Page 70 of Notorious

Her face heated at his gentle teasing. “You are so tired. Are you sure—”

He stroked her hair, shaking his head. “I’m not too tired for this. I am never too tired for this.” His hand slid lower, over her jaw, resting at the pulse point on her throat. “I want to be inside your body.”

She stared.

His hand caressed her side, his thumb lightly grazing her breast, making her shudder. He leaned forward, pushing aside the blankets and exposing her, his lips finding one of her painfully hard nipples. He rolled her onto her back while he knelt over her, straddling her on his hands and knees, his mouth never stopping its teasing, licking, kissing.

One hand lowered over her belly and circled softly, the way she had often rubbed one of the many kitchen cats over the years. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, trying to bite back the sounds spilling out of her as he stroked and petted; no wonder cats made that purring sound.

And then his fingers slid lower.

He lightly grazed the swell of her midriff, not stopping until he reached her mound. Drusilla’s hips quivered, making her realize she’d lifted them off the bed and was thrusting toward him. He parted her curls with a finger, and her body shook as he stroked between her lips.

He continued his caressing, applying a bit more pressure with each pass, her hips straining more and more.

He groaned, the sound one of near pain. “So hot and wet.”

His words caused the ache that was growing between her thighs to throb.

His finger circled her entrance, lightly probing, but not breaching her. She spread her thighs as she pushed toward him, willing him to touch her . . . there.

But he chuckled and teased.

“Please. ”

He paused, making her realize she’d spoken her thought aloud.

“What was that, Drusilla? I did not hear you.”

She could see by his wicked, wicked smile that he was lying.

She didn’t care.

“Please,” she begged, frustration and want overwhelming shame.

“Please what?”

But she couldn’t form the words.

His finger slid to the apex of her thighs, lightly brushing a spot so sensitive her hips bucked. “This?”

A guttural cry slipped from between her lips when he stopped.

She screwed her eyes shut. “Please, Gabriel.” The words were almost a sob.

“Shhhh, ya helo. I want to make you suffer, but you beg me so prettily.” He chuckled evilly. “I’ll give you what you need.” His fingers began to move in languid but rhythmic circles.

Drusilla almost wept with gratitude, her hips pulsing and pushing against his hand so hard the blankets began to slide back. She didn’t care. Her body was shaking and quivering as it had when she’d once been in the grip of a violent fever.

“Look at me, Drusilla.” He stared down at her, his jaw tight. His finger stroked gently against her entrance and he gave a grunt of what sounded like frustration. “You are tight.” He pushed harder, and her entire body clenched against the slight invasion. His pupils flared until his eyes went black. “So very tight.” This time he pushed and did not stop. Her hips tilted to accept him, and he slid into her until his knuckles rested against her swollen flesh, his thumb stroking between her lips, touching her there.

He began to move in and out, his thumb occasionally, maddeningly flicking her core. His smile grew fierce and demanding as he pumped her deeper, harder, the sounds of her wetness unnaturally loud in the quiet of the room.

Drusilla shook her head from side to side; it was too much, too much.

“Too much,” she breathed out.

He leaned low and tongued one of her aching nipples. “Should I stop?”