Her actions inflamed him. He left her breasts and rose to his knees. Imogen’s eyes widened when he grasped both her wrists in one hand and stretched her arms above her head. “Do you trust me?” he asked. She stared at him for several heart-stopping moments before nodding. Cededa relaxed his tense shoulders and smiled.

Were he not already on his knees, the sight of Imogen bare and vulnerable under him would have put him there. He'd known and loved many women of stunning beauty, but none compared to the supine grace of Death’s handmaiden. He held her wrists captive with one hand and used his free hand to play silent music over her soft flesh.

He started at the hollow of her throat, tracing the memory of the key scar that had once spread from her neck to shoulder, much as his did now. Her delicate collarbones shifted beneath skin as smooth as silk. Her breasts swelled to the curve of his palm, nipples—still damp from his mouth—hardening even more at the light flick of his fingers against their tips. Imogen moaned and squirmed in her captivity.

"Be still, Imogen."

"I can't help it." She clamped her thighs on his hips and squeezed.

"You can, my beauty," he crooned.

His hand drifted over her flat belly, tracing the curve of a rib, the bend of her waist, before settling between her legs to briefly cup her. "Release me, Imogen, and spread your legs."

She obeyed him instantly, her eyes glassy, her breathing shallow. Cededa groaned low in his throat as the musky scent of aroused woman filled his nostrils. How long had it been since such a perfume sent his senses reeling? His mouth watered in anticipation of tasting her.

Imogen gasped, her hips jerking when he traced the inside of her thigh before doing the same to the other. Her gasp became a moan when his fingers delicately spread her and began to rub, stroking swiftly until her hips thrust and pushed, and she alternately begged for him to stop and continue. She almost broke free of his grip when he slid one finger inside her, going deep and easily, aided by the slick wetness of her arousal. Her hips bucked against his hand.

Cededa watched her lovely face, the roll of her eyes as she surrendered to his touch, the parting of her lips as she breathed in short pants. His fingers were slippery as he stroked her, teasing, parting, penetrating.

Gods, but this would be the greatest test of his endurance. The desire to pull her legs over his shoulders and plunge his cock into Imogen’s welcoming body nearly overwhelmed him. He hadn’t lied when he told her he didn’t have a use for virgins. They required the patience he admitted he didn’t possess. Even if he did, the girl in his arms was doing a fine job of destroying it in a matter of moments.

Her soft whimpers and the rapid rise and fall of her hips warned him she neared her climax. He stopped, withdrawing his finger slowly, shuddering as her inner muscles tightened in protest.