She nodded, catching her lip in her teeth on a tiny whimper, the color raging across her cheeks a mixture of passion and embarrassment as his white teeth flashed and his fingers resumed their unbearable stroking.

“Here?” The word was a breath of sound, brushing against the sensitive skin of her thighs as he inserted a finger deep within her, and set his thumb to the tight place that set her aflame. “Do you touch yourself here?”

She gasped her reply. “Yes!”

A second finger joined the first, rubbing against the very heart of her, sending bolts of pleasure through her body—which was no longer her own to control. It was his. As she had always known it would be.

“What do you think about when you touch yourself here?” The words were spoken against her skin as he kissed across her torso toward the place where his hands were robbing her of thought. She bit her lip—she couldn’t tell him—couldn’t answer.

He placed a soft kiss on her rounded belly, looking up at her. “Empress…” His tone was cajoling, making her want nothing more than to tell him anything—everything.

His fingers delved deep, thrusting and stroking against her, his thumb circling the little button of fire that made her blood rush. She arched toward him, eager for more as his fingers retreated. Opening her legs wider, she whimpered at the loss of him, only to gasp when he blew on the soft hair that covered her mound, sending all coherent thought from her head.

“Lovely…” His tone was lazy; if it weren’t for his harsh breathing, she would have thought he was unmoved by the situation.

His thumbs separated the folds guarding the heart of her and, for a moment, she struggled, embarrassed by his actions, mortified by his interest as he dragged his gaze up her body to meet hers—his piercing blue eyes held a promise that she did not fully understand, but for which she was desperate.

“Callie…” His breath hit the heart of her, hot and intense.

“I—” Words escaped her as he blew firmly on her—a cool stream of air teasing the exact place where her pleasure seemed to pool. She gasped. He was killing her.

“Who do you think of?”

She couldn’t bear it.

“You.”

The word ended on a cry as his mouth rewarded her for her honesty. The sensation of his mouth on her turned Callie inside out. Her hands plunged into his hair as his tongue stroked, laving the soft, moist skin of her inner lips, tasting her wet heat with tiny circular movements that threatened to rob her of breath and sanity. She sighed at the pleasure he wrought, lifting against him, boldly asking for more even as she felt a wave of embarrassment course through her.

When his tongue found the swollen, aching nub at the center of her and circled it firmly, sending a wave of pleasure through her, Callie cried out his name and grasped his shoulders, in a twin attempt to push him away and lift toward him. In response, he grasped her hips firmly, holding her still as his lips closed tightly around the secret place, and he sucked, bringing her to the brink of pleasure with his lush, knowing mouth.

“No…” Callie panted, shaking her head against the powerful feelings coursing through her, “Gabriel…stop…”

He ignored her, licking more firmly, sucking more deeply, moving one hand to thrust a knowing finger deep inside her to coax forth more of her sweet rain. And then, as though he knew precisely what her body needed, he began to move faster, his fingers and tongue in perfect unison, chasing away all rational thought, bringing with them a wave of passion and unfathomable pleasure. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear any more, the wave crested, and Callie shattered, unable to do anything but give herself up to the sensation, pulsing against him, crying out his name as the world tumbled down around her.

His mouth softened against her, his fingers stilling as she regained awareness of the day, of the room. He lifted his head, watching her intently as she opened her eyes and met his gaze, filled with passion and satisfaction and something else she couldn’t identify. Stretching toward her, he took her mouth with a dark intensity that she did not recognize; the kiss felt more brand than caress.

Pulling away, he spoke, his voice harsh. “You do want me.”

The words pierced through the haze of emotion that had consumed her, and she stiffened immediately. With vivid clarity, she recognized the meaning in his words. It was not passion that had driven him to make love to her in his study in broad daylight, but rather a need to prove himself and his prowess. This was nothing more than a competition; she was nothing more than a prize to be won.

He didn’t want her…of course he didn’t. She was plain and missish.

The thought sent a vicious chill through her, and Callie sprang into motion, pushing at him with all her might, knocking him off-balance, suddenly desperate to get away from his mouth and hands and heat. She stood, haphazardly setting her skirts to rights as she stumbled past him and hurried toward the door of the room, putting distance between them.

“Callie—” he said, standing and following her. She turned at her name and, surprised to see him so near, she held one hand out as though she could stop him from coming closer. As though she could prevent him from becoming too deeply entrenched in her heart. As though it weren’t too late for that.

Hair mussed, cravat untangled, waistcoat unbuttoned, Ralston appeared every inch the portrait of debauchery. In that moment, there was no question that Gabriel St. John, the Marquess of Ralston, was a rake of the highest caliber. He’d likely had this very interlude with countless other women—likely to prove the same point. Callie shook her head, disappointed in herself. She so obviously meant nothing to him. How could she not have seen that?

Because you didn’t want to see it. You’re Selene. Doomed to love a mortal in eternal sleep. She closed her eyes at the thought, willing the tears not to come. At least, not until she was out of the room. Out of his house.

He raised an arrogant brow, his harsh breathing echoing around them. “Do you deny it?”

Hurt flared, and she could no longer hide it. When she spoke, her voice was small. “I don’t deny it. It’s always been you.”

She watched him react to the words, watched him register the truth in them. And then she said, “I just wish it were anyone else.” And with that, she turned and—pride be damned—she fled.

He watched her go, unmoving. When he heard the main door to the house close, signaling her exit, he swore roundly, the vicious sound echoing around the room.

Much later, Ralston sat at his piano, willing the instrument to perform the task it had done throughout his life—to help him to forget. He played with rigor—with a strength that brought unbridled sound from the instrument. The notes came fast and furious, his fingers flying across the keys as he closed his eyes and waited for the music to drive Callie from his mind. It’s always been you.

The music enveloped him, dark and venomous, stinging his senses as he lingered at the keys in the lower register, pouring his emotion into his playing. The sound, aching and lyric, punished him, reminding again and again of Callie’s expression, so wounded, so pained, just before she had escaped the house. Before she had escaped him.

I just wish it were anyone else.

He swore, and the sound was swallowed up by the piano. Her cool response to him—so very deserved—had nevertheless left him consumed with a desire to possess her. To brand her his own.