“I don’t want to go inside.”
He closed his eyes at the words, his grasp tightening around her for a heartbeat before he nodded and said, softly, “I understand. Let’s get you home, my lady.”
Felicity’s heart skipped a beat as he moved to set her down. “No,” she whispered. “You don’t understand. I don’t want to go inside . . .” She ran her fingers over his tightly shorn hair, loving the way it feathered over her skin. “Because I want to stay here.” Her fingers toyed at his ear, and she loved the way he dipped his head toward her touch, as though he couldn’t resist her. Lord knew she could not resist him. “In your world,” she whispered. “In the darkness. Beneath the stars.”
He remained still for another moment, the muscle in his cheek the only evidence that he’d heard her. And then he climbed down from the peak, not releasing her until they reached the flat roof below. He set her down and stepped back, shucking his coat and swirling it away, spreading it wide at his feet.
Once that was done, he extended a long, strong arm to her, palm up. An irresistible invitation.
She moved instantly, coming down the tiled roof into his waiting arms, and the next time he lifted her, it was to lie her down on the soft wool of his coat, which enveloped her with his warmth and his scent before he lowered himself down atop her, set his lips to hers, and began to slowly strip her of her sanity. And her clothes.
“That first night, on the balcony at the Marwick ball . . .” He stripped her of her pelisse. “It was too dark to see the color of your gown . . .” He pressed a kiss to the soft skin at her jaw. “And I imagined you were cloaked in moonlight.”
Her hands were stroking over his head. “You make me feel like that’s possible.”
“Anything is possible,” he promised, stealing her lips again.
Between long, languid kisses, he untied the ribbons at the front of her bodice, separating fabric to reveal her corset, her breasts rising above it. He released her lips, his tongue tracing the cords of her neck to nip at her shoulder. She gasped her surprise and pleasure to the stars.
“You like that?” he said softly to her skin.
“Yes,” she said, her fingers curling at the back of his head, holding him there.
And then he’d worked magic at her corset, and her breasts spilled into the night, the cool air rushing across her imprisoned skin. Another gasp, this one drawing a little laugh against her shoulder as he moved, stroking and circling the straining tips before he lifted his head, his searing gaze finding hers for an instant before flickering lower. His lips softened as he took her in, and she arched toward him, asking for more of his attention. More of his touch.
More of him.
He gave it, lowering his head, circling one peaked nipple before his lips closed around it and he sucked gently, working the hardened tip until she cried out, her fingers flexing against the perfection of his head, holding him there, as though she might never let him go.
She might not have let him go, not if he hadn’t growled through his long, rhythmic sucks. Not if he hadn’t slid his hand higher beneath her skirts. Not if she hadn’t lifted her hips to meet his touch, rocking against him. Not if the movement hadn’t shaken him from his task, caused him to release her from his kiss, panting wildly. “Christ, Felicity. You taste like sin.” His hips rocked against her, and an ache pooled in her core—an ache made worse and better by his nearness.
“Devon.” She sighed. “I need . . .”
“I know, love.” He lifted his weight from her and made quick work of her dress and his waistcoat before returning to her, his hands sliding over her bare skin. “Are you cold?”
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. The idea of being cold with him—“No,” she said. “I’m burning.”
His lips found hers again. “God knows that’s true.”
She caught his hand in hers, sliding her fingers over his, pulling away when she found the cool metal there. Running a thumb gently over each of the cool silver bands, she said, “Where did these come from?”
He followed her gaze down, surprise on his face, as though he hadn’t thought about the rings in years. He smiled. “There was a man in the Garden, used to make them. No one had the money for gold—but silver, a man could buy that. All the fighters wore these rings . . . a show of their might. Of their success in the ring.” He pointed to the one on his thumb. “That one is from the first time I broke a nose.” To the second on his ring finger. “That one is from the first time I knocked a bloke out.” And he pointed to the third, on his forefinger. “That one is from the last bout I ever fought because I had to.”
He flexed his hand once, twice, curling his fingers into a heavy fist. “I don’t even think about them any longer.”
She lifted her hand to her lips, pressing a kiss on each of the silver rings. “Proof of your mettle.”
He growled, pulling her to him for a proper kiss then, and she took the opportunity to trace her own hands over his shirt, tugging it from the waistband of his trousers, itching for him. She slid her hands beneath the hem, finding his warm, smooth skin, desperate to be closer to him. Immediately. “Devil.”
“I know,” he repeated. And he did. He knew her body better than she could dream. He knew the places that ached for his touch, the skin that wanted his kiss. His fingers plucked at the hard tip of one breast as he licked at her neck, once, twice, sending thick arcs of pleasure through her.
She cried into the night, frustrated and eager and desperate for him.
He stilled at the noise, and she opened her eyes. He watched her, something magnificent in his beautiful amber gaze. “The roof was an excellent choice.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why?”
He leaned down and sucked the tip of her breast into his mouth, hot and warm and wonderful. And when she was crying her pleasure, he released her, pressing his forehead to hers as he replied, “Because when you scream your pleasure to the night, you can be as loud as you like.”
She flushed at the words. “I shan’t scream.”
He lowered his hips to hers, notching his hard length against the softest part of her. “Perhaps not. Perhaps you’ll laugh.”
The flush turned to flame. “I didn’t mean to laugh . . .”
Devil shook his head. “Don’t you dare apologize for that, love. I will die with the sound of that laughter in my ears. The pure pleasure of it. It was glorious.” He kissed her again. “All I want to do is summon it again.”
She closed her eyes at that, embarrassment and desire warring in her.
Desire won out. “I want you to summon it again.” She lifted her hips again, enjoying the hissing curse that came from him at the movement. If it was possible, the hard length of him grew harder. Longer. “But you are wearing legions more clothes than I would like.”
He growled his pleasure at that, rolling off her and coming to his feet to remove his shirt, following it with boots and trousers. The movements lacked any artifice, as though he was immensely comfortable with his body—and how could he not be? He was perfection. She could spend hours watching him.
When he stood once more, nude, and turned to return to her, she held out a hand. “Wait.”
He stilled, his gaze hungry and hot. “What is it?”
She sat up, pulling his coat around her. “I want to look.”