Author: Anne Stuart

A faint smile curved his usually cynical mouth. "If you only knew how delectable you look, trussed up like that. I don't suppose you'd...no, probably not."

Calm, she told herself. Slay calm, authoritative. He was nothing more than an obstreperous little boy, and if she just treated him as such he'd quickly lose interest.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd release me," she said in a remarkably even voice.

He laughed, leaning down to feather his lips against her eyelids, making them flutter closed. He was holding on to the robe, effectively imprisoning her, and it gave her a strange feeling inside, a wrenching kind of...of want inside her, which was impossible.

"Truly," she said, trying again. "I'm sure this game must have been great fun for you, but it's time to let me go. My cousin will be awaiting me, and I think I've had enough exposure to the more dissipated parts of life to last me—" Her words ended in a shriek as Rohan leaned forward and ripped the black silk chemise from neck to hem.

She struggled, and the gown fell open. She couldn't cover herself with her arms, she could do nothing but lie there, pinned by him, that strange feeling moving higher, into her stomach and chest, and lower, between her legs.

At some point he'd shrugged off the long vest, and he was now wearing only a loose white shirt and a pair of breeches. She knew enough about mating not to look down at the lower half of his body, and her struggles only made the torn silk gown slide off her body, leaving her completely exposed to his dark gaze.

She had never been naked in front of anyone until today, and now she lay here like some virgin sacrifice for Adrian Rohan to stare at, to judge, to mock.

"Did you know," he said in a casual voice, "that you have the most delicious skin? Your freckles look like little flecks of gold against the creamy white." He leaned forward and put his mouth at the base of her throat, and she could feel his tongue flicker across her skin.

Oh, bloody hell, she thought miserably, the strange feeling getting stronger, healing, clenching inside her. "That was Lina's gown," she said, trying for a matter-of-fact tone of voice and failing. "She won't be happy you ripped it."

"Your cousin sent you out amongst the wolves, unprotected. She's just lucky you fell into my hands and not someone else's."

“Considering that I am lying naked on a bed, my arms trapped, I hardly think that constitutes lucky," she said. There, that was better. She sounded cool and matter-of-fact.

He laughed, his eyes glittering in the candlelight. "I think I should demonstrate just how fortunate you are, my precious." And before she realized what he was doing, he'd moved down her body, forced her legs apart and put his mouth...there.

Charlotte jerked in panic at the touch of his mouth, but there was nothing she could do. He was holding her hips, his shoulders were between her spread legs and her arms were trapped by the half-discarded monk's robe. She felt the warmth of his breath, and then his tongue, his mouth, licking at her, lasting her, and a frisson of reaction danced across her skin, pushing away her initial embarrassment.

“You shouldn't..." she said weakly, looking down at his golden hair.

He glanced up at her, a glint in his eyes. "Don't you like it?"

She was quivering, wanting his longue again, wanting him to continue what he started. But it was wrong. Indecent. "No," she said weakly.

"Liar." He put his mouth back again, sliding his tongue against her most private places, and she let out a soft moan of pleasure. He was using his hands now, spreading apart the secret folds, and his tongue caught something that sent a bolt through her.

This was nothing she'd ever witnessed in a barnyard. This was new and mysterious and dangerously powerful, and when he slid one long finger inside her she arched off the bed. He withdrew it, and she let out a cry of distress, only to have him push two fingers inside her, stretching her, filling her, and she wanted more, she wanted him. She wanted what she knew was supposed to go there. Why was he playing with her, why didn't he do what men and women do? What was he—

A rush of feeling swept over her, sparks dancing across her skin, and she let out a small shriek. And then another, as a second wave hit her, and she pushed down against his fingers, needing more.

"Good," he murmured against her, the rhythmic thrust of his fingers a counterpoint to the dancing suck of his mouth. "Again, sweet Charlotte. One more time.”

She could no more deny him than keep her heart from beating. She felt his teeth, and this time she screamed, throwing her head to one side to try to stifle the sounds.

He was merciless. The moment one wave faded another followed to take its place, stronger and more powerful until she couldn't stand it any longer. She was begging him, pleading with him. "No more," she sobbed. "It's too much.”

It took her a moment to realize he'd lifted his head, and the crushing, overpowering sensations were slowly ebbing. His eyes were dreamy, half closed, and his mouth was wet, and he wiped it on the shirt he wore.

''You could take more," he said. "You quite astonish me—who would have thought such a little prude could be so disarmingly sensuous? So here's the question, my precious. Do we leave you a virgin? Or do we finish this properly?"

It took a moment for his words to penetrate. "I'm still a virgin?" she asked, her voice not much more than a whisper.

He laughed. "It always amazes me just how ignorant Englishwomen are. Yes, you are still a virgin, at least technically. We can leave you that way if you prefer.”

Her brain was slowly returning, and she managed to lift her head. "But.. .but there would be nothing... that is.. .why should you...?"

"If what you're struggling to ask is how would I achieve the same blissful state I just accorded you, let me assure you there are any number of ways you can take me that would leave your maidenhead intact." His smile was wicked. "Some variations I'm extremely fond of."

A stray shiver danced across her body, and she realized he still had his long fingers inside her, and his thumb was gently rubbing what he'd been licking earlier.

"It's called a clitoris, angel," he said out of the blue.

“What?"

“That part of you that’s so exquisitely sensitive to my mouth and my thumb. I gather you've lived too sheltered a life to discover it for yourself, which is a shame. Self-pleasure is a lovely way to spend a solitary afternoon if an agreeable partner is not available." For emphasis he flicked his thumb harder against her, and she jerked, fighting the hot, liquid rush.

She didn't want to make a sound, but she couldn't help it. The low, guttural moan betrayed her, half of pleasure, half of need.

"So tell me, sweet Charlotte," he murmured. "Where do you want me to put my cock?"

She struggled to come up with something suitable. "A mousetrap," she muttered. "A guillotine."

"Ouch," he said, not sounding particularly distressed. "I'm afraid your bloodthirsty suggestions don't have any effect on me."

"It probably—" flick went his thumb "—made you even more—" flick, flick"—excited." The last word dissolved into little more than a moan.

"I'm not that perverse, love. Tell me what you want." He'd moved partly up her body, his hand, his fingers, his thumb still riding her to distraction. "Or shall I make the decision for you? The kind thing, the honorable thing would be to take my pleasure and leave your virginity intact." He smiled at her with a peculiar sweetness. "But you and I both know that's not going to happen. I'm going to lake you, Miss Charlotte Spenser, any way I want to. I'm going to lose myself in your delicious body, and when it's over you can go on about your life and pretend it never happened. Or you can try. Say yes, Charlotte."

"And if I say no?"

He was wicked and unabashed. "I'll probably ignore you.”

“Yes, then," she said, an edge of wildness in her voice. She would have him, her golden fantasy lover, and nothing and no one would ever take it away from her. "Yes," she said again. "Yes, I want you."

His smile was small, almost smug. "Then let's get rid of that damned virginity, shall we?"

Before she could guess what he had in mind he put another of his long fingers inside her, thrusting hard, and she felt a sudden sharp pain, a tearing inside her, and she let out a muffled shriek.

Her eyes filled with involuntary tears, but before she could blink them away he'd moved up, over her, his narrow hips between her spread legs. He'd unfastened his breeches at some point, she hadn't noticed when, and she was glad of it. She didn't particularly want to see it, touch it. She just wanted him to make love to her. Let her lie there and feel something other than the stinging pain between her legs.

She waited, bracing herself for the final act, the thrust, the coup de grace. She could feel him now, smooth and hard against the opening of her sex, and she tensed, prepared for more pain.

He didn't move. He held himself above her, staring down at her, and all amusement had fled from his face. His blond hair fell forward, across his forehead, and there was a thoughtful look in his eyes.

"What are you waiting for?" she demanded finally, moving restlessly on the soft bed.

"I'm hoping one last burst of sanity will stop me.”

She held her breath. Part of her still wanted to escape, and if he released her she'd run to safety. Broken, weeping, but she'd run anyway. Self-preservation was bred deep into her bones, and she was on the edge of total disaster. Willingly.

And then a faint, self-deprecating smile flitted across his shadowed face. "But my cousin assures me that sanity is greatly overrated. Tell me no one more time and maybe I'll listen."

This is what she'd wanted. He would let her go, and even if he'd broken through her virginity she could still retain some semblance of innocence. After all, no one would ever be near that area of her body to find out otherwise, never again.