Page 112 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

She swallowed at the darling—not to mention his threat of marriage—even though she’d heard him call half-a-hundred girls by pet names as he’d outrageously flirted.

She reached out a hand.

“Ow!” he bellowed when her finger poked something soft and wet. “That was my eye.”

“I’m sorry!” Stacia caught her lower lip with her teeth. “Are you—did I hurt you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

He grumbled and she felt his arm move as he likely rubbed the offended organ. “I am still waiting for my kiss.”

She couldn’t help smiling at his petulant tone. She reached for him again, her hand a bit lower, and swallowed when her fingers skimmed fine linen, the body beneath it warm and hard.

He grunted, this time a more approving sound.

Stacia took a deep breath, leaned forward, and kissed his…chin.

He snorted. “I meant my—”

“I know what you meant.” She inched closer, until her hand was pressed between their bodies, and adjusted her aim. This time, she encountered soft, full lips.

He groaned and she felt the tension in his big body, as if he struggled against something.

Stacia kissed him once, twice, and then softly, gently, did as he had done earlier and nipped his lower lip.

“Bloody hell!” he muttered explosively.

Stacia scooted back away from him as quickly as a startled shrimp in a rock pool, not stopping until her bottom hung over the edge of the bed.

“My turn,” he said.

Why did that sound so threatening?

***

Miss Martin was damned lucky that Andrew hadn’t grabbed her. How could a kiss that innocent—like the brush of a feather—get him so hard?

Your cock was already hard.

That was true. Her kiss just made it hurt.

Her voice, with a bit of a quaver now, came at him in the darkness. “Question or command?”

Andrew briefly considered saying command, but suspected hers wouldn’t be nearly so pleasurable as his. He suspected he’d find himself putting his tongue on a frozen pump handle, or whatever the equivalent would be in their comfortable prison.

“Question,” he said.

The silence told him that he’d surprised her.

She cleared her throat and asked the question he expected. “Why did you want to hurt your cousin?”

Andrew rolled onto his back and closed his eyes—as if that would make what he had to confess better, somehow—and said, “I hated him for marrying the woman I loved.”

After an eternity, she said, “Oh.”

“Question or command?” he asked.