Her eyes had drifted closed with his latest motions, but they snapped open. “You … have … a strange obsession,” she said, struggling to speak.

“Ah,” he said, doing a thing with his thumb that made her arch her back and wriggle. “But when will I have you pliant and under—”

“Do not say … under … your thumb.”

“… and obliging again? It seems like the perfect time to indulge said obsession.”

Alva didn’t respond immediately, because two of his fingers had slipped inside her and she needed all her wits to manage the tsunami of pleasure that had flooded her.

“We can start with the easy questions,” he said generously. “How many of these enchanting garments do you possess?”

“Four,” she said, because she had no sense left with which to lie.

“Mm-hmm,” he said, and rewarded her appropriately. “And where did you purchase said items?”

“In Paris,” she said. “Before … before I left.”

“And tell me,” he said. “How do you feel when you’re wearing them?”

She didn’t want to answer. She wanted to lie there and feel the wonderful things he was doing to her; she didn’t want to think—

His fingers stopped.

She glared at him. He was … yes, he was absolutely smirking at her. “I feel entirely sensible,” she said. “Silk is a very practical fabric—”

A small flicker of movement made her gasp.

“Try again,” he said.

“Oh—” Faint, teasing stabs of pleasure tormented her. She wanted more. She needed more. “I suppose I like the way it feels against my skin.”

“Better,” he said, and began, very slowly, to move again. It wasn’t enough. It was almost worse, as if there was some itch that desperately needed to be scratched and he was just barely missing it. “But I think there’s a little more.”

The bastard was doing it on purpose.

“How do they make you feel, Alva?”

Even her name on his tongue was arousing. He was drawing circles around her, light, painfully slow. She wanted to cry.

“How do they make you feel?”

“Wanton,” she blurted. “A little debauched. Sensual.”

“Good girl,” he said, his voice soothing as he stopped touching her entirely. She almost cried out at the injustice, but he just smiled and moved down her body, settling himself between her legs.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

One second she was opening her mouth to protest the removal of his fingers, and the next, with one touch of his tongue, she was being melted into pure sensation.

He lapped at her slowly, almost lazily, his eyes fluttering closed, his hands tight on her hips. Alva whispered his name, or at least hoped she whispered it, knowing as his tongue caressed her she was losing her connection to everything in the world except one small point between her legs.

She didn’t care. The world was going to have to wait.