Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)

When the wait became unbearable, she broke the rules and whispered, “Take me.”


His teeth scraped her shoulder. With a low growl, he flipped her onto her stomach, wedging her legs apart with his thighs. He gave her just what she wanted, driving into her hard. So hard, she grabbed the pillow to muffle her cry. The bed creaked and rattled with each stroke.

Yes. Yes. This was exactly what she craved. To feel powerless beneath him, utterly at his mercy. She’d spent so much of her life being strong. Marshalling all her available fortitude to run the inn, take care of her father, look after the village. And she’d built up formidable shields to protect herself and those around her. It was a relief and a joy to be dominated, to relinquish all power and feel those barriers stripped away by someone she knew and trusted.

Someone she loved.

He rose up between her legs, grasping her hips in his massive hands and lifting her to her knees. His fingers curled around the cheeks of her backside, guiding her motions, spreading her open for his deepening thrusts. By the light smack of his thighs kissing hers and the roughened quality of his breath, she suspected he was watching their joined bodies. She wished she could watch, too.

He clutched her hips tighter still, kicked into a faster rhythm. “Come for me. Do it now.”

Releasing the pillow, she slid one hand down her belly, between her legs. She pressed the heel of her hand against her mound and curled her fingers back, so they teased his shaft with every stroke. The pressure of her palm just where she needed it, the very proof of his own need, hard and hot against her fingertips—she hurtled headlong into a soul-shaking climax, crying out against the pillow.

He followed her seconds later, and together they collapsed to the mattress. He lay half atop her, half to the side. His breath was a rasp against her ear. She loved the heat and the weight of him, pinning her limp, wrung-out body to the bed. She could get used to this. She really could.

For the first time since Rhys had mentioned marriage over boiled eggs and coffee, Meredith let herself believe, just for a moment, that it might truly be safe to get used to this.

“You know,” he said after a minute or two, rolling onto his back, “I think I’ve changed my mind.”

“You have?” She propped her chin on one arm, tried to sound nonchalant. All the while, her heart was hammering the mattress.

“We’ll have to find a bishop,” he said. “Get a special license. There’s no bloody way we’re waiting another fortnight for that curate to come back.”

She collapsed to the bed with relief.

“I’m serious,” he said. “We’ll take the coach and set off for London today.”

“Rhys, we can’t do that. Father’s expecting me back on schedule. And we’ve all those things to buy for the inn.”

“For our house.”

“Well, yes. That, too.”

His brow creased. “I don’t understand. Why can’t we—”

She kissed him, for no other reason than to cut short that question.

So strange. Ten minutes ago all she’d craved was for Rhys to take control, to leave her no choice, to overwhelm her senses completely. And never during their lovemaking had she felt anything other than cherished and safe. But an elopement …?

“I was promised a tour of Bath,” she said lightly. “There was talk of ribbons and romance.”

“So there was.” He gave her a smile, and she felt its warmth deep inside.

She loved him. After last night, there was no more denying it, not even to herself. And nothing would make her happier than to marry him. There were obstacles, yes. The inn’s future, Gideon’s threats … but from such a great distance, those obstacles seemed smaller now. Surmountable. Between them, surely she and Rhys had the strength and wits to sort it all out.

There was only one matter left to settle. Would marriage to her make Rhys happy? Not just satisfied in bed or at peace with his obligations, but truly happy? He deserved real contentment. With all this blind allegiance to the concept of destiny, she wasn’t sure he even knew what he wanted anymore. Given the choice, would he truly prefer a cottage in rural Devonshire to the opulent life he could be leading elsewhere? Would he honestly prefer her to the elegant ladies he could have?

His words kept echoing in her mind: It’s not like I have something better to do.

But he did. With his rank and wealth, he had so many options, and this holiday was likely to remind him of them. Before she could marry him, she needed time to observe, to gauge his thoughts and feelings in a setting outside their village.