He should leave. Let her deal with whatever this panic was on her own. It would be the honorable thing to do. It bothered him that he suddenly cared about honor. It bothered him so much that he was willing to do whatever it took to stuff the urge to be noble back into the box.
So instead of prying her off him, he picked her up and carried her back down the hallway to his room. He set her on her feet as soon as they were inside and shut the door.
“Get in the bed.” His voice was dark and unrecognizable even to himself.
She got in. Angel leaned against the door and watched her face as the lightning illuminated the room.
“Turn the lamp on.”
She turned it on. He desperately wanted to train her. The last shreds of decency had fled him as he'd carried her lithe body back to his room, this time set on his course for better or worse.
“I'm not going to be played,” he said.
“I-I'm not...”
He held up a hand, and she wisely shut her mouth.
“I want to fuck the breath from you. I want to make you come so hard and so long that you forget your own name. You have... an extreme effect on me. So you cannot come into my room half-naked in the middle of the night under somescared of the darkpretext, and expect that I'll be a gentleman. Take off the top. I want to know you're committed before I get in that bed.”
He expected her to resist or change her mind again, but instead she took the flimsy nude camisole off, exposing her breasts to his hungry gaze.
“Good girl. Now lie back and spread your legs for me.”
Once again, he was surprised when she did so. Maybe she'd made a decision after all. He couldn't begin to guess at the insane mental ramblings of a woman willing to hop into bed with her husband's killer before the body was cold, but he couldn't say he was upset by the turn of events. Angel probably would have fucked her senseless already if he hadn't had the inconvenient burst of conscience where she was concerned.
He crossed to his closet and took out a green and navy striped tie. She flinched when he approached her.
“What are you going to do with that?”
“Removing the temptation to bat my hand away when I start touching you. Scoot down and raise your arms over your head.”
He marveled at the fact that she did what he asked. Though, really, what other choices did she have? He'd already made it clear she wasn't sleeping in his bed without a littlequid pro quo. Angel looped the tie through one of the iron headboard slats and tied her wrists together, then he got into the bed with her and turned out the light.
The rain continued to furiously pelt down, this time joined with hail. The room was pitch black except for the occasional strike of lightening which lit the sordid scene he'd created briefly before casting it back into the privacy of darkness.
Her nipples pebbled into hard points as he ran his fingertips over them. Angel stroked her breasts and her stomach as her breathing deepened, and he felt her begin to surrender. He ran his fingers lightly back and forth over her thighs until goosebumps rose over her skin in anticipation of more of his touch.
The women he paid weren't like this. They were hardened professionals. Nothing shocked them. Nothing made them timid or vulnerable. While it was certainly true that they were to some degree vulnerable and ultimately at his mercy once they came to his estate, they never seemed to comprehend that danger.
So many of these women were so jaded they showed an almost careless lack of regard for their own well being.
But Astrid comprehended the danger she was in. It was clear from each ragged breath he drew from her, each tremor. She knew her life rested in the hands of a stranger she'd caught killing her husband only a few hours before. Not exactly a meet cute story.
Obviously a woman like Astrid wasn't a blushing virgin, not with a husband like Joey Callazaro. And yet... a type of innocence clung to her like the faint scent of lavender in the guest room.
The sky lit up again, this time for several prolonged seconds of raging storm. In these moments he could see the smooth lines of pale flesh quiver beneath his fingers. The only scrap of fabric still covering her was a pair of virginal white cotton panties with delicate lace around the edges.
“Angel...” she whispered when the room was plunged into darkness again.
“Spread your legs wider,” he said in response.
Whatever she'd intended to say—whatever weak protest—died on her lips as she obeyed his low-growled order. He rubbed gently between her legs, long, slow repeated strokes... feather light... causing her hips to rise to meet him, her body pleading for more.
He continued to caress her, alternating heavy and light pressure as he lowered his head to take one of her perfect tits into his mouth.
“Please,” she whimpered.
The way she moved against him—striving for more contact—left no doubt that she was begging for more, not less.