The Rogue's Proposal Page 12

  Taking handfuls of her nightgown, he pulled it upward until he felt the bare skin of her buttocks, and squeezed it.

  She nuzzled her arse into his hands, then grabbed him around the neck and pulled him in, kissing him deliciously, her tongue making little darting explorations between his lips.

  “Em,” he murmured between kisses. “God, Emma.”

  He’d squeezed her bottom hard, so now he tried to soothe the area with gentle strokes of his fingers. Then he dropped her nightgown and moved his hands to her chest, untying the ribbons that closed her neckline.

  “Take this off.” His voice shook. His fingers shook. His grip on his control was too weak, too tenuous.

  God. He was such a damned disaster. A wild, feral animal, struggling against these base urges. Trying—and failing—to be a good man. A solid man. Like his brother. He’d never be like his brother.

  He would hurt her. He’d hurt Emma like he had everyone else.

  He dropped his hands from her nightgown. No. This was wrong. Like every other decision he’d ever made in this damned cursed life, it was wrong.

  Chapter Eight

  Emma saw the rising turbulence in his blue eyes. She saw the fear and the shame.

  She still didn’t completely understand this beautiful, tortured man, but after this morning, she comprehended so much more.

  How could she convince him to stop fighting with himself? How could she force him to believe that his desires were not evil? That she wanted to explore all these things with him, the consequences be damned?

  She kissed him hard, remembering the cloak he’d given her. Remembering those little things he did for her all the time. “Lock the door, Emma,” he’d told her on the second night. Earlier that same day, he’d wanted her to stay inside the inn so she wouldn’t be seen with him. He’d punched Smallshaw because the man had maligned her honor.

  And today he’d helped a woman carry her heavy baskets across town. He’d held Emma’s hand when Macmillan had exposed her husband’s true nature.

  He. Is. Not. Evil.

  She wanted him desperately. She wanted to lie with him, then sleep naked in his arms. She wanted him to tie her to the bed and blindfold her, and do whatever else he wished to do to her. She wanted to throw off her nightgown, bare herself to him, and let him have his wicked way with her. In whatever way he wanted.

  She craved it. Every inch of her body craved it. Her heart and her soul craved it. Why wouldn’t he believe?

  He took a step back, pushing her arms away from him and pressing them to her sides.

  “No,” she said on a groan. “Don’t stop. Please.”

  He gazed at her, that turmoil running rampant in his expression.

  “You’re too good—” he began.

  She cut him off by dropping to her knees in front of him. “Please, Luke. Please take me to bed. I am begging you. I need you tonight. Part of me will die if I can’t have you. Please.”

  Slowly, terrified, her heart beating so rapidly she thought it might jump out of her chest, she raised her head. He was gazing down at her, his fists clenched at his sides.

  Something in his expression had changed. Softened.

  “Please,” she whispered. She looked up at him, pouring all her hope and desire and need into her gaze.

  Please, Luke. Don’t turn away from me. Don’t go downstairs. Don’t get yourself so drunk you stop fearing what you might do to me…

  “I want to be yours tonight,” she whispered. “Completely yours. I’ve never wanted anything more. Never.”

  He sank to his knees in front of her. His turbulent gaze had calmed into something sharp as a blade. He was determined, intent.

  Hot.

  “You’ll regret this.”

  “No.”

  “You’ll hate me eventually.”

  “Never,” she said. She meant it with all her heart.

  His hands were on her, dragging her to her feet. Her nightgown gaped open at her chest, and he lifted the hem, then pulled it up. She raised her hands, and he removed it with jerking motions, then tossed it aside. Then he said, “Stand still,” the tone of command in his voice unmistakable, and he stepped back to look at her.

  His gaze raked over her. Hot and hungry, it traveled up and down, leaving burning trails of heat and desire in its wake.

  “God,” he rasped. “You are so beautiful. So. Damn. Beautiful.”

  The way he looked at her made her feel beautiful. And desired, and so feminine.

  “Get on the bed,” he ordered.

  Instantly, she backed up until her bottom touched the bedclothes. Then she scooted onto it, sitting on its high edge.

  “Lie down,” he directed her, his blade-sharp gaze never leaving her body.

  She watched him as she obeyed, feeling the heat of his hunger as his gaze swept over her body once more.

  He came to the edge of the bed and stood there for a long moment, looking down at her in silence. She shuddered. She hadn’t expected this, lying here completely naked while he stood over her, staring. She felt so exposed.

  Then his hand rose to cup her cheek, forcing her to look at him. His gaze softened, and suddenly he wasn’t that predator she’d met on the first night, but the multifaceted Luke she’d grown to care so much for.

  “Do you know how lovely you are, Emma? That was my first thought when I saw you. That you were the loveliest thing I’d seen in a very, very long time.”

  His voice was raw. There was an honesty in it that she’d never heard from anyone else. His tone elicited some deep, almost painful emotion she’d never felt before.

  He reached toward her. “Come here. Move closer to the edge so I can touch you.”

  Staying on her back, she scooted toward the edge of the bed as he tucked his arms under her and helped her move toward him. His gaze traversed her body yet again, his expression possessive, his hand cupping the top of her knee protectively.

  She had done this to herself. She had opened herself to him, given herself over to his hot gaze…and whatever else he chose to give her. The most shocking part was that she wanted him to partake of her body. He gazed at her like she was a tempting morsel of food, and she wanted to provide him with the most delicious meal he’d ever tasted.

  His fingertips skimmed over her hip bone, and she shivered. No one had ever touched her there. Even though she’d been married, there were so many places she hadn’t been touched.

  “I want to feel every part of you,” he murmured. “Kiss every inch of you.”

  “Please,” was all she could manage over the enormous lump in her throat.

  She was begging. Over and over. Just like he’d promised her she would.

  He trailed his fingertips down over her hip and the front of her thigh, over her knee and shin and to her feet. He lifted her feet one by one, then kissed the tops of the one closest to the edge of the bed, running the flats of his hands up her calf and shin until he bent her leg at the knee. Then his lips ran over the side of her calf, soft, tickling. The dampness of his tongue swiped over her flesh. Finally, he raised his head and looked at her with hooded eyes.

  “Do you know how much I want you?”

  She gazed at him, wondering if he knew how much she wanted him. She shook her head.

  He chuckled. He kissed the side of her leg, up and over her thigh. His mouth was like velvet. The sensation so foreign but so exquisite she couldn’t contain the little moans that escaped from her throat with every press of his lips.

  He kissed her hip bone, then moved closer toward the triangle of hair at the apex of her thighs. She tensed in anticipation, and he looked up at her, his gaze hungry, his breath hot on her sensitized flesh.

  “Do you want it, Emma? Do you want me to kiss you there?”

  She shuddered all over. She’d learned long ago that it felt good to touch herself there. Sometimes, she’d rub her fingers through that slick flesh and imagine a man’s mouth touching her there, kissing her.

  She never, ever had believe
d that it might someday actually happen.

  “Emma?”

  Hardly able to breathe, she nodded.

  His lips curved into that wicked, sensual, self-possessed grin he’d given her that first night and so many times since. That smile that made her insides melt and heat radiate through her body.

  In one smooth, graceful motion, he was up on the bed beside her, moving over her. Distractedly, she realized he was still fully dressed. But she didn’t have time to give a second thought to that, because he moved down her body, pushing her legs apart with his hands and settling himself between them, looking down at her body with a wicked glint in his eyes.

  She was…overcome. A part of her felt shy. She’d been indoctrinated to avoid showing her ankles to men, and now he not only had access to a view of both her ankles, but also her calves, her knees, her thighs. Her sex.

  But another part of her felt victorious. That part gloried in the heat of his gaze and the hungry look in his eyes. Everything he did, every movement he made, was for her. He’d called her beautiful, and for the first time in her life, she believed it.

  He kissed her skin, starting with a spot on the inside of her thigh she’d never known was so sensitive. He moved up her leg, nipping the flesh, then soothing the burn with soft kisses.

  She lay back on the pillow, her eyes sinking shut. Sensation traveled from her thigh to her core, heating, coalescing into a tight, toe-curling ball of fire somewhere below her navel.

  He licked the inner part of the very top of her leg, and she let out a low moan. “Please, Luke.”

  “Please? What are you begging me for, Em?” His voice was slightly muffled against her skin.

  “I…don’t know.” She had no idea. She was on the verge of some kind of precipice, and she wanted to grip his hand and jump with him.

  “Kiss you?” He kissed the inside of her upper thigh. So very close to her sex, which was now pulsing with need.

  “Yes,” she gasped.

  “Lick you?” The flat of his tongue moved over her skin. So hot and warm, stoking the fire inside her.

  “Yes!”

  “Where, Em? Where do you want to be licked?”

  “I…don’t know…,” she choked out in frustration.

  His hand closed over the top of her leg, hot and dry, and her skin was so sensitive her body gave a little jerk.

  “I think you do know,” he said wickedly. He looked over her body at her, and he raised a brow. “How will I know how to please you if you don’t tell me?”

  He was playing with her. And she hadn’t been lying, really—she truly didn’t know exactly where she wanted his mouth. But she certainly knew the general location—that place that was wet and aching and pulsing, waiting for…for…something.

  For him, that place of power within her whispered. It’s waiting for him. Tell him.

  “Here,” she whispered. She moved her hand to cup the place between her legs, slipping her fingers slightly into the folds and trying not to squirm at the sensation of her own touch. She was wetter than she’d ever been before, and if she thought her inner knees and the skin of her thighs was sensitive, this place was burning with sensation.

  Of course she was sensitive. Of course she was wet. Lukas Hawkins, the most intriguing, most beautiful man she’d ever known, was making love to her.

  Luke sucked in a breath. His eyes were on her fingers, watching them intently. She pressed harder, sliding her fingers through the wetness. “Here, Luke,” her voice was huskier than usual, rasping with need.

  His tongue moved over his lower lip, leaving a glistening sheen, and then he lowered his head to press a chaste kiss to the top of her hand. Then he took her hand and moved it to her side, holding it firmly in one of his own. With his other hand, he pushed her thigh open wider. For a long moment, he gazed at her.

  “You have such a pretty pussy, Emma.”

  Oh, God. He was staring at her, not touching her. She’d never felt so raw and open. Like she was one single, exposed, shuddering nerve.

  “Have you ever looked at it?”

  She tried to wiggle her hips, close her legs, but his hands were firm on her, pinning her to the bed.

  “Have you? Have you ever used a mirror to look at your pussy?”

  If a combination of mortification and lust had ever killed anyone, she’d drop dead at this moment.

  “Tell me.” His voice was firm, brooking no argument.

  Was this what he meant when he’d talked about his tastes? To her knowledge, carnal relations had been simply about the physical congress between a man and a woman. She wasn’t aware that people actually spoke to one another in the throes of lust. Luke was turning this into an erotic conversation, and she had no idea how she felt about that.

  Vulnerable.

  The word popped into her mind. She’d never enjoyed that feeling of vulnerability that tended to creep up on a woman in this world. She’d always fought against it, tried to be strong, tried to take care of everything after her mother died.

  This kind of vulnerability…it was deeper and more intimate than anything she’d ever experienced. She was helpless, defenseless against him, against his touch, against his mouth, against his penetrating blue gaze.

  And she wanted more.

  She was tired of being in control. Of caring for her father, worrying about her sister. Running a household, paying debts. Thinking of how to save her family, how to locate Roger Morton and find a way to return her father’s money to him.

  Right here, right now, she had no responsibility, none of that crushing weight that had strangled her for the past year. Right here, right now, Lukas Hawkins was commanding her. She had surrendered control. Of the situation, of her body, even of her mind.

  And she loved it.

  “Emma?” His voice was ripe with warning. “Answer me. Have you ever looked at yourself here?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  He let out a breath. Of relief? She couldn’t tell. “It’s pink, such a deep pink, it’s almost red. Take a white rose petal and a red one. Combine them, and that is your color.”

  Slowly he released her hand, then touched her, moving his fingers through her slickness just as she had moments ago.

  She quivered under his touch, feeling the edge of his fingernail scrape gently over her. “You’re so wet,” he said gruffly. “So swollen. God, Emma, you’re so responsive.”

  His words, his touch. Her mind was swirling. The world was quickly fading away around her. There was only Luke and the way he was touching her, only the sensations tightening her body and shuddering through her.

  His fingers moved to circle an area so excruciatingly sensitive, her hips bucked. But using his free hand, he pinned her against the mattress. He circled the tiny area again, and she gasped. “Do you know what this is?”

  “N-no.” She gulped in great breaths. What he was doing was beginning to feel like some kind of teasing torture. Would it ever end?

  “This is your clitoris, Em. The center of your pleasure.”

  “Oh,” she said. Then she squirmed, willing him to do it again.

  He did. He touched her there, circled her there, brushed over her clitoris until the sensations were so strong and so powerful, she was overwhelmed by them. Her vision began to go black around the edges. No one…no one could withstand this kind of assault. It hurt and felt so good and so frustrating. She was still on that edge, and it seemed like she’d been standing there forever, the urge to jump only growing inside of her with his every touch, every swipe and stroke.

  And then he moved his fingers lower, circling her entrance before, ever so slowly, pushing a finger inside.

  Emma let out another strangled moan. She felt him everywhere. Inside her, around her. The thrust of his fingers pleasured her clitoris, too—and as he moved his finger in and out, sliding decadently over her inner walls, it stopped its tortured scream and began to hum. That hum resonated through her whole body, once again flaming that ball of desire deep within her core.
>
  He withdrew one finger, and when he pushed in again, there were two fingers. She could feel them moving, scissoring inside her. Her senses were so heightened, she could feel everything.

  “Now,” she heard him say, as if from very far away. She registered the tone of male satisfaction in his voice. “Now you’re ready.”

  Ready for what? she wondered.

  But as he continued to thrust his fingers inside her, his mouth went above them, covering her clitoris, his tongue swiping over that tiny area.

  The effect was electric. Emma jolted and cried out. Her hands scrabbled for something to hold on to, and then she found his head. Her fingers sank into his silky blond hair, holding him to her.

  She felt disembodied. Her body was making movements she could not control, thrusting against his mouth, against his fingers. God—he was so deep inside her. She felt so full.

  He licked her. Kissed her. Suckled her on that most intensely sensitive place.

  She heard herself begging, panting. She had no control. Her fingers tightened in his hair, but she couldn’t control those either. The fireball inside her was growing, burning. Her toes were curled over the edge of the precipice.

  He breathed against her, his breath so hot. He panted and growled against her. He was saying things she couldn’t completely understand—she could only hear single words: “damn,” “burn,” “yes.” She didn’t know if he was telling her to do something, but even if he was, there was no way she could comply. Every muscle in her body had gone stiff, every limb straight.

  His thrusts grew more powerful. Emma’s back arched. Her body welcomed him, wanting more, deeper, harder. He seemed to understand its demands, and his rigid fingers drove fiercely into her. His breath whispered over her clitoris. And then his lips circled it again, and he sucked. Hard.

  She didn’t step off the precipice—she leapt off it. Her body bucked violently on the bed, but she was hardly aware of it. There was only the sweet pulse of light inside her as the ball that had been coalescing inside her unraveled. She didn’t fall—she was soaring through the air, every part of her body undulating with the pleasure.

  Slowly, the pulses receded, turning into languid glides under her skin. His fingers had stilled as her body clenched rhythmically over them. His mouth had stilled, too, and now pressed gently against her.