His dark, husky voice beckoned to her. Her gaze fixed on his rigid, straining arousal, Heather moved slowly toward him, drawn by some invisible, irresistible force.

He flicked the hem of her chemise. “Take this off. I want you naked.”

Without a word, Heather drew the undergarment over her head and let it drop to the floor. His hot eyes traveled over her slowly, boldly appraising.

Slipping an arm around her waist then, Sloan pulled her down to sit sideways on his lap. She could feel his hard length against her buttocks; he was all warm, taut muscle against her softness. Yet he remained motionless.

She twisted on his lap, seeking to nestle her breasts, so naked and sensitive, in the crisp golden hairs of his chest. He skimmed his fingertips down her arms, delicately stroking.

“Sloan,” she murmured.

“Yes?”

“Don’t torture me.”

“Why not?”

His thumbs slid upward and brushed the underside of her breasts, sending sparks shooting through her.

“Please…”

“What do you want, darlin’?” He lightly pinched her flushed, sensitized nipples.

Heather gasped, arching her slender back, taut breasts thrusting out, wanting him, aching for him. Her soft flesh clamored for release. She was fully, painfully ready for him—and Sloan knew it. Yet he refused to do anything about it.

“You… I want you.”

“You can have me … eventually. When you’re hungry enough.”

His fingers slid upward, sinking deep into her tangled mane, but instead of kissing her, he merely nibbled at her lips, his tongue tracing the parted outline.

A streaking heat shuddered through her. She wanted to scream at his prolonged method of arousal. She needed him to put an end to the restless, hot longing.

“Sloan … I am hungry…”

“Not enough. Not nearly enough.”

Her breath caught in her throat when he reached down and trailed a hand along the inside of one leg. Eagerly, her bare, moon-bathed thighs fell open to accommodate his touch. Unhurriedly his fingers raked downward through the soft triangle of curls. She was wet silk between her legs, her body already anticipating the pleasure of his possession. His lean fingers glided easily over the flushed, feminine lips, seeking and caressing.

Heather bit back a moan when he found the tiny sensitive nub of female flesh, quivering with the throbbing urgency spiraling up from his expert touch.

“You see, duchess, I want you begging me.”

He rubbed her sex with a featherlight pressure, making her tremble. Her eyes closing, she let her head fall back, her mouth parted in small, panting breaths. Yet his raw-silk voice aroused her as much as his exquisite stroking.

“Are you hot for me?” His dark words only fueled her desire and left her weak with wanting. Her eyes were half-lidded against the heat coursing up through her body. She was soaking wet for him, aching for him. Almost desperate, she squirmed in his lap, seeking to get closer to the heat and promise of that swollen, rigid shaft.