Lust. Charlotte Featherstone
a very great indignity in animal lusts, my lord. And you, sir, are the worst sort of defiler.”
“Does my passion disgust you?” he asked as he captured an errant curl and ran his finger through it, “or is it your response to my lust that mortifies you?”
Her eyes widened, and her mouth parted on a silent word. The ugly creature inside him rose, gnashing its teeth, wanting retribution for her slight. His sin wanted to take her, to ravish her and show her shame, humiliation. And the Dark Fey … He wanted to lash out as well, his pride stinging at her hurtful, if not accurate, assessment of him.
He captured her, brought her up hard against him so that her bare breasts were pressed against his silk waistcoat. She gasped as a button rubbed against her nipple, pebbling it. “You feign innocence so well,” he whispered hotly in her ear. “You act as though you’re offended, disgraced, ruined, but still your body heats for a touch. Your scent perfumes the air, and I would wager that if I were to search beneath the layers of lace, and innocent white linen of your petticoats, I would find your tight little cunt wet for me.”
She slapped him hard across his cheek. “Never.”
He smiled and allowed her to walk away, if only for a moment so he could collect what was left of his honorable intentions. “Have you thrown the gauntlet down, Lady Chastity?” he called after her.
“I will never submit to you,” she sneered as she righted her dress. Reaching for her, he brought her up against him, whispering hotly in her ear.
“You will do more than submit, I assure you. When I next have you, you’ll beg.”
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