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He cut off her next words with a searing kiss that reawakened her desire. She hesitated, then pushed her wavering aside. She’d asked for this. Demanded it. If she only had days to experience this level of need, then she was going to take them and enjoy every single, passion-filled second.
Armed with her newfound confidence, she rose up on her toes, met him this time as an equal as she nipped at his lower lip, drew back a fraction when he tried to deepen the kiss. Glorified in the growl that sounded like it had been ripped from his throat before he took her mouth again.
As his hands slid beneath her bottom, pulled her hips against him, discomfort flickered through her. Was he using sex to distract her? To keep her attention on the pleasure coursing through her body and off him?
I can’t offer you anything but sex.
He’d been clear. Laid down the rules. No matter how curious she was, how much she yearned to know him on a deeper level, she had no right to ask more.
With that, she let go of her questions and surrendered to the passion he offered. Let go of thoughts of tomorrow, a week from now, a month. Indulged in the intoxicating sensation of enjoying the now.
Seized by a brazen boldness she’d never experienced, she broke the kiss, slid down his body and dropped to her knees. Satisfaction wound through her as his eyes widened.
Her fingers gripped his waistband and pulled down. When she wrapped her fingers around his length, he shuddered. She stroked him, watched the fire in his eyes burn even hotter as she lowered her head. She took him in her mouth, moaned at the intimacy, at feeling him pulse against her tongue.
She experimented, moving slow and steady, then fast. He hardened, thighs tensing beneath her hands as his head dropped back and he groaned.
“Enough.”
He barked the command as he reached down and grabbed her arms, hauled her to her feet.
“I want to be inside you when I come.”
Thrilled by his words, by the fever descending over her skin, made all the more potent by their previous intimacy, she didn’t protest. Simply gave herself up to his passionate kiss. His hands slid down to her legs, lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and moaned into his mouth as his shaft pressed against her still-sensitive flesh through the thin material of her robe.
He whirled around, set her down on the kitchen island. The coldness of the marble served as a sharp contrast to the fever ravaging her body. He kicked his legs free of the pants, pulled the robe up over her hips, and pushed inside her.
“Oh, my God!”
The exclamation burst from her lips as he filled her. He stopped, dropped his head to her shoulder.
She dug her nails into his back. “Don’t you dare stop.”
He pulled back, thrust deeper as she kissed his neck, his jaw, the scars on the left side of his face. His rhythm slowed.
“Griffith.” She clutched his face in her hands, nearly broke at the pain in his gaze. “I want you. All of you.”
His fingers dug into her hips. He plunged deeper. She hung on, met his thrusts and arched into him, pressed her lips to his mouth as delicious pressure built, pushed her higher until she couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Griffith!”
She came apart on a scream, thrashed as he gathered her in his arms, held her close as he followed her moments later. They soared into oblivion, bound by mutual hunger and a need for pleasure, for connection.
They drifted back down. His breath fell hot and heavy on the tender spot at the base of her neck.
Somewhere deep inside, her resolve weakened, cracked. She couldn’t imagine finding a physical connection like this again. But with every tender touch, every time he prodded her for her true wants and desires, saw past the mask she’d worn for everyone else in her life, the more she wondered if she would ever find a man who saw her as intimately and completely as Griffith did.
Not falling for him was becoming harder with every passing hour.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ROSALIND TRAILED HER fingers over the spines of leather-bound books as she explored the second level of the library. After their rendezvous in the kitchen, Griffith had walked her back to her room. He’d left her with a searing kiss.
But he’d still left.
He’d spent the rest of the evening in his office and the night in his room, and she in hers. The way it should be, since they were indulging in a simple, short affair. But she was coming to realize, there was nothing simple about this. The more she got to know Griffith, the more her suspicions were confirmed that his selfish tendencies were not an inherent part of his character. Rather, they were a shield, even a weapon, against the pain of loss.
She hadn’t liked the man when she’d first started researching him. But she had respected the professional, the leader who had taken his family’s company and elevated it to new heights with strategic decisions and a firm hand. Through the news articles, the occasional interview and, of course, the tabloid stories, she had formed an image of Griffith Lykaois long before she had walked into the chateau.
