Page 40 of To Hunt the Hunter

She tugged at his shirt again and he sighed, sliding his good arm free before she helped him ease it over his wound. He sucked in a sharp breath, his lips compressing into a taut line for a moment as the movement jostled his shoulder, and then the shirt was gone, tossed to the floor.

The bedsheet had fallen to his hips and, except for the bandage over his shoulder, she was free to look her fill, and to touch. His expression was wary now, watching her with caution as she took him in. God, he was perfect. His high cheekbones were a little more accentuated than usual, and there were shadows under his eyes. The morning sunlight caught him, gilding the hair on his chest and his beard, which was a darker gold than the pale gilt of his hair.

“Come here,” he said, a measure of his usual cool control infusing his voice.

Matilda shivered. She moved as directed, straddling his lap, though she hardly knew how she dared, but she wanted to be close to him too much to pretend a coyness she did not feel.

“You wanted to touch me,” he said, and there was a break in the insouciant remark that told her he was far from calm about it.

“Yes.” She looked him over, noting the rapid rise and fall of his chest. “I’ve thought about you so often, about kissing you, touching you. I once thought the only safe way to do it was when you’d been dosed with laudanum, but I never took advantage of it.”

“Foolish of you,” he said, his voice growing darker.

“Yes, wasn’t it?”

She reached out and put a hand to his cheek, stroking the soft, prickly stubble, moving her thumb over his bottom lip. He nipped at it, catching at the skin with his teeth and making her gasp. She laughed, and carried on her perusal, leisurely, though the body beneath her touch was fiercely taut, alive with tension. He was holding himself still, allowing this. She slid her hands down his arms, over the curve of defined muscle and back up again, and then down over his chest. His stomach muscles flickered and contracted beneath her fingers, and she smiled. Moving her hands back up, she trailed through the scattering of hair at his chest, then followed the path down that slid beneath the sheet. Only that sheet stood between them, she realised too late. He was naked beneath it, not that she cared. Or, at least, she cared, but not in the way she ought to.

“Enough,” he said, reaching for her, pulling her close. She tumbled forward, only just saving him from steadying herself against his injured shoulder. She was braced on her arms, looking down at him, still sat up on her knees. He tugged at her hips, and she sat, discovering him hard beneath her, and how intimately he pressed against her. She gasped as a jolt of pleasure surged through her.

“Oh!”

His hand slid into her hair and tugged her head down, his mouth finding hers. Then both hands settled at her hips, pressing her firmly against him as he arched his body and the pleasure spiked again. Desire burst through her, the aching need to be closer to him—to be as close as two people could get—eating her alive. She wanted his skin against hers, for him to fill the hollow sensation that clawed inside her. She was hungry for him, wanted him with such fervour. The kiss grew hotter and his hands moved to the fastenings at the back of her dress. Good heavens, he was better than any lady’s maid, she thought with chagrin, as she found herself coming undone with startling speed. Dress, stays, and chemise all fell to beneath his nimble fingers. His mouth left a fiery trail of kisses down her neck as he pushed the sleeves of her gown down her arms until….

She’d hardly had a moment to realise she was exposed to his view from the waist up before his mouth was on her, hot and wet, consuming her. He suckled at her breast and pleasure rolled through her with such force she could not halt the cry that left her mouth. Good lord. Thank heavens the walls of Dern were good and thick. She pressed against him, tilting her hips to find that exquisite burst of pleasure again, and this time he moaned, a wicked sound that thrilled her to her core. His head tipped back, eyes closed, and she stared down at him, entranced by the look of him beneath her, like some pagan god of pleasure, pure wickedness, unadulterated sin. His eyes flicked open, almost black with wanting, a narrow rim of sliver glinting.

“More,” he said, the word rough.

His hands yanked at her skirts, tugging them from beneath her, bunching them until only the linen sheet separated their bodies. She could feel the fierce heat of his arousal through the fabric, the shape and the strength of him. The desire to tear the sheet aside was so ferocious that she felt she might die with wanting him, but then he moved, and any thoughts of any kind were obliterated. More, more… her body sang the same song and she moved against him, again and again, until they were both breathless, mindless with pleasure. His hands stroked the exposed skin above her stocking tops, then slid around to caress her bottom and pull her harder against him until she was giddy with it. She rocked her hips harder, seeking more as the world began to glitter and white out.

“Holy Christ, stop… stop,” he said, the words gritted out.

“No…! Oh, Lucian, please… please….”

“Wait, love… wait….” He sounded desperate now.

Matilda could do little more than whimper as his hands stayed her movements, but she did as he asked, though she was trembling and beside herself.

“Let me touch you,” he whispered, and Matilda stifled a hysterical giggle at his request.

Silly man, did he seriously think she would refuse him?

The impulse to laugh fled as he touched her. Matilda gasped as his fingers trailed through the curls between her legs, sliding between the delicate layers of skin to the aching heat beneath.

“Oh, God, love. I have wanted you so badly, for so long….” His voice cracked, everything she had ever wanted to hear from him so blatant with every word. “I dream of you. You fill my days and my nights with thoughts of you. I never want you to leave. I want you here with me… always….”

She wondered if he knew what he was saying or if it was just desire talking, but his clever fingers were seeking, sliding inside her, caressing and teasing until she could hardly comprehend words at all, too lost in his touch, in the overwhelming heat that was burning her from the inside out.

“Yes,” she whispered, writhing beneath his fingers, the pleasure becoming so intense she was torn between retreating from it, wanting to escape, and begging for more. “Yes. Oh… oh, I can’t… oh, yes, please… please….”

His free hand held her in place, not allowing her to run from him, not that she wanted to. She was too greedy for that. She wanted all of it, everything he would give her, everything he had.

“Come here. Come to me….”

She moved closer at his insistence, leaning down over him as he nuzzled her breasts, rubbing his cheek against the silky skin, kissing and trailing his tongue over her until he sought and found a rosy nipple and closed his mouth over her. The sound that tore from her throat was shocking—the sound of a wanton, abandoned woman—and she didn’t care. Not one bit.

“Kiss me,” he demanded, sounding as crazed and out of control as she felt.

She did, pressing her breasts against his chest, finding his mouth and kissing him with fierce passion, with all the frustration and longing that she’d held inside herself for so long. Matilda broke away with another cry, frenzied now as his fingers slid over her, caressing and circling before easing back inside. She buried her face in his neck, hardly able to stand it.