Agatha gasped for air, a sharp, unexpected chill racing down her spine as Christian's hands moved with dangerous intent. Her body tensed, every nerve alive and screaming, and before his hands could slip any further beneath the thin fabric of her nightdress, she grabbed them — fingers trembling, her pulse hammering against her skin.
"Stop," her mind begged, though her body betrayed her by leaning in, craving a touch she wasn't supposed to want.
Christian froze, his hands caught in hers. For a brief moment, their eyes locked — his dark and stormy, hers wide and desperate. He could feel the rapid thrum of her pulse through her fingertips, see the unspoken conflict tearing through her.
But then, instead of pulling away, he leaned in, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of her ear. His breath was hot, ragged. And then he bit, a sharp, teasing nip at her earlobe that made her whole body shudder. It stung, but instead of recoiling, she found herself craving more.
God, it was madness.
