Saints preserve her, but it was difficult approaching him as he lay spread out like a banquet upon her worktabl.

He watched, his gaze somnolent yet attentive, like a lazing cat waiting to pounc.

And a pulse began to beat low in her neck. A throw covered his h*ps and lower limbs. It did not help, for the delineated stretch and dip of his torso muscles were on full display. He’d placed an arm under his head, and his biceps bunched, drawing her attention from there to the little tuft of bronze hair upon his underarm. It was too much intimacy. Transfixed, Holly walked closer. When Holly had been a girl of fifteen, her parents had taken her on a trip throughout the continent. They’d visited the Salon in Paris, and there, had seen Auguste Rodin’s scandalous The Age of Bronz.

Holly remembered gaping up at the nude study in darkly gleaming bronz.

The metal had sung to her, a low, beautiful hum. But the sinewy grace of the male form was what had held her in thrall. She tried to think of that now as she looked down at Thorne, whose body, while similarly graceful, was chiseled with greater definition. She tried to view him as little more than another beautiful sculptur.

And failed. He was so very beautiful. So finely mad.

Wicked, forbidden, wild. William Thorne was all of the things she’d turned away from her entire lif.

Order, rules, and discipline made up her world, gave her a sense of place and self. Now everything felt off, as though her center of gravity had pulled away from the earth and affixed itself to him, compelling her inexorably closer. She stared down at his chest, where the ever-present metal expanded outward. His abdomen, arms, and neck were all covered with it. “You are managing your pain better now,” she said, if only to break the oppressive silenc.

He simply looked back at her. When he finally spoke, the words came out flippant. “When there is the promise of relief in the form of your touch? How can I not?” To keep her wits, Holly pursed her lips, looking reproachful, because he expected that. He could not, would not, know how he affected her. She refused to let it show. Nor did she want to touch him. Not now, when she feared she’d give herself away, flush with desire, or perhaps linger too long in one plac.

It took all of her will to lay her hands upon him. Her palms spread over the cold metal patch that covered his left shoulder. Inside, she began to shake, a slow build of heat growing within. Bugger all, but this would be impossibl.

Barely daring to breathe, Holly eased her touch along his shoulder, concentrating on her power. Just a sculptur.

Think of him as a sculptur.

Cool, hard, smooth, hot. The texture of his skin was unlike anything she’d ever felt. The metal made it smooth and cool and hard. Where not altered by metal, his skin was like hot satin, only silkier and tight with strength. His flesh twitched beneath her palms as she mapped his chest. Every breath he took sounded loud and clear in her ears. And all the while, he watched her. A quiver rippled along the backs of her thighs, up over her bottom, and crawled along her spin.

Damn it, she was better than this. She was not a creature of base desires, but of logic and restraint. Her breath moved in and out, a slow, steady rhythm as she stroked him. Neither of them spok.

The crackle of the fire in the grate, along with the occasional creak of the house settling, surrounded them. Beneath heavy lids, Thorne tracked her every mov.

And her touch grew unsteady. A momentary weakness he jumped upon. “Does it feel good to you?” he drawled, low and easy. “Touching me?” Instantly, the space between her legs clenched tight. Holly kept her touch impersonal. She could not live with the ignominy of revealing her wants to Thorne, who would treat her weakness as a bloody good jok.

“It is a task. Just like any other.” A bald-faced lie if ever she told on.

His nostrils flared, the platinum in his eyes shining bright. “Then why do I smell your cunny growing wet with need?” Holly stopped, her palm flat against his pectoral muscle, as more slick heat flooded her sex. Oh, this was beyond the pal.

What on earth had gotten into the blasted demon? “Being crude is not going to get a rise out of me, Mr. Thorne.” A small, cruel smile curled his lips. “Not going to deny it, are you, Miss Evernight?” “Blather.” She took up stroking an area tangled with platinum webbing with more force than necessary. “That is all you’re about. Ridiculous blather. And I will not engage in such nonsense.” Holly concentrated on pulling the metal from him. Not on his scent, clean and pleasing in the space between them. Or the way his skin grew increasingly warmer. When he spoke again, it was soft, teasing. “Do you know that when I said ‘cunny’ your sweet scent grew stronger?” Again she stopped. His dense muscles tightened beneath her nails. “Mr. Thorne—” “Do you wonder,” he whispered, holding her gaze with his, “if my c**k is affected?” A dark brow lifted, his fangs glinting. “If it is more metal than flesh? Hard for you?” She would not look down at the appendage in question. It was difficult enough to pretend each time that she wasn’t aware of that part of him, or that she hadn’t seen it grow and lengthen beneath the covers. Oh, she knew precisely how long and thick he was, and precisely how aroused. Each and every tim.

His gaze upon her burned. “Do you want to see my cock, Miss Evernight? Feel it move inside of you?” Gods, he made her feel empty, made her want to be filled up. Her hands turned to fists. “Stop it. Now, Mr. Thorne.” He rose up on his elbows, his white hair sliding over his broad and dusky shoulders, his defined abdomen tightening. “Or. What?” Holly sat back on the stool by the table, placing her hands upon her lap so that he wouldn’t see them trembling. “Why are you doing this?” “Why not?” She could not look away from the black and platinum starburst of his gaze, so very brilliant. So very angry and taunting. Her nails dug into her palms. “Find your amusement elsewhere.” His lean h*ps canted just a bit, an utterly crude gesture that held her in thrall. “I’d rather find it with you.” “I’m helping you, aren’t I?” She hated how the words came out in a near-desperate pitch. But he had to stop. Agitation had her breath coming on hard and fast, pressing her now-heavy br**sts against her too-tight bodic.

“Helping me,” he scoffed. “Do not skew this into some act of kindness. You do so that I won’t kill you.” “Is it kindness that you want?” She laughed without humor. “A funny way you go about getting it.” She leaned forward in her anger. “Why are you saying these things? Truly? Why are you acting like such a… disgusting arse?” He shot upright, his chest bumping into hers before she backed away a pace as if seared. “Because you never react during these torture sessions,” he ground out. “Because I want that rise out of you. I want you to…” He bared his teeth, those evil-looking fangs growing longer. “I want to know if you feel—” His teeth ground together, his eyes wild and silver-black. “Feel?” she prompted as if her heart wasn’t beating madly. “Anything!” he roared. “Jesus.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You touch me every day. You rub your hands all over m.

And nothing! Not a flicker of emotion. As if I didn’t exist.” The expanse of his chest heaved with exertion, the sinewy muscles along his abdomen clenching. “And all the while I’m lying here aching, f**king dying to… You’re driving me to insanity,” he finished with a wild shout. “And it means exactly nothing to you—” She grabbed hold of the back of his neck and kissed him. Just as she’d wanted to, her lips claiming his parted ones, shutting off the stream of words that flowed from him. His lips were soft and warm, and touching them set off a rush of lust that coursed along her limbs. He froze, going so tense that his neck felt like ic.

For all of one second. And then he attacked. His hands plunged into her hair and gripped the sides of her head as he fell back, hauling her with him, devouring her with quick, biting kisses, punctuated by helpless groans. Breathless and dizzy, she answered every kiss, opening her mouth when his mouth demanded it. They both shivered when their tongues slid together. “Hell,” he moaned, licking along her bottom lip. “Hell, I knew you’d taste so bloody good.” He angled his head, plunging his tongue in deep as his hands held her captiv.

The gesture wicked and decadent. Grunting, he spun them, pressing her into the table with the strength of his body. His thigh nudged between hers, and her skirts slid up. Instantly, his hand was there, long fingers trailing along her skin. “I’m not stopping,” he growled into her mouth. “So don’t ask me to.” Holly tore her lips from his and grabbed a handful of silken hair. She held him fast and hard. “You’ll stop if I say so.” Thorne paused, his lips brushing hers as he breathed heavily through his mouth. Hot, black eyes bore into hers. “Are you asking me to stop?” He was so still and careful that she knew he would, despite his claim. A fire raged through her veins. And the need to suckle his curved lower lip had her voice turning rough. “No.” His nostrils flared. “Then why are we discussing this?” “I wasn’t the one who brought up the subject—” He kissed her so deep and long that she whimpered. And he ground the length of his hard c**k where she ached. Desperately, Holly reached between them and wrapped her fingers around him. No, not metal here, but hard as, with skin softer than silk. And hot. So very hot in her hand. His unhinged groan vibrated through her fram.

“Harder,” he rasped, thrusting his c**k through her fist. “Make it hurt.” She squeezed tight, tugging as her thumb swept over the smooth, slick tip. He panted into her mouth, his entire body shaking. “Yes, like that. Bloody hell.” He seemed to swell within her grip, go impossibly harder. Holly flickered her tongue against his as she writhed beneath him, impatient, needing him to bruise her too. With a curse, he canted his h*ps enough to wrench her skirts up high, bunching them in a mess about her waist. And then the rounded, hot crown of his c**k was at her opening. Not pushing in, but slip-sliding over her wetness. A teas.

He stared down at her, his lips parted, his brows drawn tight as though he were in pain. Oh, but the look in his eyes, so filled with need and dark heat that her heart flipped inside her chest. She was empty. So very empty. “Will… please…” With his thighs, he spread hers wid.

“I’m going to f**k you now,” he said against her lips, and she whimpered again. Gods, but she wanted it. More than she’d ever wanted anything. She hated him for making her want him. But it only fueled her lust. Mad. She’d finally gone mad. Her hand ran down the hard curve of his arse and gripped it tight. “Then shut up and do it.” He thrust. Hard and deep. On a cry, Holly arched up, and he caught her in his arms, not giving her a moment to settle before he took her with rough strokes. With each slap of his h*ps against hers, the table groaned and rocked as he f**ked her. There was no polite term for the way he went about it, driving in and out of her as if he couldn’t go far enough. She grabbed the ends of his hair and kissed him, desperate for more of his taste, for the feel of his tongue sliding over hers. With one hand, he cupped the back of her head, holding her tenderly. But the other hand gripped the strings of her corset at her back. The grip turned brutal, pulling the corset tight, cutting off her air. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Her world spun in a hot blur of color and feeling. His thick c**k invading and retreating, the tender well of her sex, her br**sts aching to break free of their confinement. He pounded harder, gripped her tight, watching her through heavily lidded eyes, as though he knew exactly what he was doing to her, how his hold would affect her. She became a mindless creature, straining and scrambling to get closer to him, her source of pleasure and of torment. Blackness crept over her vision. And then with a jerk and the slice of his claw along her corset strings, she was fre.

Her breath drew in on a great gasp, and the orgasm swept her up with such force that she wailed, her body convulsing against his. Thorne’s shout, the sharp buck of his h*ps into hers, was a distant thing as Holly came down from where he’d taken her. Spent, he sagged against her, his hold fragile and his skin covered with a sheen of sweat. The weight of him was far too pleasing. Holly lay limp and panting. Every inch of her thrummed with a sort of boneless, well-satisfied yet aching contentment. But her mind whirled. Intercourse with Thorne was nothing like what she’d experienced befor.

He’d taken her with coarse, unfettered need. Now she feared she’d give up everything, lose herself body and soul, just to have mor.

More of him. A loss of control was unacceptabl.

The tighter she held onto her emotions, the safer she would b.

But the scientist in her needed to understand. How had he done it? Why was the experience better with him? Better. It was transcendent. “What…” She licked her dry lips. “What did you do to me?” For a moment, he said nothing. Only the gentle touch of his fingers stroking the side of her neck gave any indication that he was awak.

Then he spoke, his voice rough and cracking. “Just the question I was going to ask you, Miss Evernight.” There was pleasure and then there was Pleasur.

The latter was to experience the moment with every sense firing and working at top performanc.

Thoughts fled, joy and sensation roared to the forefront. Will had thought himself an expert in both. Taking Holly Evernight hard and fast on a table top had proven him a dilettante on true Pleasur.

She’d decimated him, reducing him to a quivering pile of limbs and aching cock. Was it wrong of him, then, to want to linger over her? To seek a repeat performance? He’d had the barest of tastes. And he wanted mor.

Thus it was to his extreme disappointment when she all but shoved him off of her and pleaded the need for privacy. Had he retained an ounce of his wits, he might have questioned her. Instead, he watched her flee to her rooms with the determined strides of one trying desperately not to run, but wanting just as desperately to give in to the compulsion. Flattering. Truly. More so when she went to bed, locking her door against him without so much as a good night. He’d paced his room, wondering whether it would appear too needy should he charge into hers and stake his claim. Eventually, he’d given up the ghost and went to his own, cold bed. How, he wondered, as he waited for her the next morning, would she receive him? She solved the quandary by reappearing, all buttoned up in a high-necked gown of deep silver. It called to mind a suit of armor, especially given the way she stood at attention, her little chin up and her shoulders squared. He couldn’t help himself; he smiled. Broadly. “Well, hello again.” A soft, pink blush spread up from her collar. He wanted to nibble his way down her neck to the sweet tips of her br**sts. He hadn’t even seen her br**sts. Why hadn’t he completely ripped off her bodice and feasted on them when he’d had the chance? He took a step towards her, and she stiffened as though fearing his touch. Her reaction was so strong that he stopped short. Before he could say a word, she turned and proceeded to walk away with brisk strides that had her skirts snapping. “I am going to work in the other laboratory today,” she said, as Will followed. “All right.” His response came out more a question. Which was apropos, as he didn’t quite understand what work had to do with what had happened between them. Was she embarrassed? Shy? Worried how he’d act towards her now? She needn’t b.