Owen stared down at her intensely. “Your name isn’t Anna?”
She shook her head, aware with that single admission she stripped away every barrier between them.
“Annalise,” he breathed near her lips, stimulating the already over-sensitive flesh.
The mere sound of her name, at last, on his lips, sent a shiver through her. Her name had never sounded like that. Never so guttural, thick with promises of wicked things that happened in the dark.
His head dipped, almost kissing her, but for some reason she jerked back, arching away. She craved him with her every fiber, but perhaps it was that very thing that frightened her so much. Her need. Her hunger for him.
Nothing had changed with his whisper of her name. Bloodsworth was still out there, the threat of him very real. And not just to her, but to Owen. Her gaze skimmed his face, savoring the square jaw and strong lines. Surrendering to her desire for him would not change the fact that she had to leave.
Her arms relaxed, palms lifting away from the planes of his face.
Just as she was about to take a step back, his arms wrapped tightly around her and hauled her close.
Her cry of surprise was swallowed up by his lips in a kiss that robbed her of the last of her will. With a muffled sob, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
Exhilaration ripped through her when he lifted her off the floor. He held her tightly, bodies pressed flush as his mouth devoured hers. He turned her in a small circle, walking her backward to the bed. Her slippers did not so much as graze the floor as he carried her.
“Aren’t you tired of carrying me about?” He had done it enough since they first met. “I can walk, you know.”
He released her lips from their feverish kiss. “Sweetheart, I’m not taking any chances. There’s only one place you’re headed right now.”
A shiver chased over her flesh as his meaning sank in. When he lowered her to the center of the thick mattress, she had no doubt.
She propped herself up on her elbows, watching as he stood at the side of the bed, hurriedly stripping off his jacket, vest, and shirt. All the while his eyes consumed her. Even though she did nothing more than watch him, he stared at her with fiery intent, the promise of everything to come burning sinfully in his eyes.
Whatever qualms he’d held earlier about keeping her at arm’s length had fled him. As much as she wanted to know what had happened to change his mind, she dared not ask for fear that he might change his mind back again.
She wanted this—him. Even just once. It would be something she would have to take with her.
His boots hit the floor with a thud, and then he was crawling toward her like some manner of jungle cat—all flexing muscle and sinew. Her mouth dried and watered alternately.
He straddled her with his knees on either side of her hips.
“And you, Annalise, have entirely too much clothes on your person.”
She wet her lips and arched her throat, holding his gaze, a deep languor coming over her—with the exception to a low tug in her belly that demanded relief. “Then rectify that matter.”
His hand deftly worked the tiny buttons lining the front of her gown. “There are entirely too many of these,” he muttered before finally parting her bodice. She lifted up for him as he shoved her gown off her shoulders and pulled it the rest of the way down her hips, leaving her only in her undergarments.
As he focused his attention to the ribbons at the front of her corset, she ran a hand down his chest, reveling in the sensation of bare skin against her palm. A light matting of hair covered the top of his chest, tapering down in a thin, nearly nonexistent ribbon that disappeared inside his breeches.
Her gaze followed, lowering to the definable bulge of his erection. She had felt it earlier, the growing hardness pressing against her belly. As though it were still there, that place between her legs clenched.
Her breath hitched as she imagined him freeing himself from his breeches and putting himself inside her. Nothing about it alarmed her. On the contrary, the throb between her legs grew.
His knuckles skimmed the top flesh of her breasts as he freed her from her corset. Next came her petticoat and drawers . . . all else until she wore only her simple shift and stockings.
At the first touch of his hand on her bare thigh, she gasped.
He pulled his hand back. “Did I hurt you? Your leg . . .”
Shaking her head, she grabbed his wrist and placed his hand back on her thigh. With her eyes locked on his face, she guided his hand up her thigh. Instinct drove her. A desperate urge for him to relieve the ache he had started.
Her lips parted on a sigh as she moved his hand higher, his fingers skimming over the inside of her thigh.
A low growl escaped him. “Your skin is like silk.”
She parted her thighs wider. Her shift fell back to her hips and she felt cool air wash over the exposed core of her. Heat fired her face as his gaze followed suit, roaming over that most secret place.
She stopped his hand’s ascent, holding him still where her thigh almost met with the very heat of her.
“Annalise.”
She shuddered at the sound of her name. Her gaze flew to his.
“Don’t stop. Show me where you want me.”
Her breath falling short and hard, she nodded. The ache between her legs was no less intense. Bared before his gaze, it had only deepened. Still holding his wrist, she guided him to her, settling his hand over her heat.
He closed his eyes and brought his forehead to hers. She could feel the very pulse of him there, fused to the core of her. He didn’t even move, but the burning imprint of his hand, his palm and fingers against her, made her gasp.
“So wet, Annalise.”
She whimpered. Her hips lifted, thrusting against his palm with a will . . . a knowledge that she did not yet understand, even as her body knew, and sought.
He lowered his mouth to hers, whispering the words, “So eager.” As his palm moved, burrowed against her in a way that had her arching against him in sudden response, her fingernails dug into his bare shoulders.
“You like that?”
“Again,” she choked, nodding furiously.
He rotated his wrist and found the spot, did it again, grinding on her in a way that made her want to fly from her skin.
She cried out and bucked against his hand. “What . . . are you . . . doing?” she panted against his ear.
She had never heard of anything like this happening before. Not with a mere touch. Agathe’s and Sally’s indiscreet whisperings had never revealed anything so shattering was even possible.
Then suddenly the pressure was gone, his fingers parting her slick folds, sliding shockingly against her with a finger, searching, hunting, at last unerringly finding that tiny pearl of pleasure. Her mouth opened wide on a silent cry as he circled it with his thumb, pushing and rolling until she shuddered in his arms.
His lips pressed against her throat, his words vibrating on her skin, “There, love.”
Just as ripples of sensation eased over her and she began to feel satiated, he eased a finger into her channel.
She moaned, arching, fingers digging anew into his shoulders. Everything within her tightened and twisted once again as his fingers stretched her, sinking deeper and deeper.
He burrowed his head in the crook of her neck. “God, Annalise, you’re so tight . . . so wet . . . I can’t wait.”
Wait? She didn’t want him to wait. The burn was back, throbbing and tormenting. She wanted it fed.
She let out a small mewl of frustration and slipped her hand between them, caressing him through his breeches, her gaze locking on his. “Then don’t wait.”