell inside her too-tight rib cage. In this moment, she could not imagine doing this with anyone else. She could not imagine anyone except Struan Mackenzie provoking these sensations in her.

She was a sinful creature, to be sure. She never knew she could be this. So wicked. Wanton. So titillated because she had aroused this man . . . because she had stirred a need in him to take her from a man to whom she did not even belong.

This entire situation was out of control. She was out of control.

Jarred, she blinked and looked around, seeing the alley in which they stood. The cloak of night with its shifting mist. His body pressed against hers. Her legs wrapped around him. This was depraved. She’d gone mad.

Stark. Raving. Mad.

“Stop.” A single word but he lifted his mouth from her neck.