Beatrice pov
"Aren't here." I bit his earlobe gently. "It's just us."
He groaned. "You're going to be the death of me."
"But what a way to go." I started unbuttoning his shirt.
He caught my hands. "We should stop."
"Should we?" I looked at him through my lashes. "Or should we do exactly what we both want?"
He stared at me for a long moment. War between responsibility and desire played across his face but desire won.
He kissed me hard, lifted and carried me to the couch.
His weight settled over me, solid and warm, his hips fitting perfectly between my thighs as if they'd been carved to match. The hard ridge of him pressed insistently through his trousers, the fabric rough against the thin silk of my gown. I felt every inch of him as he ground down slowly, deliberately, and a whimp
