Or perhaps, to be more accurate, she was ruined.
“Hush.” He kissed her forehead. “There is nothing to forgive. Christ, I should be begging your forgiveness. With what that bastard did to you, I never should’ve touched you.”
“No.” She seized his shoulders, frantic, fearing he would leave the bed. “Please. I want you, Rafe.”
And she did.
She could overcome the fear, she was sure. She could overpower her body, those terrible memories.
“Maybe you aren’t ready, lovely.” His gaze was warm, soft with understanding. “You’ve been through a hellish scrape.”
“I am ready.” At least, her heart and her mind were.
He leaned into her, careful to keep his body from pressing against her, his lips finding hers. It was what she needed, the seductive governing of his mouth slanting on hers, calming her, bringing her back to the reason she was here. This man. His kisses. The way he made her feel.
Lovely.
Desired.
Powerful.
Fearless.
As if there were no troubles in her world, everything in its proper order. As if she had no need to fear the future, the coming day. All was right when Rafe Sutton kissed her.
He ended the connection, pulling back to study her with an intensity that made her skin prickle with awareness. She could not shake the sense he was delving into her, finding a part of her she had not previously known existed. Seeing all her secrets. Which was foolish, of course. He could not see the truth. He was not omniscient. He was merely a man.
“There will always be another day,” he said, breaking the silence.
But that was the trouble. For her, there was every possibility there would not. On another day, she would lose her daring. Or he would have found another woman to ply with his charms. Or Mr. Sutton would finally uncover the entire truth about her and dismiss her. Mayhap Cousin Bartholomew would find her and force her to return to Silwood Manor. A myriad of possibilities, of lost chances. She could not bear to let him go without at least trying once more.
“What if there is not another day?” She swallowed hard against a swelling tide of emotion, trying in vain to read his expression. “What if this is our only chance, Rafe? If there will never be another night when we can be so free?”
That fear, more than the terror which beset her whenever she was reminded of the day Lord Gregson had nearly forced himself upon her, spurred her the most. If she was forced to marry Cousin Bartholomew, or if she spent the rest of her life as a governess, or even if she was able to free herself from her cousin’s plans and live out her life as a spinster, she wanted more. She wanted the memory of having known passion, real and true, once in her life.
He kissed her again, so softly it was little more than a whisper of a touch, his lips feathering over hers before it ended. “Is it my body on yours that sparked your fears?”
She nodded, biting her lip. “Yes. I do think so.”
He kissed her brow. “I can pleasure you without being atop you, sweet. Do you want to try?”
Heavens and angels, did he need to ask?
“Yes.” In her relief, she leaned forward, kissing him so hard that her teeth slammed into the sensitive insides of her lips. But never mind. She did not care.
He broke the kiss and rolled to his back. “Come here, lovely.”
He offered her his hand once more.
And she took it.
CHAPTER 9
What he was about to do was not the sort of thing a man attempted with an innocent. And yet, in this instance, it was a necessity. That rank, chicken-hearted scoundrel had hurt her, and unlike a physical lashing, the scars dwelled beneath the surface. Now, it was for Rafe to undo the damage as best he could.
Giving Persephone pleasure was a start.
Not that his motives were entirely pure. Pleasing her would also please him. Very much.