as he drew her nearer, and forced her hand upon his chest, he
knew that he had no will left at all. Like a madness, his only thought was that
he would die if he not feel her small, delicate fingers dancing upon his flesh,
laving him. They burned where they touched him so tentatively, and he shook
with the fierce desire that overtook him suddenly, filling his loins with heat
Her intake of breath was audible. “My lord!”
She tried to draw away at the contact, but he
found he could not release her.
“Lave me, then, Dominique,” he dared her. “If,
indeed, you are not afraid...”
She stiffened, but did not immediately remove her
hand, and he counted it a victory... a failure. God, he was weak. His brother
deserved better than to be cuckolded by his own blood, and yet he could not
help himself. He felt himself a man possessed. Obsessed. She was in his veins just as
surely as that gown of hers belonged to him. To him. Even if she did not. In his
anger, he wanted to rend it piece by piece from her body... and then bury
himself within her like the blade of his sword; swiftly and with sweet
vengeance.
“Lave me,” he whispered fiercely, his eyes
glittering.
Still she did not move, and their gazes met,
locked, held.
“I am not afraid of you,” she swore. Her breast
heaved, drawing his gaze to the pebbled peaks that strained so deliciously
against her bliaut. “I am not afraid of you,” she repeated, as though it were a
litany. Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated, emphasizing the incredible
blue.
“Nay?”
“Nay,” she exclaimed breathlessly, and lapped at
her lips with her pink little tongue.
He wanted to feel that breath upon his skin,
suckle that tongue with his own, wanted to lure her into the tub atop him and
crush her over his painful arousal, relieve himself of the pressure that was
fast becoming insurmountable.
“Dominique,” he croaked.
God save him, he had no will left.
No will left at all.
He was weak. Despicable. And worse, without
honor— his father had been right all those years ago. Every muscle in his
body was tightly coiled, to the point of snapping. He meant to command her to
go, but all at once her hands began to move upon his chest and he was as lost
as the angel Lucifer himself.
“Dominique” The single word was a plea that she
see the beast within him, that she recognize it and flee in terror, for he
could do nothing but sit in the steamy water and relish the feel of her hand
upon him, stroking his chest, brushing at his nipples with the soap.
“Christ.” Another plea. She affected him too
deeply for rational thought. She should go, he knew, but he closed his eyes and
laid his head back against the rim of the tub, releasing her hand at last.
Like a beardless youth, he groaned, and shuddered
in raw, naked pleasure when she continued.
Chapter 10
She was her mother’s daughter.
God have mercy upon her soul.
The truth horrified Dominique, for despite that
she despised this man, she secretly thrilled to the feel of his body beneath
her trembling fingers, his reaction to her touch. She had never truly
understood how her mother could risk so much for the attentions of a
stranger... until now. And now she understood everything. However, her mother had been
driven into the arms of another man, and Dominique had not even that excuse,
for she’d only been here at Drakewich for a single day, and had certainly not
endured the suffering her mother had.
This was by far worse than her mother had done.
He lay back within the tub, his brawny chest
revealed to her fully, magnificently sculptured from years of battle training.
And the way that his muscles quivered at her merest touch... it gave her a
heady sense of power, even as it dismayed her, for how could Graeham test her
so? She didn’t understand.
Was it his intent to share her with his brother?
Were they so depraved?
Something fluttered deep in the pit of her belly
at the question, and she shook her head, for it was
knew that he had no will left at all. Like a madness, his only thought was that
he would die if he not feel her small, delicate fingers dancing upon his flesh,
laving him. They burned where they touched him so tentatively, and he shook
with the fierce desire that overtook him suddenly, filling his loins with heat
Her intake of breath was audible. “My lord!”
She tried to draw away at the contact, but he
found he could not release her.
“Lave me, then, Dominique,” he dared her. “If,
indeed, you are not afraid...”
She stiffened, but did not immediately remove her
hand, and he counted it a victory... a failure. God, he was weak. His brother
deserved better than to be cuckolded by his own blood, and yet he could not
help himself. He felt himself a man possessed. Obsessed. She was in his veins just as
surely as that gown of hers belonged to him. To him. Even if she did not. In his
anger, he wanted to rend it piece by piece from her body... and then bury
himself within her like the blade of his sword; swiftly and with sweet
vengeance.
“Lave me,” he whispered fiercely, his eyes
glittering.
Still she did not move, and their gazes met,
locked, held.
“I am not afraid of you,” she swore. Her breast
heaved, drawing his gaze to the pebbled peaks that strained so deliciously
against her bliaut. “I am not afraid of you,” she repeated, as though it were a
litany. Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated, emphasizing the incredible
blue.
“Nay?”
“Nay,” she exclaimed breathlessly, and lapped at
her lips with her pink little tongue.
He wanted to feel that breath upon his skin,
suckle that tongue with his own, wanted to lure her into the tub atop him and
crush her over his painful arousal, relieve himself of the pressure that was
fast becoming insurmountable.
“Dominique,” he croaked.
God save him, he had no will left.
No will left at all.
He was weak. Despicable. And worse, without
honor— his father had been right all those years ago. Every muscle in his
body was tightly coiled, to the point of snapping. He meant to command her to
go, but all at once her hands began to move upon his chest and he was as lost
as the angel Lucifer himself.
“Dominique” The single word was a plea that she
see the beast within him, that she recognize it and flee in terror, for he
could do nothing but sit in the steamy water and relish the feel of her hand
upon him, stroking his chest, brushing at his nipples with the soap.
“Christ.” Another plea. She affected him too
deeply for rational thought. She should go, he knew, but he closed his eyes and
laid his head back against the rim of the tub, releasing her hand at last.
Like a beardless youth, he groaned, and shuddered
in raw, naked pleasure when she continued.
Chapter 10
She was her mother’s daughter.
God have mercy upon her soul.
The truth horrified Dominique, for despite that
she despised this man, she secretly thrilled to the feel of his body beneath
her trembling fingers, his reaction to her touch. She had never truly
understood how her mother could risk so much for the attentions of a
stranger... until now. And now she understood everything. However, her mother had been
driven into the arms of another man, and Dominique had not even that excuse,
for she’d only been here at Drakewich for a single day, and had certainly not
endured the suffering her mother had.
This was by far worse than her mother had done.
He lay back within the tub, his brawny chest
revealed to her fully, magnificently sculptured from years of battle training.
And the way that his muscles quivered at her merest touch... it gave her a
heady sense of power, even as it dismayed her, for how could Graeham test her
so? She didn’t understand.
Was it his intent to share her with his brother?
Were they so depraved?
Something fluttered deep in the pit of her belly
at the question, and she shook her head, for it was
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