The reaction had been instinctive. Hard flesh flexed beneath her gloves and her lips parted as she looked down. Those eyes watched her again, but the look was no longer dangerous. Stark primal need crossed his expression, desire burning in the black heat of his eyes.
It lit within her, her body reacting as if he’d put flame to oil. Rosalind lifted her iron hand tentatively, stroking her other hand over his bare chest. The buttons on his shirt were torn, gaping over hard flanks and the rippled muscle of his abdomen. Instantly she was transported back to that night in the bathing room, not so long ago. The feel of his teeth on the back of her neck and his hands cupping her breasts and sliding lower, into the vee of her thighs. His hips thrusting against her, warm lips tracing the curve of her shoulder…
A little shiver ran over her skin, her nipples hardening behind the thin lawn of her chemise. Fear died a short death in her breast.
He didn’t want to hurt her. He never had. To claim her as his own yes, to sink his teeth into the smooth skin of throat and drink her blood. Whether he could have stopped himself, she didn’t know, but he had no intentions of hurting her.
Just of claiming her.
Pain she could deal with—the idea of belonging to him, to anyone, so completely, sent a nervous thrill through her. Not entirely unpleasant, almost the same play of nerves that she enjoyed in dangerous situations— and yet so much more terrifying. Her feelings for Nate had been the warm joy of friendship and shared respect, a love that didn’t challenge her yet left her feeling safe and protected. Whatever this was—whatever she felt for Lynch—was a maelstrom in comparison, and she wasn’t sure if she could hold herself together through it.
She didn’t know what to do, but she did know that she had to try and help him through this. The idea of losing him to the bloodlust almost choked her.
“My lord,” Rosalind murmured, kneeling on the bed and leaning over him. “I know you’re in there.”
Her whispered breath traced his ear. Lynch turned his head with a snarl, breathing hard as he drew her scent into his lungs.
Her heart thundered in her veins. Slowly, Rosalind brushed her silky glove over his lips, leaning closer. Lynch stilled beneath her like some enormous jungle cat, violence bunching in each muscle. But she wasn’t frightened anymore. He was bound and chained and she had the upper hand.
The thought was almost titillating.
Leaning down, she traced her gloved finger over his lip, dipping wetly into his mouth. Then lower, down the cleft in his chin and then the smooth hollow of his throat. The muscles beneath her hardened like marble, but he held still, a fine tremor in his arms. Reined in by her touch, the look in his eyes darkly curious. As if warning her that he was by no means tamed, he turned his face into her hand, his teeth sinking into the fleshy pad of her palm.
A gasp wet Rosalind’s lips, the sensation seeming to tug all the way through her, right to the heart of her sex, until she throbbed with liquid fire. The pleasure of his bite was almost painful, almost a little too harsh. She rocked onto her knees, biting her lip, her fingers curling helplessly around the side of his face.
“Please,” she moaned. Begged.
His teeth released her skin and feeling flooded into the flesh, making her eyes clench shut and a shudder run through her.
A knock on the door tore her head up, a hot flush of heat burning through her cheeks. Had Garrett heard her? Tension rode through the hard body on the bed and she stroked his face, turning it toward her.
“I’ll be back,” she whispered, leaning down to brush her lips against his cheek. The rasp of his stubble roughened her sensitive mouth. “Then we will finish this.”
Dark lashes hooded his eyes. He liked that.
Rosalind hurried to the door. Jerking it open just wide enough for her body, she saw Garrett’s gaze lift over her shoulder. Some protective urge almost made her straighten, as if to block Lynch from his sight.
“Thank you,” she murmured, accepting the bundle in his arms. A pair of sheets, with a bowl of water balanced on top and a butter-yellow bar of soap to the side.
“Is he—”
“Go,” she told him, pushing the door shut with the toe of her slipper. “He’s not going to hurt me.”
The door shut in his face.
“Mrs. Marberry,” Garrett called through the door.
Rosalind glanced over her shoulder as Lynch stirred, staring malevolently at the door. “You’re making him worse. Leave us alone. I’ll send for you when I need to.”
“There’s blud-wein in the liquor cabinet in the corner.” Then Garrett’s footsteps echoed on the other side of the door as he walked away, the sound vanishing as he shut the other door between them.
Steeling herself, Rosalind turned around, her arms aching from the strain of the sheets and the water basin. She put them down, then swiftly tore the shirt from his arms. There was no point in retaining it; it was quite ruined.
“Come closer,” Lynch commanded, his voice a harsh whisper as his gaze locked on her throat.
“No,” she replied, dragging the sheet out from under him. Her expression softened when she saw the helpless fury cross his face. “Please. Let me take care of you.” Her lashes lowered. “Perhaps you’ll even enjoy it, sir?”
Stillness. He watched her though; she could feel it prickling over her scalp.
Once she’d stripped and remade the bed, she tucked towels around his body and then placed the basin on the chest of drawers by the bed. As she washed him, he seemed to calm, his eyelids drifting half-closed. She knelt over him with the washcloth, dragging the sheet lower.
Lynch’s black eyes locked on hers and his hips gave a suggestive thrust as he sucked in a sharp breath.
“Not until you come back to me,” she whispered.
Those eyes narrowed dangerously. “I never left.”
His dark side tempted her. Rosalind slid the soapy washcloth beneath the sheet, her hand cupping the surge of his erection. Lynch froze, his back rigid.
“You know what I want,” she whispered, fisting his cock. Heat speared through her abdomen…and lower.
“You know what I want.”
“To claim me,” she murmured, unable to tear her gaze from his. Twisting her wrist, she drew another snarled gasp from him. Her nipples hardened and Rosalind swallowed. “Perhaps I’ll claim you?” she suggested, the thought burning through her with wicked intensity.
Tossing aside the washcloth, she dried him with the towel, taking her time and paying taunting attention to his straining erection. She’d thought the expression in his eyes couldn’t get any darker, but he was almost writhing now, fury and need choking him. The manacles rattled as he yanked against them.
“Let me go.”
“Let him go,” she countered, grabbing a handful of her skirts and straddling him.
Those merciless eyes locked on her. “I am him.”
“You are all the darkness in him,” she corrected, leaning low and pressing a kiss to his chest. The combination of fear and power made her feel frightfully dizzy.
“What do you think he is?” the demon inside him whispered.
Rosalind reached out and traced her tongue over his nipple. Lynch jerked. “He is good,” she whispered. “And loyal and honest and brave.” She took her time, her teeth sinking into the delicate flesh of his nipple.
“And the rest? The darkness,” he demanded with a snarl. “You belong to me too. Don’t ever forget that.”
His hips thrust beneath her, hot flesh driving against her thigh. Rosalind gasped, her own hips flexing. Somehow the end of his cock rasped against her, riding the wet silk that clung to her quim.
“Take me,” he whispered. “Give yourself to me. Need you… Want you…”
She couldn’t think. Rosalind groaned, then shook her head. “No. Not until you let him surface.”
“Not…stopping him…”
The tip of his cock breeched the slit of her drawers. Rosalind sank her nails into his rippled abdomen. She could feel him now, silky slick against her wetness. Those wicked black eyes met hers and then the broad head of his cock dipped inside her.
