“I love the way you fill me, so large, so thick, so heavy.”

His rough laughter only added to the spiraling sensations building within her, propelling her toward the pinnacle of release. When she reached it and screamed his name in a manner that rather sounded like a benediction, she imagined all the ladies in the paintings looking on blushed or perhaps turned red with envy. He undid her in ways she’d never imagined a person could be undone.

And she knew in her heart that no one else would ever touch her as he did, no one would ever follow him into her heart.

“You’ve spoiled me.”

Although he’d spoken the words low, almost muffled by his mouth being pressed to the nape of her neck, they still disturbed the silence that had settled in around them after they’d had another rousing coming together—this time in his bed.

He hadn’t planned to take her in the attic like a savage unable to control his urges, but then she’d looked at him with wonder and something he couldn’t quite identify. It was the way Gillie looked at Thornley, Aslyn at Mick, Lavinia at Finn. He might have labeled it love, but it was not what she wanted of him, not what he wanted of her. Love would be bad for business, curtail his ability to flirt with the ladies, to make each one feel special.

He’d already begun getting a few icy glares, a few speculative looks. While the ladies came here to lavish themselves in vices, they also enjoyed his attentions, teasing though they were. He couldn’t risk upsetting those who were putting coins in his coffers.

“In what way?” she asked lethargically, as though his taking of her—rough, fast, and hard—had left her too spent to even form words.