Gabriel slanted his mouth over Imogen’s, invading her mouth with his tongue, taking acute pleasure in the give and take as their kiss deepened and she returned his every caress with an urgency that left him shaking.
There was simply something amazing about a woman who responded so fervently, who called forth an equally strong response in him.
Overwhelmed with lust, he’d do anything in his power to please her, to make her want him with the same bone deep intensity that he felt whenever he saw her. He didn’t want her to be able to avoid him, to put him off, to ever deny him as she had the night before. He didn’t want her to be able to even contemplate such resistance.
She was practically purring, twisting about, adjusting the way her hips fit into his lap. She ground herself lightly into him, making him moan and grip her hip tightly with one hand.
‘Enough, vixen,’ he growled, taking her earlobe between his teeth.
‘Really?’ she asked coquettishly, gasping when he reached up to tug her braid, pulling her head back and exposing her neck. He took his time exploring her ear, and then her jaw and eventually her neck; his lips, tongue and teeth slowly moving over her already flushed skin.
She gave a soft moan when he bit down ever so slightly on the tender muscle where her neck connected to her shoulder. Her hand fluttered along his back, as though she didn’t quite know where to put it. He blew softly on her wet skin, and returned to kissing her.
He could spend hours kissing her; if only the now painful throbbing of his cock would let up. She wasn’t helping either, naughty girl that she was. If she didn’t watch out she was going to end up pinned beneath him right here on the hard parlour floor; which would be a shame, considering there were no less than six, soft, empty beds only a short flight of stairs away.
With superhuman effort Gabriel broke off their kiss, and took a few deep, calming breaths. He met Imogen’s desire-glazed eyes and dropped his head to rest his forehead against hers, his eyes closed but his entire body painfully aware of hers. Her scent, her shallow breaths, her impatient hands.
‘Shall we adjourn upstairs, nymph?’
Imogen moved her head slightly away from his, rubbed her cheek against his, cat-like.
‘Nymph?’ she asked, brushing her lips across his, and rubbing her other cheek on his.
Gabriel choked. ‘Did I say that out loud, love?’ When she sat back slightly and nodded he gave her a chagrined smile. ‘My Garden Nymph. Just as I first saw you. Haste thee Nymph, and bring with thee, jest and youthful jollity; quips and cranks, and wanton wiles, nods and becks, and wreathed smiles.’
Imogen felt herself flush from her cheeks to her toes, the skin warming perceptibly even though it was already stinging from the fire’s heat. She slid out of Gabriel’s lap, rising as gracefully as her bulky night things would allow. She glanced down at him, and couldn’t help but laugh at the ludicrous expression on his face.
He thought she was offended. She smiled and held out her hand.
‘Are you coming?’
With a boyish grin he was up beside her. He screened the fire, and then in one quick motion she was swept off her feet, and gathered up against his chest.
‘Gabriel,’ she protested.
‘Yes, love?’
‘Put me down. I’m perfectly capable of walking up the stairs myself.’
‘No you’re not,’ he replied, carrying her out of the parlour and up the stairs with no visible effort. ‘You’re far too overwhelmed by my attentions to do any such thing.’
‘I am?’ She slanted a glance up at him.
‘You are,’ he assured her as they reached the top of the stairs.
‘Very well,’ Imogen said with a theatrical, languishing sigh.
Gabriel chuckled, and juggled her a bit as he opened the door to his cousin’s room. He kicked the door shut behind them. Imogen felt herself go airborne, and her eyes went wide as they met Gabriel’s just before she hit the bed, and she heard herself squeal in the most childish fashion.
She landed in a tangle of bed clothes and collapsed back on the bed, laughing. After a few moments when she realized Gabriel had made no move to join her, she pushed herself up and glanced about the room in confusion. She found him busy stirring the fire. He added another log, and put the screen back in place.
Turning back towards the bed his gaze met Imogen’s, and she saw heat flare in his eyes. He smiled deviously, his face half lit by the flames. A seductive devil. This was how Lucifer should be depicted. Not as a demon, with horns and cloven hooves. God’s chosen one. The most beautiful angel in creation.
‘Do you have a vinaigrette?’
She cocked her head, staring at him dumbly. ‘Yes. It’s in my pocket.’
He turned and rifled through her clothing, coming up with the single embroidered pocket she’d worn beneath her habit. He fished inside, his hand so large it barely fit though the slit.
‘Ah.’ He pulled the silver container out and held it up like a prize. ‘Perfect.’
‘Perfect? It’s a vinaigrette. Do you feel faint?’
He flipped open the lid and folded the grill back, exposing the vinegar soaked sponge inside. Understanding exploded inside her. She bit her lip and shifted back further onto the bed.
He truly was the most wicked man she’d ever met. Who else would think to turn something so innocuous, so feminine, to such devious use?
He tossed his cousin’s brocade dressing gown onto the floor. Pulled his nightshirt off over his head in one fluid motion that seemed all too practiced. No doubt it came to him as naturally as breathing.
He was meant to be naked. His lithe, athletic body begging to be captured in marble. Though there was something decidedly non-classical about the erection he was sporting. None of the statues she’d ever seen had been anywhere near that well-endowed.
Imogen smiled hugely as he
