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into those fiery amber-brown eyes and realized his life had changed irrevocably. He was her slave. He dropped to his knees and gripped her cheeks with his rough palms. “Decent?” His laugh was almost maniacal. “It was the most indecent thing imaginable. You are filthy.”
    Her eyes clouded, suddenly uncertain, and she looked to be waiting for his verdict. Which was even more laughable, since—in his mind—she was already judge, jury, and executioner over his eternally shackled soul.
    When he kissed her, he tasted the particular essence that was Anna, and then a hint of himself on her lips, and then the sweet blend of the two of them together. He wanted all of her, everywhere—with her tongue sliding against his, like now; with her fingers delving inside him, like before. He wanted her to be coursing through his blood.
    It took a few beats before he realized she wasn’t kissing him back. He forced himself to pull away, breathless.
    “What is it, my sweet, wonderful Anna? Have I frightened you with my ardor?” He stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Because that seems impossible. You are fearless, are you not?”
    “I am not fearless.” She tried to look away, but he held her gaze.
    “Well, then, whatever you are when you are swept away like you were just now, whatever that was, it is glorious and splendid and every spectacular word I can think of, and I am in awe.”
    She blushed, but he could tell it was pride at her burgeoning control over him, rather than embarrassment. She was pleased. With herself. With him. The idea slid through him like hot oil through his veins: he would do anything to please her.
    “Now lean back, if you will, and let me taste you—” He tried to position her on the velvet sofa as he lowered himself to his knees and attempted to lift her skirts.
    She resisted immediately. “Oh. That won’t be necessary!” She wriggled away from him, her hands patting her disheveled hair and her back straightening as if she were a governess in the schoolroom. Back to your studies, children.
    Sebastian laughed and then rested his palms on either side of her on the sofa. “Aren’t you lovely when you’re high-handed. Please, may I?”
    “I didn’t think most men enjoyed that sort of thing,” she hedged.
    Sebastian burst out laughing again. “Do you mistake me for most men ?”
    She smiled and put her palm to his cheek. “You are quite endearing, but really, you don’t have to do that.”
    He turned and kissed her palm, letting his eyes drift shut as his lips made contact. When he opened his eyes and spoke, his voice was low. “I know I don’t have to, darling. I want to. I’m desperate to please you.”
    She looked at him for a few moments, a mix of anxiety and calculation flashing across her face. He didn’t care if she was cunning, as long as she let him devour her the way she had devoured him.
    “What are you thinking?” he whispered. Her hand remained on his cheek. He stayed on his knees and tried to keep his hands still while he awaited her approval.
    “I really shouldn’t,” she whispered in reply, but he saw her waver. “I mean, I don’t think it appeals to me.”
    He had been reaching one hand slowly under her dress while she spoke. Now he looked at her with his best mischievous smile, and when his fingers touched the hot, wet mess between her legs, he said, “I think it appeals to you very much, my dear.” He began to move his fingers slowly up and down her seam. Her head tilted back, and she draped her forearm over her eyes. “Very much.”
    She moaned, and her hips bucked to meet his hand.
    “Please may I taste you?” he whispered even softer, in time with his stroking fingers.
    “Oh dear God, forgive me. Yes.”
    He moved quickly, lest she change her mind. He spread her legs wide and had her splayed out on the velvet sofa in seconds as he pushed aside the layers of her gown.
    “How lovely . . .” he said on a contented exhale as he kissed his way up