Page 111 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

“What?”

“You are mine. Say it!”

Of course she was. In this place, in this moment, she had no doubts at all.

“Yours,” she agreed.

He grinned and became like a man driven to possess her. He thrust into her.

He: driven.

She: possessed.

Yes!

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Peter collapsed sideways, his heart thundering in his ears. His orgasm had been powerful enough to black out his vision and obliterate his mind for a few glorious moments. And while he was there, she had milked him like a woman taking every last drop. The squeeze and release had been like a fist pulling him into her, and he had wanted to go.

So hard. So fast. And so amazing that he had lost himself in her.

Until it was done.

He shuddered, barely having kept himself from crushing her. She still squeezed him. Tiny pulses that sent pleasure bursting through his system.

God, she was exquisite.

He didn’t want to separate from her. He pulled her on top, maneuvering her boneless body so she lay with her hips on his and her head on his shoulder.

She fit perfectly, and he pressed kisses to her hair in reverence. Then he exhaled in bliss and dozed. But rather than sleep, his mind was filled with a vision of her beside him at the altar. She’d be dressed like an angel, and her words would ring strong and true.

“I do.”

How he wanted that. Except Mari was not a woman to be held down, even by vows spoken in church. If forced, she would honor her word. She wouldn’t cuckold him. His fear was something else. That her attention would wander. Her mind would take over, telling her some nonsense, and it would drive a wedge between them.

His parents were one such couple. His father’s interests went to town, his mother’s to her garden and her books. It made for a cold home of disinterested conversation at the best of times. Eventually, his parents couldn’t stand to be in the same room with one another. As for the children…he and his brother had fled the moment they were able.

He did not want that with Mari. He had to capture her heart as thoroughly as he’d ensnared her body. But how? How to woo a mind that would not settle? One that saw him as a villain, no matter what he did? Especially since he was not good with words.

“Mari,” he murmured as he stroked a hand through her hair, “tell me why you hate fortune hunters.”

“Hmmm?”

Her word was more a purr of contentment, but she was rousing. Her hand lifted to brush across his arm. Her breath stuttered once, then pulled in deep.

“What happened?” he asked. “To make you put them at the top of your list?”

“What happened?” she murmured. “They happened.”

“Who?”

She rattled off three names, most of them unfamiliar to him.

“What did they do?”

She snorted. “The usual. Dances. Parties. Flowers in the morning, sweet words in the afternoon, and then kisses in darkened alcoves at a ball.”

His anger roused, a dark and growling thing.