“Call me James, Eleanor.”
“Will you kiss me if I do?”
“I won’t if you don’t.”
Her eyes narrowed. Last night, she’d learned many things about James Fairbrother, Marquess of Leath. One was tha
t she wielded more power over him than she’d credited.
She tried to read his expression, but the darkness defeated her. Instead, she sought other clues. His jagged breathing. The heat of his skin.
“You want me,” she whispered, walking her fingers across the taut line of his shoulders and delighting in the way his skin tightened under the caress. She bumped her hips up to confirm his readiness. “You can’t hide it.”
He groaned and scraped his teeth down her neck. His beard chafed her delightfully. “No, damn you, I can’t.”
“That makes me happy.” She tugged at his hair and he grunted as he kissed a particularly sensitive spot on her neck.
“I’d like to make you happy.”
“Then you know what to do.”
“Witch.” He raised his head. “You’ll still be sore.”
She shifted, lifting her knees. Her thighs brushed his hips and she tilted into his pulsing virility. Pulsing virility that would soon be inside her if she had her way.
A wriggle to test for pain. She experienced a few twinges, but nothing to compare to her need. Even if he hurt her, the profound union when he joined his body to hers outweighed all discomfort. “Perhaps if we’re careful.”
He dropped his head and took her mouth in a tender kiss. Her lips parted on a sigh.
Even through the dim light, she felt his heated gaze. “I love that you’re not coy. From the first, I wanted your honesty.”
“I thought you wanted my surrender,” she said, only half joking.
He smiled, his teeth a flash of white in the darkness. “That too.” He kissed her again, running his tongue along the seam of her lips until she opened. “I’m merely human.”
“Show me how human, James.” She stretched up to prolong the kiss, using her tongue.
He lowered over her. His kiss spoke of stirring passion, but tenderness lingered like a star through mist. “With pleasure.” He paused. “But, Eleanor, if you want me to stop, I will.”
“Oh, my dear.” She curved her hand around his strong neck. Her tone wasn’t teasing. Instead she sounded like she choked on the love flooding her. He made her feel as fragile as lace and as strong as steel. She swallowed, moved to tears. Now was no time to yield to emotion. She’d entered this arrangement knowing that a mistress was neither permanent nor essential in a man’s life. Yet every moment strengthened the bond between them.
If she started to believe in forever, she asked for a world of anguish.
She didn’t know if he heard the betraying wobble in the endearment. She suspected he did because his kiss was sweet.
She caught his shoulders and angled forward in blatant invitation. He stroked her, there where she wanted him so badly. She shuddered and a whimper of enjoyment escaped. Before consenting to be his mistress, she’d come to terms with loving him. Now every touch left her shaking with desire.
Last night, he’d built her arousal slowly, but this morning he seemed, like her, impatient. His thumb brushed that place that shot thrills along her veins, then he shifted and hot thickness pressed into her.
She prepared for pain. But he slid into her smoothly and her body welcomed him the way the earth welcomed the sunrise. She gasped with wonder.
He shuddered into stillness. “Am I hurting you?”
She arched, changing the angle in the most delicious way. Another sigh of pleasure.
“Eleanor?” His voice cracked with strain. “Answer me.”
She tugged him down for a hungry kiss. His hips flexed as he pushed deeper.