Carcel looked down at her. His eyes were dark, burning with a mix of amusement and a hunger that mirrored her own. He didn't move forward. He didn't give her what she had begged for. Instead, he leaned back slightly, just an inch, creating a maddening gap between their bodies.
"Are you asking me to enter you," he asked, his voice a low, teasing rumble that vibrated against her chest, "when I haven't even touched you enough yet?"
Ines stared at him. She was panting, her chest heaving against the cool air of the study. The question confused her. Touched her enough? He had been touching her for what felt like hours. Every inch of her skin felt alive, electric, and aching for him.
Her mind, usually so sharp, stuttered. A flicker of worry sparked in her chest.
Maybe, she thought, panic rising, maybe he is tired of how eager I seem?
She bit her swollen lip. Is it too much? Am I being too forward? A lady isn't supposed to beg. A lady is supposed to wait.
