Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)

“Please.” She grabbed his sleeve and laid her other hand to his cheek, tugging him to face her. He turned his head, but he still couldn’t bear to meet her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice breaking. “It was terribly wrong of me, and I know that now. But I followed you everywhere. I couldn’t help it. You were strong and wild and always in motion, and everything I wished I could be, and I … I was fascinated by you. Infatuated, to tell the truth.”

A derisive laugh caught in his throat. “Infatuated.”

“Yes,” she replied, her voice strengthening. “Yes. I adored you. I was mad for you. God help me, I still am now.”

She slid both hands to his face and pulled his head down, brushing a kiss to his jaw, then the corner of his mouth. Then his cheek. Then each of his closed eyes in turn. His own hands stayed clenched in fists at his sides. Part of him was aching for the closeness, but he didn’t trust himself to touch her.

“Please,” she whispered, pressing her cheek to his. “Please, don’t be ashamed. And don’t be angry with me, I can’t bear it. I’m so sorry. I was a foolish girl, with a girl’s foolish dreams. I just wanted to be near you, in whatever way I could.”

She kissed his lips. Desire ricocheted down his spine.

“Rhys,” she whispered, sliding her arms around his neck. “I couldn’t help it. It was just like the story. You were so very beautiful.”

She rested her brow against his chin. He felt her breath drifting over his throat. Fast and hot, as if she were afraid, or aroused, or both. On his side, definitely both. His chest rose and fell with each ragged gasp.

He had no secrets left. No defenses. He had nothing, except that same vast, dark, empty, infinite ache that had resided in him for as long as he could remember. An endless flight of stairs, leading down and down into the cold, dark pit of his soul. Now, at long last, he’d reached the absolute rock bottom. And there she was, just standing there. She’d been there all along.

He cursed her. He blessed her. He needed her. Now.

“I want you.” The words scraped from his throat. “Here.”

“Yes.”

The soft hiss of the word slid over his skin. He clenched his fists at his sides, grappling with his emotions. “I can’t be gentle.”

“I don’t care.” She lifted her face to his. “Just be quick.”

And once they’d made the agreement to join, they immediately separated. They each took a step back and began wrestling with their own clothing. Because that was the fastest way.

Rhys tossed a glance over his shoulder as he wrenched open his trouser placket and flicked loose the closures of his smalls. There was no one in the street. Even if there had been a crowd of onlookers, he wasn’t sure he could have stopped. The need to get inside her was as intense and primal as any he’d ever known.

By the time he turned back, she had her skirts and petticoats hiked above her knees—just high enough that he could glimpse the ribbon ties of her garters and the milk-white skin above. Her inner thigh quivered. Perversely, he wanted to bite her there.

But there was no time for that.

“Hurry,” she whispered, leaning back against the wall and canting her hips in invitation.

He freed his erection and knew a moment of cool night air before finding her waiting heat. Lifting her by the hips, he thrust into her tight sheath. Again and again, plunging a little deeper each time, feeling her body give him more, and yet more, but still not quite enough. He worked harder, boring into her with insistent thrusts, determined to penetrate her just as deeply as he could. It still wouldn’t compare to how she’d invaded him.

“More,” he growled. “Take it all.”

At his words, she came apart. Her teeth scraped the tendon of his neck as she stifled her cry of ecstasy. Her intimate muscles clamped down, making his way even more difficult, but ratcheting the pleasure to an unfathomable degree. And he kept thrusting, pushing through the exquisite resistance, until he sank all the way to the root.

Ah, God. So good. So good.

“Stop,” she whispered frantically. “There’s someone …”

He froze. Light footsteps clattered down the cobblestone street, ever louder. Ever closer.

He pressed her into the furthest corner of the alcove, guarding her body with his. With his dark clothes, they would melt into the shadows and remain unnoticed. He hoped. Their combined breath was a dull roar in his ears, and his heartbeat knocked loudly against hers. He could only be still and pray their passion wasn’t audible from the street.

All the while, the last tremors of her release caressed his arousal, teasing him to an unbearable peak of tension. Not helping the cause of silence.

By the time the footsteps finally faded, Rhys’s legs were shaking with need. He withdrew and thrust again.

Sweet mercy. This was rapture.