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her-self back down on the bed, arms stiff at her si-des, sta-ring at the
ce-iling, and wa-ited.
She'd ho-ped to call his bluff. It was use-less. She felt his fin-gers at
the but-tons that tra-ve-led down the front of El-len's over-si-zed day dress,
felt the co-ol-ness of the night air as he un-did the fas-te-nings one by
one.
"You don't ne-ed to do this," she sa-id thro-ugh clen-c-hed te-eth. "All
that's ne-ces-sary is to lift my skirts."
The soft so-und of la-ug-h-ter didn't warm her. "Had so-me ex-pe-ri-en-ce,
ha-ve you? I don't want just what's bet-we-en yo-ur legs, ma mie. I want yo-ur
en-ti-re body." He pul-led her to a sit-ting po-si-ti-on, pus-hing the dress
off her sho-ul-ders.
"My body is at yo-ur dis-po-sal, mon-si-e-ur," she sa-id po-li-tely, not
aiding him as he un-d-res-sed her. The che-mi-se was ma-de of fi-ne lawn. It
re-ac-hed her kne-es, and she fo-und her-self ho-ping he'd ha-ve the de-cency
to le-ave her that much. He didn't. He rol-led down the whi-te silk stoc-kings
and tos-sed them away, then strip-ped the che-mi-se from her body, un-til she
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lay the-re na-ked, for-cing her-self not to mo-ve as he wat-c-hed her out of
tho-se dan-ge-ro-us, ho-oded eyes.
"You're very small, my pet," he mur-mu-red, not to-uc-hing her, his eyes
drif-ting down over her small, ro-un-ded bre-asts, her flat sto-mach. "One
might al-most think you we-re still fif-te-en. I can re-mem-ber it as if it
we-re yes-ter-day& "
He co-uldn't ha-ve pic-ked words mo-re su-ited to en-ra-ge her. "Bas-tard!"
she his-sed, lun-ging for so-me co-ve-ring. "I'll ne-ver be fif-te-en aga-in.
I ha-te you, I ha-te you& "
He ha-uled her back, co-ve-ring her body with his, pres-sing her down in-to
the soft mat-tress, and whe-re his shirt was open she co-uld fe-el his hot
flesh aga-inst her skin, and she shi-ve-red in the sha-dows. "You'll ne-ver be
fif-te-en aga-in," he ag-re-ed, sta-ring at her, his eyes glit-te-ring.
The we-ight of him, res-ting aga-inst her, was do-ing stran-ge and
ter-rif-ying things to her in-si-des. She co-uld fe-el his aro-usal pres-sed
aga-inst her, and the re-ality of it was sud-denly mo-re than she co-uld
stand.
"For the lo-ve of God, Nic-ho-las," she whis-pe-red. "Don't do this to me.
For pity's sa-ke, le-ave me alo-ne."
For a mo-ment he didn't mo-ve, and she al-lo-wed her-self a bri-ef fla-re of
ho-pe that one last ti-me she'd fo-und the words to def-lect him. That ho-pe
va-nis-hed as he slowly sho-ok his he-ad. "Wha-te-ver ga-ve you the no-ti-on
that I had any pity in me? Any lo-ve of God, any de-cency? I'm a wic-ked man,
Ghis-la-ine. And I'm abo-ut to pro-ve to you how truly wic-ked I am."
He drop-ped his he-ad down, blot-ting out the fit-ful light, and put his
mo-uth aga-inst hers. She buc-ked aga-inst him in one last at-tempt to throw
him off, but he ig-no-red her, his mo-uth open aga-inst hers, kis-sing her
de-eply, his ton-gue in-va-ding her mo-uth, his hands hol-ding her he-ad still
even as her fists fla-iled aga-inst him.
It was a lo-sing bat-tle, and she knew it. Not be-ca-use he was too strong,
not be-ca-use he co-uld over-po-wer her. If she kept fig-h-ting him it might
still be eno-ugh to stop him. Des-pi-te his as-ser-ti-on that he was truly
wic-ked, she didn't re-al-ly be-li-eve he wo-uld ra-pe her.
It was a lo-sing bat-tle simply be-ca-use she knew she co-uldn't fight him.
His mo-uth was too swe-et on hers, cal-ling forth a res-pon-se that had
sta-yed bu-ri-ed de-ep in-si-de. The mo-re she strug-gled, the fre-er her
emo-ti-ons we-re. The mo-re she fo-ught aga-inst his kiss, the mo-re she
wan-ted it.
So-me-how her arms had be-co-me en-t-wi-ned aro-und his neck. So-me-how
she'd slan-ted her mo-uth be-ne-ath his, ac-cep-ting his kiss, her body
sof-te-ning aga-inst his hard one, re-ady to ac-cept that too. His hands slid
down and cup-ped her small bre-asts, and she he-ard her in-s-tin-c-ti-ve mo-an
of ple-asu-re from a dis-tan-ce. He-ard it with mo-un-ting hor-ror.
" She for-ced her-self to drop her arms to the bed be-si-de her body. For-ced
her-self to slow her bre-at-hing, to lie still be-ne-ath him. He lif-ted his
he-ad to sta-re down at her, his eyes glit-te-ring with an-ger and
frus-t-ra-ti-on, and she met his ga-ze with stony im-pas-si-vity.
"Is this yo-ur fi-nal de-fen-se?" he as-ked, his vo-ice ro-ug-he-ned in the
dar-k-ness. "You're go-ing to lie the-re and ig-no-re me whi-le I ha-ve my [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]