Winter’s Wallflower Page 5

  “No,” she said, eyes wider still. “Yes. Yes, of course they have.”

  “You are lying,” he charged without heat, for he did not mind. Somehow, the notion of being the first man to offer this incredible creature true pleasure filled his chest with pride and the rest of him with swelling, ridiculous need.

  But she was not just lying.

  She was also flustered.

  And she wanted him. Dom was an expert at reading faces, at understanding what was churning through the thoughts of his opponent. It was how he had risen to the top of the rookeries, and it was why he had never lost a single game at the green baize. The scent of her desire was musky on the air. Christ, yes. If his mouth had not been watering for a taste of her before, it most assuredly was now.

  He kissed a path up her left shin, to her knee, all the way to her garter, caressing her legs as he went. There was no denying the tension in her limbs, the stiffness in the way she held herself. Although he prided himself upon striking terror in the hearts of his enemies, the angel in his bed was the last person he wanted to fear him.

  Dom kissed her knee, running his hands over the soft, supple flesh of her inner thighs. Above her stockings, her skin felt like paradise. He exerted slight pressure, parting her legs, and she offered no resistance. Her thighs opened. Inflamed, Dom kissed higher, discovering a mole on her inner thigh in the shape of a heart.

  Fuck.

  This woman.

  He kissed the beauty mark, then nipped it with his teeth. She gasped. Her legs slid on the counterpane, and she was opened to him. At long last, he allowed himself to look at her fully, the dark thatch of curls on her mound, the slick pink of her slit, the swollen bud protruding from them beckoning to him.

  “Yes.”

  The lone word, hissed, could have come from him. Could have come from her. He would never be certain. All he knew was that he could not exist for another second without having his mouth on her there, where she was wet and wanton and so ready for him.

  That particular fact thrilled him most—he had scarcely touched her, kissed her, and she was glistening, the air perfumed with her desire. Dom’s mouth latched on her pearl. He sucked. The taste of her—musk and spice and a note that was purely hers—flooded his tongue. He groaned against her folds, suckling harder, wanting more.

  This time, there was no mistaking which one of them reacted. She moaned, her body bowing from the bed, thrusting into his face. He smiled against her, then ran his tongue down her seam to her entrance where she was wetter still. He sank his tongue inside her.

  There was that same word again, burning through him.

  Yes.

  Nothing had ever tasted better.

  Chapter Five

  Dominic Winter was…

  There was no word in her lexicon to describe what he was doing to her.

  But his tongue. And his lips. Good, sweet heavens.

  Bliss soared through Adele. Whatever it was that he was doing, she did not need words. All she knew was it felt better than anything she had ever experienced in her life.

  Likely, it was wrong, too.

  And wicked.

  Shameful.

  She would worry about all that later. So, too, the implications of what she was doing. Because in this moment, no other thoughts existed save him. He was everything she had ever imagined, ever wanted, ever longed for without knowing it, bringing her to life, making her burn.

  His tongue, warm and wet and knowing, slipped inside her. She gasped. Never had she imagined such pleasures were possible. It was… He was… That wicked mouth of his had returned to the other part of her that was most sensitive. The part she had only dared touch in the privacy and darkness of her chamber. But the things he was doing to her—her fingers could never compare.

  “Oh,” she moaned as his teeth nipped her there. Not hard enough to cause pain. But delightfully. Wickedly. Her hips pumped toward him. “Dom, please…”

  She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, trying to blot out any lingering pieces of her conscience. There was no room for guilt in this moment. She was doing this to protect her brother, she reminded herself. This was the cost. The price she had agreed to pay.

  Never mind that Dominic Winter’s mouth upon her flesh felt nothing like a cost or a price, but rather like a reward. She would fret about that later. For now, there was only sensation.

  Incredible, all-consuming, decadent sensation.

  Everything inside her tightened into a knot. His tongue flicked, and then he sucked again. She fell apart. Sparks shot across her eyelids and bliss washed over her entire body as she quaked beneath his sensual onslaught. It felt so good, too good. Better than anything she had ever accomplished on her own.

  Of course it did, she told herself sternly. Dominic Winter is the devil incarnate.

  He did not feel devilish at the moment, however. No, indeed. All he felt was…

  Heavenly.

  But he was not finished working his magic upon her, because he was kissing her again, moving up her body, raining fire everywhere he went. Over her belly, to her breasts. He stopped there, licking a tantalizing circle around her nipple before sucking it into his mouth. The part of her that was still pulsing experienced a new surge of yearning.

  Her fingers threaded through his thick, dark hair. Touching him was an exquisite freedom. Lying with him in his bed was a dream. He blew on her nipple, the stream of hot air making her arch her back, seeking more. More Dominic Winter.

  He made a low sound of appreciation in his throat, carnal and raw, almost a growl. Then he laved the peak of her other breast with the same sweet torture. He was still fully dressed, and the slide of his breeches against her most intimate, sensitive parts sent a bolt of desire shooting straight through Adele. It felt so good, she could not resist moving, grinding herself against the intrusion of his thick, muscled thigh.

  “Patience, angel,” he murmured, grinning roguishly up at her.

  The contrast between the pale curve of her breast and his dark good looks was not lost upon her. How strange it was that this man she scarcely knew, this wicked lord of the criminal underworld, could feel so right. The weight of his body pinning her to the bed, the tenderness of his touches, the pleasure he gave her…it was all at odds with everything she had expected.

  She wanted him.

  What was wrong with her? This was the man who had sent his minions to hurt her brother because of the debts he owed, was he not?

  “Stop thinking,” he said, his gaze seeming to reach inside her, searing her. “Stay here with me. Let me pleasure you, show you what you have been missing.”

  He dropped a series of hot kisses on her breast, all the way to her collarbone. There was more to show her? Impossible.

  But he proved just how possible it was as he dragged his lips and the coarseness of his whiskers along her throat. As his body insinuated itself fully between her thighs. The thick ridge of him was undeniable, pressing into her throbbing center. All the breath fled her as he took her lips in a kiss that was passionate and bold and claiming.

  She tasted herself on his lips when she opened for him. Their tongues moved together. His fingers slipped between them, and when his callused forefinger slid over the sensitized bud between her legs, she moaned into his kiss, hips jerking. It seemed impossible she could feel more. He tortured her with slow, steady caresses, swirling, bringing her to the edge before withdrawing.

  Then he kissed along her jaw, all the way to her ear, his lips nuzzling her as he spoke. “Not yet, angel. I want you to come when I am inside you next.”

  His words should have shocked her. No one had ever spoken so coarsely in her presence. And yet, they made her want him more.

  He nipped her earlobe. “You are so wet and ready for me.”

  He took her mouth again in a passionate kiss, and then the absence of his fingers was replaced by something else. The thick length of him brushed her folds, the slick sound of their bodies moving together making more desire pool betwee
n her thighs. He worked himself up and down, then over her pulsing bud again and again. The things he was doing to her…

  Sinful.

  Wrong.

  Wondrous.

  Nothing could have prepared her for this. For him. Dominic Winter was unlike any man she had ever known. Unlike any she would ever know again. Adele clutched his powerful body to hers, kissing him back with all the reckless abandon in her soul.

  Dom had to be inside her.

  Now.

  There was no time to rid himself of his breeches. Licking her had left him in a state of near madness. Saved him the trouble of fretting over his inking and scars. But he could not deny the desire to have her bare skin pressed to his.

  Later, he promised himself as he teased her pearl with his cockhead. He would have her again this night. And again. He would make love to her slowly, savoring the sensation. If he had his way, she would stay where she was and he would spend the foreseeable future bedding her as often as possible.

  But first, he had to be certain. It was not his way to bargain with a woman to get her beneath him. He did not think he misread her body’s signals—she was dripping and the breathy moans and undulations of her hips did not lie. Still, though he had been born a bastard and a criminal, he had a sense of honor when it came to his women.

  He broke the kiss, staring down at her. “You want me, angel?”

  Say yes.

  Please, God.

  She must have heard his silent prayer—or some other deity did—because her swollen lips parted. “Yes.”

  Thank Christ.

  He kissed her again as he dragged his cock along her slit, finding her entrance. No greater temptation existed than the promise of her cunny. His tongue slid past her lips as he slowly sank inside her. Tight heat bathed him.

  Heaven right here in the East End.

  She felt so good, wrapped around his aching cock, constricting on him with almost painful pleasure. He held himself still, then moved. There was a moment of resistance, almost as if her body was reluctant to accept his despite her readiness for him. He fed her more kisses and stroked her pearl until her hips were moving again, her body undulating beneath his, dragging him deeper inside her.

  Nothing could stop him from basking in the divine sensation of her stretched around him, her pliant, lush curves supple beneath his body. If an entire army of Suttons had come rushing into his private apartments just then, he would not have stopped making love to this woman.

  What power did she have over him?

  He would worry about that later, when he was not buried inside her sweet cunny. For now, all he could do was take them to the inevitable conclusion. He wanted her to spend on his cock.

  Everything in him throbbed with the urge for more. To move. And so he did, relinquishing her mouth to suck on her nipples as he thrust in and out of her hot cunny. She moaned, the low sound spurring him on.

  And on.

  He was so lost in her that when she reached her pinnacle, clenching on him and tremoring all around his cock in decadent quivers, he was unprepared. On a cry, he surged deeper, his own spend rushing from him before he could withdraw. White-hot pleasure ran through him as he emptied inside her, her tight walls milking him of everything he had.

  He sealed their lips in another slow, maddening kiss, and then he rolled to his side, still fully dressed save for his bare cock, which glistened with a combination of her dew and his mettle. He had just experienced the single most glorious moment of his existence. But he had made a stupid, careless mistake.

  Fucking hell.

  Dom knew better. He had spent his life in the shadows, the bastard son of a man who reviled him and his mother both. Never would he wish to foist the same curse upon any spawn of his own. Indeed, he had done his utmost thus far to make certain there was nary a possibility of it.

  What was his excuse?

  How had he lost his legendary control so desperately?

  She had felt so good. Too good. Tight and warm and wet. That had been part of the problem. But the other part was simply her. There was something about this woman. Something that burrowed deep inside him, dwelling within a place he had not known existed.

  A place that bloody well ought to have been turned to ash like all the rest of him.

  “Forgive me,” he told her. “I should have possessed more restraint.”

  Her hair was a dark halo about her lovely face. She looked flushed and sated, and the mere sight of her made him want to make love to her again. He was going to keep her here. There was no doubt. This woman was his, and when Dominic Winter saw something he wanted, he seized it.

  “You need not apologize,” she told him softly—demurely. “I…enjoyed it very much.”

  Floating hell, this divine creature who had somehow fallen into his gaming hell like a gift from above. What would he do with her?

  Everything.

  That was what he would do with her. And then he would do it again.

  But first, he needed to tend to her. He rose from the bed, straightening and fastening the fall of his breeches. Then he gathered cloth, bowl, and water. When he returned, she was where he had left her, sound asleep.

  A profound rush of tenderness hit him in the chest.

  Then, Dominic Winter did something he had never done before.

  He tucked a counterpane around his soundly sleeping lover, and he joined her on the bed, molding his body to hers. Within moments, he, too, was falling headlong into the welcoming abyss of slumber.

  PART II

  Chapter Six

  Oxfordshire

  Two months later

  The day was colder than a whore’s heart.

  Only a Bedlamite would have dared to travel from London on nigh impassable, snow-covered roads to the country in the midst of the most frigid winter in memory. But Dominic Winter was not mad. No, indeed.

  He was instead, he thought with a nasty smile as his carriage laboriously plodded over the icy country lanes, a man with an overzealous need. Because two months ago, he had been visited in London by an angel.

  And then, she had disappeared.

  Devil had warned Dom he was making a grievous error in accepting the bargain with Sundenbury’s lightskirt. But Dom was oldest, and he never listened when any of his miscellany of half siblings bothered to warn him from the path he had chosen. He was the leader of this family, by Hades, and he would lead it as he saw fit.

  This time, however, Devil had been right.

  Not that Devil was ever wrong. A man of few words, his brother used them to advantage when he actually deigned to employ them. Which was why Dom kept Devil close, as his right-hand man. He was far more reliable than Gavin, who cared more for his prizefighting than he did for the business end of their familial dealings. Far less deadly than Blade, whose skills were put to better uses—namely, dispatching enemies. More practical than Demon, who preferred to spend his time charming ladies and playing the game. And Genevieve? Well, their wily sister was too busy attempting to run her own rookery empire.

  What Devil could not have known, and what Dom himself had only finally, at long last, discovered, was that his angel was not at all what he had presumed her to be. Far from being the mistress of a fancy cove, she was the daughter of an even fancier one. A duke’s daughter, to be precise.

  “Lady Adele Saltisford,” he said aloud into the creak-interrupted silence of his carriage, trying her name on his tongue.

  Pity that by the time he had realized the woman who had become his unfortunate obsession—the one he had torn London apart attempting to find—was not the mistress to Lord Sundenbury at all. Rather, she was the hellraising lord’s sister.

  For the first fortnight after her disappearance, Dom had done everything in his power to wring the truth from the spoiled lordling he had sworn to protect. He may have been born in the rookery and raised in the seamy alleyways of the East End, and he may have cut his teeth picking pockets and running confidence schemes, but every leader in the rookeries had his
word and his honor.

  Without either of those, a man was nothing.

  And so, Dom had continued to protect Sundenbury, upholding his end of the bargain with the angel who had so enthralled him and then betrayed him by slipping out of his gaming hell when he had been asleep, never to return. But he had seen the recognition in his quarry’s face, at long last, when Dom had outright inquired after his angel, reminding Sundenbury of the heavy price she had paid to secure his safety. Though the lord had continued to claim he was not currently keeping a mistress, Dom had not missed the moment of dawning comprehension, followed by abject horror.

  Dom had witnessed such a look on a man’s face before. Usually, it occurred when he was squaring off against an enemy and feared certain death. He had forced himself to have patience. To wait out Sundenbury until he would once more find himself in Dom’s debt.

  Three-and-forty days had been the precise number.

  That had been how long it had been until Lord Sundenbury had sunk himself too deep at the green baize—little did he know Dom had aided him in his losses—and had confessed the truth. The angel of mercy who had visited Dom those fateful evenings had not been the despicable lordling’s mistress at all.

  No, indeed.

  The next order of business had been, naturally, to discover the whereabouts of the lady in question. Sadly, not London.

  Even worse, she was currently a guest at a country house party being hosted by none other than Mr. Deveraux Winter, Dom’s despised half sibling. The gods were laughing at him. Vengeful, evil, despicable bastards that they were.

  While Dom shared a father with Devereaux Winter, they most certainly shared nothing else save a name, and the name had only been down to Dom’s determination all his half siblings should be united. They had different mothers—all of them save Gavin and Genevieve.

  But where Devereaux Winter and his five sisters had been born to a life of privilege as the legitimate children of an incredibly wealthy merchant, Dom and his siblings had been the by-blows. The sources of prodigious shame. Easily ignored and forgotten. They had been the children abandoned to the terrifying streets, the ones who had been forced to scrabble and claw for everything they had. Dom had united them, and to say the bastard Winters loathed their counterparts was putting it mildly.