But he would not let her speak. He whispered in a cruel, hard voice instead, “A man so crude he takes you against a door? A man so crude he makes you scream when you come? A man so crude he doesn’t have the grace to melt away when he’s no longer wanted?”

George shuddered at the awful words and scrambled to frame a reply. But it was too late. Harry claimed her mouth and sucked on her bottom lip. He pulled her to him roughly and ground his hips against hers. There it was again, that wild, desperate desire. He bunched her skirts in one hand, pulling them up. George heard a tear but couldn’t bring herself to care.

He reached underneath and found her mound with ruthless accuracy. “This is what you get with a common lover.” He speared two fingers into her sheath.

She gasped at the sudden intrusion, feeling him stretch her as he stroked with his fingers. She shouldn’t feel anything, shouldn’t respond when he—

His thumb pushed down on her most sensitive spot. “No finesse, no pretty words. Just hard cock and hot cunny.” His tongue trailed across her cheek. “And your cunny is hot, my lady,” he whispered into her ear. “It’s fairly dripping on my hand.”

She moaned then. It was impossible for her not to respond to him, even when he touched her in anger. He covered her mouth with his own, swallowing her wail, ravishing her at will. Until she broke all at once and waves of pleasure rushed over her so fast she felt dizzy. George shook in the after-tremors, clinging to Harry as he bent her backward over his arm and fed on her mouth. His fingers left her to stroke over her hip soothingly.

His mouth gentled.

Then Harry broke away to hiss in her ear, “I told you, decide what you want before coming to me. I’m not a goddamned lapdog you can pick up and pet and then send away again. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

George stumbled, both from his words and from the fact that he’d let her go. She clutched at the back of a chair. “Harry, I—”

But he’d already left the room.

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Harry woke with the taste of stale ale in his mouth. He waited a moment before opening his eyes. Although it had been a very long time, he never quite forgot the painful torture of sunlight and a hangover. When he finally cracked open his dry eyes, he saw the room was too bright for early morning. He’d overslept. Groaning, he lurched up and sat for a moment on the edge of his bed, head in hands, feeling uncommonly old.